A Total Eclipse of the Heart

It has been an eternity since my last entry, which truth be told, was a pretty low point for me. After a few rough spells I was ready to throw in the mummy towel and head on back to the working world where I would feel validated and compensated for any hard work on my part. Nothing prepares you for how very challenging being a stay-at-home-mum is. But, similarly, nothing prepares you for how gut-rentching it is to part with your children after being a stay-at-home-mum.

After a few successful interviews, followed by an enticing job offer (and tempting pay check to match), it was ultimately my children that got my vote. No, it does not come with a lucrative pay package or 25 days annual leave or even sick leave for that matter. Thing is, I really, really enjoy being at home with the kids. I love being the one picking them up from school and hearing about their day, whether it’s been a fun one that we can laugh about, or a sad one that requires a few chocolate cookies and cuddles to fix. I love that I have the time to help out at school events. I love being able to take them to after school activities during the week instead of cramming them all in on the weekend. I love that I have the patience (and time) to play strange made-up games with bizarre rules (that make no sense to me but perfect sense to them). I love that we can seize a perfect sunny day and go to the beach for the afternoon with little worry about schedules. I love that whilst I may not have the extra cash to buy them extravagant gifts I have the extra time and patience to live life at their pace and engage with them.

It was the real threat of losing all this that made me sit up and take stock of how very lucky I am to be able to do this every day. So what if I have to clean my own house because we cannot afford a cleaner on one salary. So what if I can’t afford frequent trips to the hair salon. So what if I no longer fit into my skinny jeans (read: no longer able to pay for Pilate lessons).

The reality is that at some point I will have to go back into the workforce (as finances dictate such), but whilst I can, I’m going to enjoy each precious day with these wonderful, amazing, funny little people that are my children.

When Good Mummies Go Bad

For the past few weeks I have been looking after my sick children. With the help of paracetamol, antibiotics and chocolate cookies I have nursed them back to health, whilst patiently cleaning vomit in the middle of the night and providing entertainment to distract from the pain in the early hours of the morning, with a trip to the emergency room thrown in for good measure.

I’m officially exhausted and in dire need of a little break, but the parenting schedule doesn’t include little breaks. Whilst I fully understand this, my worn out emotions are betraying all good intentions I have of being a good mummy .This I sadly discovered after an extremely trying day with an exceptionally irrational child.

The day was off to remarkable start with a series of unforgettable Victorian-style tantrums. I remained calm and continued about with our morning routine. At school drop off, I managed to see off my daughter whilst having a screaming side-performance from my son that would put the members of “Kiss” to shame. Still, I went about the rest of the morning in a cool manner, trying to tell myself that I am the adult that I have control of my emotions and he is just a child unable to articulate his feelings in any other way. Got it. Just breathe.

After a blissful two hours on the beach searching for treasures, chasing sea gulls, drawing in the sand and a decadent picnic of brioche and hot chocolate, I believed I had conquered the drama for the day. How wrong I was.

Never under-estimate the stamina of a determined pre-schooler. The rest of the afternoon played out in much the same manner as the morning. Me trying to reason with an inconsolable screaming child. Him over- reacting negatively to anything or anyone, including so much as even looking at him.

Bath time was a spectacular show – think trying to bath a screeching cat and you’re on the right track. Still however, I persevered through this and spoke gently to him, trying to soothe his clearly tortured soul. This was followed by a disastrous dinner. But it’s when I finally sat on the couch and took stock of my day and my ears were yet again assaulted with more screeching that a complete meltdown was experienced on my behalf, with my voice rising above all the screaming to be heard, no doubt, by all of suburbia.

At that point I was quite happy to be escorted to a loony bin only to have some peace and quiet. In fact, I was silently praying for that to happen. Surprisingly my own tantrum seemed to have some significant results as my children stared back at me in awe of my own dramatic capabilities and became quite obliging with my requests to brush teeth and go to bed.

I went to bed ashamed of my outburst, wondering how it all went so wrong when my intentions were so right. My aching heart was comforted by my son who wanted a cuddle in the middle of the night. So whilst I wasn’t the perfect mummy, I did the best that I could, and that has got to be good enough for today.