Here on my blog I try to be honest, to be upfront, to share my foibles and failures as well as my successes. I'd hate anyone to think I'm trying to make out like any kind of expert - far from it! I'm a fellow struggler like you, sharing my shortcuts, hoping to make your way a little easier and encourage you with the knowledge that you're not alone.
I don't mind sharing my weaknesses, my battles, my failures and my flops.
I am not trying to convince anyone that I have my life all together, or that I'm alright, thanks Jack.
You'll know this about me if you've spent longer than five minutes here.
But there are some struggles I can't share, some stories I can't tell.
Because those stories are simply not mine to tell.
Those stories belong to my loved ones - my kids, my husband - and I can't share them without their permission.
Consequently there are vast chunks of my life which remains unwritten, unblogged.
It was simpler when the children were young.
They didn't read and they didn't care who else was reading.
All they knew was that mummy took way too many photos of them and that they were just a little bit famous on her blog.
I was free to write amusingly on tantrums in the mall, toilet training and sibling rivalry, confident that their pseudonyms and my security settings would protect their anonymity from future employee background checks.
My kids are growing up and we are into all-new territory.
These days they and their friends are online-savvy. They all have school gmail accounts, they're on Instagram (private of course) and some of their friends even follow me. They can all read. They are easily embarrassed. They don't want their private lives splashed all over the interwebs.
So when they hit puberty, you won't read about it here. When they suffer boy or girl trouble, even though I'm sure I will give them great advice (and it would make an interesting read), their private pain won't be turned into a blog post.
I may struggle with their tantrums almost as often as I did when they were little but as riveting as it may be, there won't be a blog post titled "Toddlerish Tantrums Terrorise Tweendom" any time soon.
We have all kinds of spectrum complications in the mix making social relationships complex and emotions run high, but you won't read the details of that here either.
It's not because I want to edit my life to give the impression that my offspring are angels (they're not, believe me) - it's because I am trying to respect my kids' privacy.
On a few occasions I have actually put the case to the kids, asking them to let me share our family's "spectrum" struggles on here .
"It will encourage other mums who have kids the same. It will let people know they're not alone...," I cajoled them.
"Why not? You told your whole class?!"
"Because that's just my class. If you write it on your blog, then the whole world will know!"
(They think the whole world reads my blog. Bless.)
So yeah. There are some stories you're just not ever gonna read on here. Unless I turn this blog private. (Ha! that'll never happen).Or unless my kids change their minds. (Pigs might fly. We live in hope.)
It's probably better this way, or I might become one of those bloggers who overshares. I mean, do you REALLY want the stories about potty training? Periods? Pimples?
I can still be honest and real without dishing all the details on those things can't I?
Course I can. There's still plenty of blog material available without me having to expose my dearest darlings' private struggles.
There's the endless (but unembarrassing) anecdotes about their awesome achievements; there's the funny things they (still) say and do; there's all the ways I try (and sometimes fail) to be a good mum; there's our sugar free journey and all the recipes we're discovering. There's faith and family and friendship and fun.
And there's always the parties. There will ALWAYS be the parties.
PHOTOS THIS POST: From our Light and Bright party held last Saturday night, a lovely relaxed BBQ with too-many-kids-to-count, a lolly scramble, twinkle lights a-plenty and even scrounged up a couple of boxes of fireworks (before they went on sale a day later). I do love this time of the year, before it goes cray-cray.
Ten Worst Mothering Moments
Facts of Life
Broke Heart - Puppy love
Brothers and Sisters (sibling rivalry)