Showing posts with label Myself. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Myself. Show all posts
19 November 2022

53 and Grateful...

I am fifty-three years old today. Yep, it's my birthday and I am content.

To my faithful readers, sorry I haven't written on my blog for nearly a whole year, even though there are many deep stories I want to share. Some are not quite finished baking yet. But in the meantime, before I go a whole 365 days without writing, I want to share a situation status update.

Today on my 53rd birthday I feel rich, even though there's only $5.43 in my bank account (Monday is payday, we'll make it stretch.)

I am so grateful for where I am at right now...


23 August 2021

It turns out - I'm not over...


Today has been a super-emotional day. 

Maybe it's partly the Level Four lockdown we find ourselves back in, all of a sudden. Maybe it's the weird limbo of waiting for my Covid test results to come back. Maybe it's being stuck at home with three teenagers and two dogs, unable to leave the house until we get those test results. Maybe it's years of walking with my kids as they face down their giants, and the way lockdown threatens to derail all the hard-won progress, wrought through literal blood, sweat and tears. 

Probably it's a mix of everything, but this morning, all of a sudden I just couldn't.

This post is not about that. But that's the background to this feeling I have right now, this incredible gratitude, a fragile tenderness where tears are just below the surface.

Gratitude because - it turns out -  I'm not over.


12 July 2020

The Oxygen Mask Principle



In the past few weeks, I have written multiple stories in my head. So many thoughts, issues, feelings and words needing to be expressed, but where to start? What to focus on?
I just didn't know where to begin.
But today I sat down, opened up my laptop and began to write, without a clear direction, just needing to satisfy this urge to write, while it is upon me.


13 May 2020

"Stop the World, I want to Get Off!" she said...

My House at twilight returning from a lockdown dog-walk


I don't know how many times I must have said this out loud, to myself or in my head.
Stop the World. I want to Get Off.

Life was too fast. It came at me from all directions and I could never, ever catch my breath.
Since becoming a sole-parent nearly four years ago and re-entering the paid workforce, life has been faster than ever.

Endless days of driving kids from place to place, juggling chores and work and parenting.
I once totalled up the amount of time I spent in my car each week during winter sport season and it came out to more than 20 hours. That's half a full-time job, just on driving.
No wonder I wanted it all to stop.

How many times did I say to my kids, "ONE DAY! JUST ONE DAY is all I want. ONE DAY where I don't have to drive ANYWHERE..."

Well, I got my wish, didn't I?


22 August 2018

My Journey in Te Ao Maori

Kei te Haerenga ahau (I am journeying)
Photo Credit: Stephanie Soh

*(kei te haere tonu ahau)*

In 2016 I began working at the Parenting Place, which had been a long-held dream of mine, after writing freelance for the magazine for years.
Unbeknown to me, my new workplace had begun a journey (haerenga) into te ao Māori (the Māori world) and I was swept up in it along with my workmates.
This was no tokenism or surface-level nod, but a wholehearted journey delving into who we are as a nation, our history, where we've come from and what it means to be good Treaty partners.
Along the way, I had the privilege of staying on a number of marae around the country, including Te Tii Marae at Waitangi (where our nation's founding treaty was debated before the signing) and Parihaka (the site of a terrible injustice perpetrated by the British in the 1880's).

The journey began for me as just simply something my work was doing, which I found interesting, but it has become something personal for me now - a personal odyssey and a challenge to discover who I am and where I belong.

In 2018 I had the privilege of beginning to learn te reo Māori with a bunch of my workmates, during work time. I was worried my middle-aged half-speed brain would not cope with the challenge of learning a language, but I did OK, passing all my tests and actually learning stuff. But the main thing I've discovered is that learning te reo isn't just about learning to speak the words - it is about opening myself up to a whole new way of thinking, new ways of looking at the world and finding a deeper sense of belonging and identity in this whenua (land).
I completed a questionnaire sent out to all of us at work to "gauge the bi-cultural journey the Parenting Place has embarked on over the last three years..."

Here are some of my responses...


12 April 2017

One Foot in Front of the Other

One foot in front of the other

Right about now I'm wishing I had some Easter inspiration to share with you. Wise words or bright ideas, either one would do.
One of those posts from days-gone-by popped up in my Facebook "memories" the other day. I read it and sighed... a deep soul-weary sigh.

Breath in, breath out, I tell myself. Keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Just one more trip to football training in rush hour traffic, one more early morning drop-off to the train, one more night of worrying about bedtimes and lunchboxes and clean uniforms.
Just one more day and it's school holidays. A chance to catch our breath and pause for a few days.
Man, this tiredness is bone-deep.

By body rebelled on the weekend and I kind of crashed. Had to pull the plug on all the plans, hunker down and conserve energy, go nowhere (a fair amount of takeaways may have been consumed).

I think it was the endless going-and-going without a break for so long; holding it together for everyone, keeping all the balls and plates in the air and spinning. Sole parenting is not for the faint-hearted.
Me myself, I'll admit it - I'm knackered.

31 December 2016

Good Riddance 2016 (but Thanks for not Killing Me)


Goodbye and Good Riddance 2016

Today is the last day of this bloody awful year. It has been without a doubt the hardest year of my life - yet strangely it hasn't actually been the worst year. 
Why? Because I'm finishing the year a stronger person than I began it.

My faith in God has been tested, and strengthened, because He has not failed me yet.
I've lost friends along the way, but discovered others whose worth is pure gold. 
I've had to learn to fill the roles of both mum and dad - and have since realised how incredible single mums are.

There are so many of us out there, doing the hard yards, unseen and alone, but rocking parenting in spite of the endless challenges - in spite of incredibly tight budgets, the (unfair and untrue) judgments of others and the sheer relentlessness of doing life on our own. 
I am in awe of the strength of women, and single mums in particular.

14 September 2016

Twists & Turns on the Rollercoaster

Huia Wharf, West Coast New Zealand

Ahhh Life. We never know what it'll throw at us.

I read a guest post on Ann Voscamp's blog the other day which really resonated with me, called "When you're living a life you didn't choose". That happens sometimes - we end up in a life that wasn't what we hoped/dreamed/planned.
We have a dream for the life we want to live, and then it isn't.
Life throws us a curveball. There's an unexpected twist in the rollercoaster. And oh help, here we go again on another not-so-great-fun adventure.

Right now you could say that I'm living a life I didn't choose - in so far as I never in my wildest dreams (or nightmares) would have imagined that my marriage would end after 15 years of trying.
But, yep, there it is.
I've been separated and sole-parenting for over three months now.
That's the twist my life's rollercoaster has taken me on.

09 February 2016

"Style-Challenged Mum gets Rescued by Personal Stylist"

A fashion adventure for the style challnged

It's been really hot lately, hasn't it? The sticky, humid, icky type of hot that you get in exotic places like Queensland and Singapore. The type of heat that makes you want to go to the shops in a sarong. The type of heat that makes those of us carrying "a little bit extra" wish we'd had more self control when we visited Little and Friday for donuts (cos every donut is now being carried on our hips, weighing us down and make us sweat in the flippin' sweaty heat).

But this isn't a post about the heat. Or about losing weight, getting fit or making any kind of resolutions.

No. This is a post I'm writing because I am excited about a Christmas present I got that is gonna help me make the best of who I am, my body (as it is now) and my wardrobe. See, for Christmas I got a voucher for a style makeover with a personal stylist.


04 September 2015

Um, hi. I'm back.

Vintage suitcases (we did NOT take these travelling)

Hello, hello.
This is not really a post. It's more like a disclaimer.
I am back in the country, returned from my sojourning and adventuring.
There are a gazillion photos and stories galore, which I will get to. But right now I am so flippin... emotionally exhausted. Worded out. Overwhelmed. (And I have strep throat).
I just can't go there yet.

In brief - the first part was luxury, amaze, everything we hoped it would be (Raffles Hotel in Singapore, the Oriental Express. Unbelievably good). Then we hit the drama-back-home wall, and I fell in the return-of-strep-throat ditch for a day in Bangkok. I almost had to come home.
Somehow we got through that, and I made it to the Philippines where I met some of the most beautiful people on God's earth and sweated an ocean in the heat and humidity. (I have new respect for AirCon, for our deliciously mild Auckland climate and for Filipinos everywhere).

Upon our return I have found myself wishing just to keep a low profile. I don't want to post on Facebook, on Instagram, txt or phone anyone. I owe many wonderful people bottles of duty free perfume and baileys by way of a *thank you* for all the help they gave our kids while we were away, but I am going to wait til next week in the hopes that I may feel less inclined to hide by then.
I might have found my words again.
In the meantime my heart is full, even if my brain is empty and my throat is sore.
The antibiotics have gotta kick in soon, right?

So, hi. I'm back. See you next week when normal transmission should resume once more. I hope.
xx
04 August 2015

Dyslexic Brains are Good Brains Too

dyslexic brains are good brains too

Hi, I'm Simone and I'm dyslexic. Did you know that about me?
Just typing the word, "dyslexic" it came out "dysexlic" the first time I wrote it.
But writing things backwards is not what makes me dyslexic. In fact, that was just a typo that may or may not have anything to do with my dyslexia.
Being dyslexic is very different to what most people think, if they think about it at all. Most people's understanding of dyslexia is typified by this joke (that I thought was really funny when when I first heard it, before I knew I was dyslexic)...

Hey did you hear the one about the dyslexic agnostic insomniac? 
He stayed up all night wondering if Dog really exists.
Yeah. Ha. Ha.

Most people (including teachers) think that dyslexia is struggling with reading, writing and spelling. Full stop.
Unfortunately for people who are dyslexic, they are only touching on a fraction of the issue.
In fact, they are missing the point altogether.


09 June 2015

Getting the Black Dog Under Control (beating depression)

Getting the black Dog under control

Last week I wrote a post on a subject I haven't broached in a while as I found myself pursued by my old Nemesis, the Black Dog. After a nice long spell free from it's hounding, it was something of a shock to feel those old feelings again. But after years of dealing with that mutt's harassment, I was in a much better place than I once was to get it back under control again.

I'm talking about Depression, if you haven't figured it out. It dogged me for years (ha, see what I did there?).

In recent times I've been symptom-free, partly helped by anti-depressants, which deal with the chemical side, and partly helped by regular visits to my awesome counselor, Jane - or as I prefer to think of her, my life coach. With this two-pronged plan I've been making steady progress at dealing with stuff, getting stronger, finding my voice - and the Black Dog was nowhere to be seen.

But I knew it was still lurking in the background somewhere, waiting for it's opportunity to pounce. It was tied up, sure, and under control, but I was under no illusions that I was done with that Mutt for good. It's a vulnerability I have, like a dodgy knee that plays up in cold weather. If I don't stay vigilant, if I let things get on top of me, if pressure starts to build and I'm not careful, then look out - the Black Dog will slip his chain and start roaming free again.

(It helps me to personify the Depression as a Black Dog, prowling. It may seem odd to you, but it works for me).

Over the many (many) years I've spent dealing with the black dog, I've learnt a few things. I'm not the quivering mess I once was, in the face of the Mutt. I know I can beat it and I'm not afraid of it's bite anymore because I know how to act quickly and get it under control before things get out of hand. At the first sign of it's loathsome growl, I am on alert and the call goes out:

We have a situation: The Mutt is free, he's off his chain. Beware! Alert all systems. Move to DEFCON 4. 


02 June 2015

Today it's all Too Much


It's been a long long time since I've felt this way. Today, for whatever reason, I have hit the wall and I don't really know why. For months and months - maybe more than a year - the Black Dog has been safely tied up. He hasn't been barking or snapping at my heels or raising his ugly black head.
But today, all of a sudden, there he is. Ugh. I hate that mutt.

What is this feeling of overwhelm? Where has this desire to climb back into my bed and pull the covers up over my head come from?

It's been building all weekend. I've been snappy, snarly and a right grumpy git, to be honest.
But I've been holding it together. Until just now when I went to plug in my camera to upload some photos from the weekend and SH*T, some bugger has taken my camera cord and stuck it who-knows-where.

In that instant all of the little things that have been building up like a weight of snow on my emotional roof suddenly become too much. In the blink of an eye, here comes the whole lot of it crashing through and landing on me like a cold wet blanket.

Suddenly everything is too much.


09 March 2015

The Foolish Things (I'm one of them)


Last night I did something I haven't done for a very very very long time: I stood on a stage and spoke to a crowd.
With a microphone in my hand, trying hard not to show how much I was trembling, I told my story (or at least part of it).

Public speaking. Preaching. I used to do it a lot. (But that was a lifetime ago, back when that was part of my job description as a Pastor).

For many many years now, I've been silent, my story untold apart from here on this blog.
Those who have known me for a long time know that back in my dim distant past, before marriage and kids I was a youth pastor, and I started a programme called CLS (Creative Learning Scheme) to reach/help educate at-risk kids. It started small, flying by the seat-of-our-pants in true Simoney-style, but now it's MASSIVE, the biggest alternative education programme in the country.

I won't repeat the story again now, (you can read it in detail here) but basically I began the programme out of response to a need. I was moved by the plight of lost, broken kids and I took the little that I had and put it in God's hands, and said "Use me, if you can."


[Some of the earliest CLS students, back in 1997-1999]

This month our church is doing a series called "The Revolutionaries", asking the question, "Can one person really change the world?"

I was at my (awesome) connect group on Tuesday night and we were watching the discussion-starter DVD they send out, when the guy speaking (Jordan, an old pal of mine) said, "A friend of mine was watching the movie Once Were Warriors and it moved her to do something..."

I thought, "Ha, that's funny, somebody else got moved by that movie as well as me..."\
But as he kept talking I realised, "Wait, what? He's talking about ME!"

In a few moments the girls in my connect group also realised he was talking about me and somehow I ended up telling them my story.

Later my connect group leader (my long-time friend Kathy, who also happens to be our pastor's wife) went home and told her hubby, the pastor, what I'd shared and somehow word got around and next thing I know the Pastor of our South campus is ringing me up asking me to share my story. And then Kathy txted me and asked me to tell it again in the City at night.

And that's how after fifteen years I found myself up on the Auckland Town Hall stage, microphone in hand, spotlights shining in my eyes, telling my story for the second time in a day, to a massive crowd
.

It was surreal. It was terrifying. It was thrilling. (I think I did OK).

There were two things I really wanted to get across to the people listening, which are the signature message of my life. If there's anything they can learn from from my story this is it.

THE FIRST IS THIS:
Use what you have, start where you are.
If we wait till all the ducks are lined up in a row, til we have all the i's dotted and t's crossed, til there is funding and structures and strategies and projections in place, well, we'll never get started. So we take what we have and we use it right where we are. We put what we have into God's hands and let him do a miracle with it - like the little boy who gave Jesus his lunch and from those five loaves and two fish a crowd in excess of 5000 people was fed.

THE SECOND IS THIS:
God chooses and uses the most unlikely people, rarely the clever or the wise.
I take heart from the verse which got me through on the occasions when I doubted that I had what it took, when I railed against the sky and wailed, "Why me?! Why did you choose a scared shy girl like me? I don't have what it takes!"

In those moments of self-doubt I was reminded of this:


"Oh yeah! That's why you chose me! (I'm one of those foolish things)...!"

It was 21 years ago that I watched the movie, Once Were Warriors, and spent the night sobbing on my couch, weeping over all the broken kids out there in my city, begging God to use me to help them.

He heard my prayer and took me up on my offer, though I was the least likely person you could ever imagine.

Shy, timid, scared of confrontation, white, never taken drugs, never been pregnant out of wedlock, never been in trouble with the law, never been abused. There was nothing in my background or my personality that qualified me to relate to  - let alone help - kids from the dark side of life.
Plus, I had no qualifications. I left school after sixth form, never went to uni. I wasn't a trained teacher, or social worker, or anything. AND I was dyslexic and didn't even know it.

But God chose this "foolish thing" to shame the wise (the experts who said it would never succeed).
He chose the weak to shame the strong (so nobody can boast this thing happened because of their cleverness).

[Grace, the character from Once Were Warriors who broke my heart]

It's amazing that CLS has become what it is today (a programme reaching hundreds of kids on a daily basis, making a real difference, changing lives and futures) from such a humble start.
It was a series of miracles - some may say "coincidences", but I know better.

See, God cared about those broken kids. He let me get a tiny glimpse of his heart for them that night, watching Once Were Warriors. When my heart was breaking, it was just a taste of his heart breaking. And he was waiting for somebody - anybody!- to volunteer. Once I put my hand up, he started sending things across my path - the right people, resources, funding. But I wouldn't have gotten any of that if I hadn't stepped out first, and used what I had, right where I was.

So yeah. I think one person CAN change the world - or at least the part of the world they let break their heart enough to do something about.

It was a long time ago now,
I haven't been hands-on at CLS since 2000. Others picked up the baton, people with the skills and qualifications I didn't have. They could take it where it needed to go, to the point where it is now far beyond what I could ever have dreamed or imagined.
But I did my part, the part I could do. I got the ball rolling, and that's what matters.


TO READ MORE ABOUT THIS:
My Part in the Story of CLS
02 March 2015

"The Squeaky Wheel Gets the Oil" (finding my voice)


Something's changed in me over the past year or so.  I've always been a scaredy cat, never one to rock the boat, speak up or make waves. Ask anyone who knows me. Unlike so many other Lioness Mothers who would roar if anyone stepped out of line round her cubs, I was always more of a Mouse.

If I had to speak up, whether to a teacher, a bully or a fellow parent I'd be shaking so bad I'd lose my words and feel like I was going to vomit. I just hated "confrontation".

But over the past year or so I've noticed that I no longer procrastinate and avoid confrontation. I've become better at speaking up with teachers, family and coaches (it doesn't even make me want to vomit anymore).

Instead of staying silent and hoping for the best, I've begun asking for what I want, because I've realised this earth shattering truth: The Squeaky Wheel Gets the Oil.



It started when one of my kids was struggling at school, miserable. At first I felt powerless and overwhelmed; I didn't know what to do but I knew I had to do something, talk to someone, so I gathered my courage and headed to school.

I remember sitting in the office of the department head stammering out my concerns about my child's anxiety and bursting into tears. Right there in her office.

This lovely H.O.D. gave me an hour of her time, listened to my concerns, handed me tissues and reassured me that they would work to support my child in a number of new ways.
It wasn't so hard, this talking thing.

A week later I met with her and the child's teacher again and she presented me with two charts, depicting my child's progress so he could see in colour just how far he'd come. When I told the H.O.D. later that he was calling those charts "my treasures" and sleeping with them under his pillow, tears sprang into her eyes.


I was learning that a little bit of squeaking will get your wheel oiled.
A little bit of asking will get results. It's not that hard, once I get over myself.
And if I don't squeak for them, nobody else will.

After all, the H.O.D. has hundreds of kids to think about; the teacher has thirty. I'm the only one with just my own kids' interests at heart.

In the sea of faces my child's struggle might not be apparent to the teacher he/she is trying so hard to please. The teacher doesn't see my child fall apart at the end of the day, after using all their energy working so hard to stay on task and just keep up. The teacher doesn't have to drag my child out of bed as they wail, "I don't wanna go! I hate school!" The teacher doesn't have to wipe their tears of frustration and talk them down from the bridge of self-doubt, patch up their shattered self-esteem and send them out to face the world again... I DO.

I have to live with these children, so it's worth being a squeaky wheel if it means happier kids who know their mama has got their back.


I may not like "confrontation" or "making waves" but there's a nice way to do things.
Being a squeaky wheel doesn't mean becoming demanding or difficult. It just means becoming my child's advocate and speaking up on their behalf, which I can do with a smile on my face. Being pleasant and reasonable-but-determined will probably get me further than being antagonistic and bolshy anyway!

I've now lost count of how many times I've been up to school in the past year. I rarely used to go up there, relying on school reports, and the inadequate twice-yearly parent teacher interviews.

No longer.
Now as soon as there's a ripple I'm there. Talking to the teacher, clarifying the situation, getting information, helping them to know my children and understand their needs,
I'm now one of "those" parents... in the nicest possible way.

The more I talk to my kids' teachers, the better the relationships with the teachers become and the easier it gets to talk to them. (And the more positively they'll work with my kids too).

This worked to the point last year where I knew Miss Fab's teacher well enough to invite him to come watch her perform in the church Christmas production - and he came.


It's so freeing, not being scared anymore. Having found my voice I don't just use it to advocate for my kids at school, oh no.

It translates into other areas of life as well.
Like I noticed that with life being so busy, we were hardly ever getting to see my parents. There was just not enough grandparent-time and I worried that if we didn't set aside some regular time to connect, one day I'd look back and regret that my kids never got to know my parents before they were gone.


I could sit around feeling sad and resentful or I could ask for what I wanted for my kids and take the risk that I might get knocked back...

So I baked some muffins, took my coffee machine with me and went to my folks to ask for what I wanted: dinner with them once a week. Regular time for my kids to spend with them hanging out, getting to know them.


...I wasn't knocked back. As of last week, every Thursday night Nan and Grandad will come for dinner. I cook, they play. Last week it was Monopoly Empire, homemade spaghetti and stories after dinner. There are plans for bike rides with Grandad, card games and more.
We all said goodbye at the end of our first night with a warm fuzzy glow, with the kids agreeing "This was fun!"; I believe it's the start of a beautiful thing.

I'm so thankful that I've learned to speak up.
After all those timid years of being afraid of knock-backs or angry confrontations, it's a pleasant surprise to learn that I can still be me, but a bolder Squeakier version of myself.
After all, what have I got to lose really, by speaking up? If I ask for something and the answer is no, have I lost anything apart from a bit of pride?
No I haven't.
But I stand to gain so much for my kids when I lose my fear and find my voice.

I may not ever be a roaring Lioness Mother but I can be a Squeaky Wheel.

...........................

More Motherhood-Learning-Curve Posts



17 November 2014

Truisms (for my almost-45th birthday)



This week is going to be mad, by which I mean CRAY-ZEE. It's my birthday on Wednesday (woop??) but my glorious 45th anniversaire is likely to be overshadowed/swallowed up in the last-minute party prep for Dash's 12th birthday Hunger Games party on Saturday.

And since I JUST KNOW I'm going to have NO TIME to write myself a reflective, soul-searching, what-have-I-done-with-my-life happy birthday post, I thought I'd steal a few moments today to share with you the sayings I (try to) live by.

These are the truisms of my heart. You'll notice kindness features rather a lot - Kindness is VERY important to me. I don't always manage to live up to my ideals (who DOES, right?) but I AIM to live by them.  Because... if you aim at nothing you'll hit it every time (yet another true saying I just didn't have time to make a pretty picture for).

So Happy Middle-of-my-life Halfway-to-ninety Birthday to me. Forty Five??!! Who knew I could be so old and yet still feel like I'm just starting out?

Here are my favourite sayings to live by...

FAVOURITE SAYINGS WITH MY OWN PICTURES....






THEN I RAN OUT OF TIME SO I BORROWED THESE FROM PINTEREST because they are SO ME:


  




Which saying is your favourite from this bunch? Do you have sayings that you live by?
22 September 2014

Changing the Record, Changing Me


I've had this post in the back of my mind for a few weeks now, as I've started to notice some changes taking place in me.

For the longest time I've been telling myself certain stories, replaying old records over and over again. You might recognise some of them (they might be stories you tell yourself too).

"This is too hard for me..."
"I could never do that..."
"I don't enjoy that..."
"I'm no good at that..."
"My kids would never go for that..."

Those old "I can't" records have been playing in my head for so long, I thought they were "me".

I truly believed that "I'm no good at confrontation; if I have to speak up I freeze and lose what I wanted to say." This meant that I let my husband do the speaking for me and asked him to fight way too many of my battles. I let my voice be swallowed up by fear of what others would think, and a desire to not rock the boat or be seen as pushy.

I accepted as fact the line that went "I don't enjoy baking and only do I when I have to" along with "making dinner for my family every night is such a chore." This saw me trotting out the same round of tired old dinners every week.

I struggled with so many aspects of having school-age kids, mainly because I believed the record that said, "I'm hopeless at helping the kids do their homework; I don't know where to begin." The whole homework saga was an endless battle on three fronts and as the children got older I experienced more and more anxiety (and guilt).

[Another sugar free baking experiment - banana, date and walnut loaf: I am ENJOYING BAKING!] 

I also fell for the story that went, "Healthy eating is so hard. My kids will never go for it. They're so picky and it would be a nightmare with battles at every mealtime. Plus It would mean I'd have to bake." As a result I took the easy option when it came to the kids' diet, being too scared of their reactions to try and make them eat healthier.

Above everything else, I believed the record that said, "I am crap at follow-through. I have great ideas but I don't stick at things."

And as these records played their negative stories over and over in my head, they became so deeply embedded that they became part of me. I believed deep down that I couldn't change these things about myself.

I believed nothing would change. I believed some things were too hard for me. Consequently NOTHING CHANGED and some things WERE too hard for me.

I lived my life restricted by those negative records playing in my brain, telling me stories I thought were true.

But lately I've noticed that some of the records have started to change.

Some have changed rapidly and dramatically, like the way my world was rocked by Nigel Latta's sugar expose which has transformed the way we are eating.
Others have changed so slowly and incrementally that it's only by looking back that I see how far I've come.

Instead of "I'm crap at confrontation" and letting my husband speak for me, I've begun to say to myself, "What's the worst that can happen? They can only say no..."
I've rocked up to school, asked for meetings, dealt with issues, and had conversations that have made a difference for my kids.
Another new story is, "The squeaky wheel gets the oil..." If I don't speak up for my kids, who will? Nobody, that's who.

I am now a squeaky wheel, a mum who advocates for her children. I've met with deputy principals, guidance counsellors and teachers - and boy did it feel good! I didn't even freeze.
I've changed the record to "I can do this."

[Dash's English project: a book report Conflict Chart that we worked on together: I am ENJOYING helping with homework]

Since I've begun working again, the old record has been silenced that used to say, "What could I do as a job? I can't go back to my old career and I'm not trained for anything..."
Instead I play the joyful tune, "This job is perfect for me! All the skills I've learned as a mother are being used in this job!"
My new job as a teacher aide has also given me the skills and confidence to help my kids with their homework.
I'm not scared of homework any more. I'm a homework-capable mum.

There are so many little ways the records are changing.
Ditching the "I don't enjoy baking" script and changing it to "It's a fun challenge to find recipes that are yummy AND healthy..."
Switching out "making meals every night is a chore" and changing it to "let's try something new".
Rejecting "I'm crap at follow through" and changing it to "I HAVE to do this, I CAN do this, it's important..."

As all these little changes begin to add up, that heinous old record "I'm a useless mother; I'm not doing a very good job" is getting fainter and fainter. I hardly ever hear it any more. It's being drowned out by "I'm making progress, I love my kids, I'm doing my best for them".

It's actually shocking how much has changed in me in the last while.
I speak up, I do things that used to scare me and I've stopped telling myself "I can't".
Changing the record is changing my life by changing me.
Bit by bit.

(Now I just need to find a way to stop the record that says, "Exercise is so boring... and so sweaty! I hate the way it makes me feel." Then we'll really be getting somewhere.)

.....................

What about you? Are any of these "records" familiar to you? What are the stories you tell yourself? (tell me I'm not alone!)
11 September 2014

Big Girls (and boys) Just Wanna Have Fun too


Our school's Quiz Nite is legendary round these parts and I've always wanted to go. Ever since I heard stories (and saw photos) of my friend Meg's team outfits, I've wanted to be on their team.
They go ALL OUT on the costuming and props. Last year they won Best Dressed. My kinda team.

So when Meg said one of their regulars was unavailable I saw our chance and took it. We were in!
This year the theme was "Battle of the Bands" and our team decided to go as 80's Rock/Pop Stars.
I knew we had to make this good if we have any chance of being invited back, so I started googling for inspiration and up popped a picture of Cyndi Lauper.
I can do that! I thought, and dived into our dress-up box.


My initial attempt was posted on Instagram - and apparently I reminded a few people of "Jem - truly outrageous". Haha, not quite what I was going for.

Our wardrobe seriously needed augmenting after Mr G refused to go as "that perv" George Michael (a costume I could have put together for him with my eyes closed). Hubby decided to go as his childhood pop idol, Adam Ant - much more complicated but I reckoned we could nail that one with a bit of help from Save Mart.

I think we managed it, don't you?


I found Cyndi's tutu for $6.99, a silver leopard print top for $5 and the red wig for $4.99. Corset, belt and beads all from my dress-up box. Adam's wig was originally all braids (which I cut off leaving just a few strategically placed ones); his jacket was plain black but I added the gold ribbon (double sided tape) and the cape was $2.99 - all from Save Mart. Add a bit of white face-paint and voila, Adam Ant.



 We had a great laugh, and true to their rep, our team went all out...



Left to Right: Cyndi Lauper, Boy George, Adam Ant, Joan Jett, Willie Nelson, Siouxie Sioux and Madonna.

The very creative Joan Jett went all out with our table props, which included a gold lame tablecloth, flamingo and pineapple (Miami) paper staws, a (fake) box of Miami Wine Cooler and a diamond studded mirror with some icing sugar... (you know what that was meant to be right?)

We were finalists in the best team costume. (A Mariachi band won the prize, though some totally unbiased byanders said we were "robbed").
Boy George won best Male costume.
Cyndi Lauper got an honourable mention (finalist) which kinda made my day.


As for the actual Quiz? Weeeeellll.... we DID get a prize - for coming second to last. Ha!


But winning doesn't matter (as I tell my kids) the main thing is that the big girls and boys
all had LOTS OF FUN!

(and looked amazing too)


20 June 2014

Life Round These Parts *a Loving post*


Well, hello. You're still here.
It's been a week of it, that's for sure, what with the dramatic events of last Thursday and its aftermath.
(Did you miss that post? I got sick, dehydrated, fainted, banged my head on the way down and got knocked unconscious. Ended up being taken to hospital in an ambulance and have been woolly-headed with concussion ever since).

Today I thought I'd ease back into the blog with a wee round-up of life hereabouts, as it's been a while since I did that. A "things I'm loving" meets "wow I'm grateful" combined with "here's the haps".

I'll start with today.
Friday is my day off and since Scrag woke up in the middle of the night with a nasty cough, I kept him home. We've been playing schools. I've been putting to use all the things I've learnt since becoming a teacher aide, which means my kid has been doing spelling, handwriting and maths all morning.


Here he is on this very cool maths programme called SumDog. The kids at school use it to play math games where they can play against kids from all over the world. There's a paid-up version you can subscribe to but the free version does plenty. I introduced it to Scrag this morning and he's loving it. (that name again? SumDog. Try it, it's great for younger kids, very visual and fun).

After our lessons we had lunch. It was sunny, so we ate it on the porch.


I can tell you, I never thought I'd say this but I can actually (for the first time in my life) see the appeal of homeschooling. *GASP*
Settle down, I love my local school, and I'm not-on-yer-life gonna pull my kids out of there and start trying to teach them myself, but I have to say there's something very satisfying about working one-on-one with your kid, setting your own pace etc. Like I said I can see the appeal.


Now that I'm a *ahem* working woman again I am completely LOVING my job (which I was sadly absent from for a week after my dramatic demise). It's hugely satisfying, tremendously rewarding and perfectly tailor-made for me.

All my mummy-skills are being put to good use, I get to be creative and proactive; every day is different. Since I started I've taught my student to ride a bike without trainer wheels (!) and together with another student who I also help, we've created a super-hero called SuperCat, among other things.

We are making progress in spelling, oral language and engagement with others. Best of all, the teacher who's class I'm working in has told me my efforts are making a huge difference in the class as the boys I'm working with have settled down and it's had a flow-on effect to the rest of the class.

I am sooooo glad I acted on impulse and walked into that office last term!


While I'm gratuitously patting myself on the back, I might as well mention my writing efforts elsewhere. Here's the cover of the latest Parenting Magazine, and there's my article in the big blue writing: "Encouraging Independence". Yep, that's me. Writing about how to get your kids to do stuff for themselves so you can put your feet up and spend longer reading/doing DIY/planning parties. Haha. Seriously, it's a great parenting strategy! I wrote in brief on the same topic for the parenting website Mothering from Scratch, where I am a "MOMtor" (regular contributor): "Teaching Kids Independence". It's a survival technique.

Right. So now I have spent way too long on this post and I'm gonna run out of time to bake muffins with Scrag for our after-school visitors, so in brief:

The football World Cup in Brazil has got us up early, biting our nails, rooting for our team (England). See that box of tissues on the coffee table? Yep, we needed them.


Bye, bye England. Uruguay knocked them out. Sniff sniff. It's a valuable life lesson in dealing with disappointment, I guess. Poor Dash. His dad has had a lifetime of practise (getting his hopes up every World Cup only to have them dashed), so he can sympathise and give you some pointers. Just as well we have a life outside football, aye guys? 


In general apart from an increased level of muzzy-headedness and general confusion, life goes on in its usual circus-like fashion. This is how my dear daughter turned up to school the other day. Ha.
She's a clown, alright.

Anyway, best get off here and get baking.
Have a great weekend.
xxx