Just getting up

Miss maybe

Somedays my boys it's hard to get up. It's just hard to get up and out of bed.

I'm slowing weaning myself off of the steroids I have been on for pain relief. I am switching it up a little and giving this body (and swollen face) a break, but the process is draining, and sleep inducing (hello sleeping until noon everyday!) and Daddy is carrying the load more than ever, and you three seem fine with a mummy who mumbles in response to questions hurled at her from 7am.

I wonder today if you have begun to see this as normal, this pattern of a mama in bed all morning as you race to find school uniforms, hats, communication books and shoes. Always shoes. Doesn't matter how organised I try to be the night before it's always those pesky shoes that can't find their partner in crime in time for you to race out the door.

The 'pink slip' constantly chases us these days - a reminder that there's some level of disfunction present in the mornings. But I've always thought those pink slips are a slap on the wrist for the parent. How responsible for getting to school on time can a year 1 & year 2 child really be?

I don't like that thought. Not the pink slip so much, but the thought that you three littles would think I don't want to be in the mix of getting you sorted in the mornings, being the keeper of milk jugs overflowing into cereal bowls piled way too high, and hair that's doing a crazy cocky thing at the back, teeth needing to be brushed, notes signed, dishes packed tightly into that dishwasher. All of it.

But I don't do any of it.

So I sleep on (well, if you count sleeping as being asked by Soul repeatedly where 'teddy has gone away' or you two older ones asking if it's an OSCH day or can you have ice block money?) in that dreamy way, with breakfast in bed bought in (thank you thank you Huz) along with hot water bottles and heat packs to dampen the morning aches until the myriad of medications I have downed with orange juice kicks in.

And I have my phone next to me playing songs that will soften the waking up: music to my soul. It's good.

So it's not the way I planned it. You know, planned the whole, 'I'm the mama and you three are my littles, and here is my guy next to me and here we all are doing life together' plan. And it's not going to plan. But then, what has? There are so very many ideas and plans and hopes and vague thoughts that have catapulted through my mind over the years, and rarely has any of them gone 'to plan'. The 'to plan' I come up with sometimes has mirrored reality, but more times than not I've been glad when what has actually happened has been better than my original plan.

This time not so much.

But then, in the mix of all the yuck, here you three are, and that's amazing and excellent, and Soul you are the cherry on the pie, the added bonus, and Daddy will tell you all about that down the track. And so, all up, it's ok. The mornings are hard, and yuck, and I want to be 'more' for you than I can be in lots of ways right now. Can you understand that chooks? Can you wrap your minds around that?

True, you are brilliant at understanding beyond your years. You extend love beyond what I can imagine seven year olds often do. I'm so thankful. In years to come, you three littles can know that in the middle of the messy mess, you guys have been some of the best, yummiest, most authentic, unpredictable, welcome comfort I've ever received.

Thanks my littles.

So I'm sorry my babies that this snapshot of our day is not normal. It's not what I thought the 'good story' would be. It's not the way I planned it.

I'm determined though to see beauty, hunt it down and gather it to myself. Because there just has to be beauty in all of this mess. Call me the beauty hunter if you will. (you know what I'm talking about Aunty L - you're my inspiration) Because if it has to be like this, if Jesus has called this the 'good story' for me then I'm in. I'm diving in.

And the beauty I see is you three lovelies with your sweet sweet eyes and hearts gathering to my bedside when I can't come to yours, and who's kidding, because you guys get up waaayyyyy before me anyway don't you True - you early bird you - and I get to pull you up and snuggle you under my warm covers and ask you about your dreams, 'were they good dreams Brave?' and then you can tell me everything that you can think of before racing off with your brothers.

I get to not have to govern the extreme use of Oatflakes and determine who is deserving of a second helping of Weetbix, so there's a plus right there. Don't know that I would have gone to the extreme of having stage four cancer to avoid it, but there it is. Hunting the beauty.

And you are all off at your places. We all have our places to be today. And I'm glad thinking I will see you in a few hours and get to hear all your news as you do our secret knock on the front door so I know it's you. And I get to knock back cos that's our thing, and then there is the outpouring of cuddles and news and often a new rock or two ('for the collection mum') and it's all on then, and you three are glad to be home, glad to be next to my side.

I feel it too. We belong together you littles and I.

Waiting for your knock! 

 

Robyn W

Oh my gosh,how absolutely,beautifully written!!!! I have tears in my eyes!! I really wish that I could take your stage 4 cancer from you .Arent children beautiful in their acceptance of whatever happens? I foster children,and time after time I think to myself that they don't deserve what they have to go through.But children are resilient,and they can be taught EVERYTHING they need to know for life,in those early ,precious years.You are so in touch with your children,and those small important things,like climbing under the covers:):) Your children are lucky to have a Mum with such insight.I look forward to reading more of your posts:):) All the best to you.Big hugxoxRobyn

TonyaM

What a beautiful blog- you write so well that I feel like I'm at your place in the morning.I can also 'feel'the wonderful love that you and your children share.It is surely the simple, daily family life that we cherish. Sending hugs,Tonya xx