To my gorgeous boys

I am without you all today, all day, for the first time in as long as I can remember.  And I will be without you again tomorrow and every Thursday and Friday to follow.  This is a watershed for us as I regain some of the time I have devoted to you over the last (almost) eight years.  ‘You won’t know yourself’, everyone told me, and so I don’t.  But it is not entirely as they might have meant; I am not jumping for joy and celebrating my ‘freedom’.  I am trying to quietly assess how it is I feel without a sticky little hand in mine while I narrate our day and respond to every excited shout about dogs, cool cars, massive film adverts on the side of buses and fielding every plaintive request for sweeties or chocolate, until I give in after you turn your big eyes on me and ask why I am allowed a skimmed mocha – EVERY DAY!

In a very real sense I don’t know myself.  This year, during my precious two days a week I am going to find out who I have become since you have been around – who is under the layers of mother, wife, cook, cleaner, seamstress (not often I know), chauffeur, medic, negotiator, teacher, friend.  You have made me all these things, you have made me a better person, a bigger person, you have all taught me so much.  And we’ve only just begun really.

This past week we have had so many firsts; pre-school, big school, cricket, swimming gala, and you have all three taken each in your stride with such confidence and a can-do attitude – even if that has been after a little wobble.

Despite you, Edward greeting me at the end of your wonderful day at pre-school with tears in your eyes, belying your outer confidence, I know it is the right place for you to be.  You will bring beautiful friends into our family life and create memories you will cherish.  This marks the apron strings just beginning to fray, an infinitesimal movement away and I cherish sharing it with you, hard sometimes though it is to see my baby with such growing independence.  This morning you took in a stick which had, in your imagination, become a boomerang and you proudly shared this vision with your teachers.  You reminded me that our imagination is the starting point for everything important we undertake.  This is how I learn from you.

Sam, you have faced the start of your school career in your usual beautifully relaxed way.  Your honesty about your nerves before starting was humbling, as adults so often find it hard to admit how they really feel, putting on a front to show to the world how strong they are.  With you there is no artifice, you love – and battle when necessary – with such intensity.  And your kindness, your incredible kindness.  On Tuesday when you brought some beautiful kindy pictures home, your brother (smaller) scrumpled one up, upsetting you terribly.  I hauled him over the coals and left him to stew on the piano stool until suppertime.  Next thing, there you were sitting on the floor beside him reading stories, having brought him his teddies for comfort.  When I asked if you were no longer upset, you said sincerely, “It’s ok Mummy, I’ve got three more.”  That is generosity my darling, you will seldom see amongst us old lot, we find it hard to forgive, holding onto grudges and allowing bitterness and pride to swallow us up if we’re not careful.  This is how I learn from you.

William, my precious eldest, you are such a superstar.  You are taking care of your little brother at school, allowing him to join in your games, making sure he is finding his way.  On Tuesday it was the swimming gala, in which you were allowed to participate for the first time, being a big year two boy.  After great excitement the night before, on Tuesday morning the butterflies got the better of you and your slight apprehension turned to terror and a determination not to even go, let alone swim.  Once we established this was impossible you grudgingly went to school and I have no idea what went on in your mind between nine o’clock and ten o’clock but when I found you, (having done a mad dash to buy you some speedos, sorry, useless) sitting in the stands you had a swimming cap on your head and a gleam in your eye while you told me excitedly you were going to do the 50m freestyle.  Having not had a swimming lesson since you were about ten months old and little – let’s face it, no – knowledge of stroke technique I tried to talk you out of it.  25 meters was enough I said, that was all most people in the year would be doing.  But there was absolutely no talking you out of it and as Miss N called the race, up you jumped.  I apologise if I made a spectacle of myself walking alongside as you valiantly slogged through the water.  The lifeguard was trying to decide whether to be concerned or not so I gave him my best Paddington stare that said ‘just try it’.  I have never been as proud of you as I was the moment you touched the end of that pool and looked at me in triumph and exhaustion – that is until you did it all over again an hour later in the breaststroke!  Where that confidence came from I have no idea, I’m afraid I don’t think you get it from me.  But wherever, the important thing is that you try your hardest never lose it.  A beautiful friend sent me a message on Tuesday evening in which she called you fearless and brave.  This is how I learn from you.

We are on our own for a bit while your Daddy is being strong a long way away.  He is, as I am, inordinately proud of you and misses you dreadfully but he will be back soon and you will have such stories to share.  Your adaptability and resilience astound me.  I wish I could tell you life is easy; it isn’t.  If I was to choose attributes to help navigate the path they would be fearlessness, kindness, generosity, confidence, and bravery. You all possess each in spades.  You astonish me anew every day, and infuriate me anew every day.  I wouldn’t change a thing.

All my love always,

Mummy

First day!

The not-so-naughty corner.

The big swim.

It is 4.41am and I have admitted defeat; no more sleep for me tonight.  It is hard being here on the edge of the world waiting to hear from various people in various different time-zones, some of whom I may be being unrealistic about in the first place.  One who I will hear from is my other half who, for family reasons is in Africa for a time (only a measly eight hours behind us, easy compared to the 18 I am struggling with in order to speak to an American expert for an article due on Tuesday….).  And what a time for him to be away with two school starts, two deadlines hanging over me and, so far, two lost teeth – both of which I’m pleased to say were wobbly!  I jokingly told someone that the second one had come out unexpectedly (it had actually) as the result of a punch from the big brother – and was quite mortified when they believed me, what does this say about us?  Actually anyone who knows us would know it would have been the younger brother!  The tooth fairy has managed to make it two nights in a row though, with glitter and everything – helps to balance out the punches!

Two very unfortunate things I have been left with are the registration of the boys for their winter sports choices and this week’s ‘Council clean-up’, a service offered here twice a year in which you chuck all your broken tat onto the street and it is taken away with the rubbish (what is left that is, after the utes have cruised round at 2am, their owners taking anything even remotely salvageable).  We have a lot of broken tat including a set of outdoor shelves that feel like they are made of lead.  Despite Mr Strong’s best efforts to make a wheelbarrow out of an old broken bin there is no way I can move them.  I could ask a neighbour but the average age in the street is about 75 and I couldn’t be held responsible for any misadventure.  The tat will have to wait.  As for the sports, I can’t get a straight answer about who wants to do what and whether Mr Strong is planning on coaching one or both or any team this season.  I think I’ll sign them all up for gymnastics.

I have friends whose husbands travel far and wide, and often too.  I’m sure it’s not uncommon in any major city to hear mums refer to themselves as ‘practically a single parent’.  I wouldn’t much like all that time apart but for a short while it seems to be having the effect of pulling us together.  The boys are committed, so far, to their role of ‘looking after Mummy’, while it’s making me sharpen my focus as I sharpen the pencils.  I’m sure the enforced abstinence helps (sorry Mum, I know I promised not to talk about wine – that’s just a tiny observation) as does the raft of newness on which we are travelling.  I have one final day on our own with my gorgeous middle boy before he starts school on Monday and those apron strings begin to fray a tiny bit.

I’ve come to realise it is too easy to assume that subsequent children will just cruise along on the jet-stream of their siblings.  Some will and some won’t.  I only fully realised a couple of weeks ago that the unusual behaviour we were seeing was due in a large part to this coming watershed.  I have no doubt that once reached, and undergone, we will settle into the next stage with seeming ease.  I will have my first mid-week child-free days in seven and a half years which I am in equal parts dreading and looking forward to (well, alright, when the messages about coffees and lunches are flying I will admit to the balance being slightly in favour of the latter….).  I am realising though that a little space can have a positive effect, not least the reduction in washing, cooking of different meals (fish and chips all round then?), not having to share the bag of mini flakes as the words refuse to flow…yes, definite benefits, if only for a while.

Oh dear.  Moving house in eight days, a husband on another continent who is claiming non-communication due to loss of phone charger, 37 degrees with no air-con and only one working fan, a school project due tomorrow to build as high a tower as possible using only 50 straws and sellotape (which, at the moment makes the Leaning Tower of Pisa positively vertical), a ‘crazy’ themed costume to come up with for tomorrow and I have had a MAJOR sense of humour failure.

The thought of packing up our small house after five years didn’t faze me in the slightest.  I was so utterly thrilled to be moving that the actual logistics of doing so didn’t even cross my mind and then, when I did think about it it was with a keenness to undertake a massive cull, the requirement for which has been like the proverbial albatross.  Talk about underestimation… The amount of utter rubbish we seem to have accumulated is absurd.  Happy Meal toys in triplicate anyone?  Baby clothes, blankets, toys – just in case.  I’m worried I might be done for loitering in the lane behind the local charity shop at this rate.  And I haven’t even dared tackle my dressing table where you will find a box of teeth in the bottom drawer – please someone tell me, what do I do with them?

Nor have I sorted through my stationary crate containing, among other useless items, recycled wrapping paper (which, when I come to use it seems curiously more crumpled than when it went in), odds and sods of ribbon (most too short to go around any parcel), cuttings (cuttings get everywhere) and an awful lot of cards.  I have a thing for cards, and seem to buy many when in an interesting frame of mind (still life shots of stones and dodgy adult humour seem to feature heavily) or as ‘just in casers’.  Many are now missing their envelope due to pilfering for permission slips – poor William would win the prize for most interesting envelope every time – he’s had hot pink, Cath Kidston spots and, to his eternal shame, one with baby footprints on it (that was to pay for the bloody band pizza lunch he couldn’t possibly miss!).  But still they remain, maintaining my minute portion of the house that no-one else is interested in.

But I digress, (as usual).  There are apparently people –some of my good friends in fact, who are not hoarders (I should ask them what to do with the bloody teeth) and I want to know, WHY NOT?  Funnily enough, if my the person I’m thinking of is representative, they are also efficient, reliable, highly organised and absolutely on the ball.  All the things I’m not.  So, channelling ‘Monica’, I am trying to make ruthless my middle name…

OUT

Lego Head sorter

I was desperate to buy one of these as soon as I saw them.  And more desperate to give it away once we had.  The original Lego head, massive but still cute!  It spent its entire tenure with us in bits, no-one got the sorting part, the top two layers were simply an impediment to the bottom layer where all the cool bits lived. I love Lego in all its glory but they must have road-tested this add-on on very organised, disciplined children which, sadly, mine are not…

Having admitted defeat, I am expecting smugness in the extreme from Him Indoors who, on the arrival of the Lego Head questioned its longevity.  I think he gave it six months.  It’s now been almost a year so it’s a win:win for me – I won the longevity challenge and I’m also, thank god, rid of the bloody thing.

 Baby clothes etc.

Kept just in case.  There is no just in case – full stop.

Magazines

A huge pile that got left too close to the edge of the verandah to miss the storm I didn’t realise was forecast.  Gutted, Red mags dating back to 2007, crucial for work purposes – or something…

STAYING

Gran’s fish slice

This fish slice was once the victim of a dreadful heist that might have had cataclysmic effects on my relationship with my brother when he and two p***ed friends nicked it from my flat in Edinburgh and left it on top of an air-con unit outside the pub we all went to.  WHY?  Of course they hadn’t a clue it was of such importance, they simply made an error in choice of utensil.  When I use it I like to remember the delicious eggs we had for breakfast when staying with Gran and Grandpa,  after our Grape Nuts – who remembers those?

Pottery fish spoon rest

I can remember buying this with a dear friend in a kitchen and home shop called Studio 1 in Edinburgh.  We bought one each (to use as ashtrays I think) and it has now, for almost 20 years, through thick and thin in nine flats and houses been beside my cooker to catch those messy bits off the spoon.

Driftwood duck (no photo as it’s packed)

An gorgeous piece of driftwood damaged by fire at one end but with such a distinctive ‘face’.   William found it at Chinamans Beach last year and it now takes pride of place above a mantelpiece.  Should I have it treated in case of international travel?  Though if I don’t perhaps we might get a slot on Border Security or some such excitement?

Myriad beautiful paintings and drawing by the boys

Self portrait with butterflies by Sam October 2013

Is it only me who keeps so many?  The recycled ‘craft’ I can live without but watching their imaginations come to life on paper I just love.  I have framed a couple and I have to say having them on our walls makes me ten times as happy as some commercially produced picture would.  One day I’ll put together a gallery of happiness!

I truly understand now why moving house is said to be one of the most stressful events in life.  Although I have three friends who have all moved (one twice in a matter of months) recently and outwardly they appeared quite normal throughout the process, far from the deranged individual I feel like I’ve become, maniacally packing yet seeming to still be in the middle of a sea of flotsam.  I’d just like to acknowledge my Mum here too who, last year, moved herself and my Dad to a cottage up the back road (where they lived when first married) after 35 years in the farmhouse.  That is seven times as long as we’ve been here.  I think 7 times the stuff would just about finish me.  Hats off Mum!

That’s it, I’ve have had my little writing fix, back to the boxes.

Anti-poverty march 2005.  Andrew’s first..

Do as you would be done by.  The Golden Rule.  It was my Mum’s mantra when we were little and it is the one piece of advice I will never tire of giving to my children.  It seems to satisfy their beautiful logic, their natural instinct of course being retaliation which is the other side of the coin.  The determination to avenge themselves seizes the boys suddenly and often, always for something vitally important of course, such as:

‘Three weeks ago on Tuesday I was playing with [the car/particular trash pack/very particular block of lego] and left it there (particular spot on the floor – no, I know our house doesn’t come out of this well) and I was going to come back and play with it but now HE has taaakennnn it and I am going to KIIILLLLL HIIMMMM….

This usually has me rolling my eyes and muttering ‘give me strength…’ while the moment passes but some occasions warrant a sitting down of participants and a stern talking to.  Here The Golden Rule will be utilised.  “How would you like it….” Etc.  I consider the development of the boy’s kind, empathetic selves to be one of, if not the, most vital part of my mothering career.  In fact, if I do not turn out considerate, compassionate individuals I will feel I have failed.  In today’s non-stop, access-all-areas world, I think small (or big) acts of kindness and compassion are paramount to living a more balanced and satisfying life (as per The Golden Rule).

I believe kindness is inherent in us all.  When coupled with a child’s logic set against a backdrop of grown-up knowledge it can be heartbreaking.  Once in Nairobi we were in the car when we were approached first of all by the usual hawkers and when we moved on a little by a group of street children, hands outstretched, hunger showing in every ounce of their skinny selves.   Some of them looked about William’s age (five then).  The traffic was moving slowly which meant they drifted along beside us, patiently hoping.  Our boys asked us what they wanted so we told them, money for food.  At this William excitedly said, “You’ve got money there Mum, in the front, let’s give it to them.”  Much pointing and jiggling up and down went with this easy solution (if you can call a few hundred Shillings a solution), but we had to let him down.  We had to somehow convince him that giving away some loose change would not help – but perhaps it was only selfishness talking, worrying that our car would be remembered and pounced upon ever time we went out.  For William, and I think every child, the logic is simple:  we have plenty, they have nothing, therefore if we give them something it is all fair and everyone is happy.  It is not of course that simple, but it should be.

As well as inherent kindness perhaps we all have the capacity for greed too.  As I have mentioned before, we are incredibly lucky to live in an area with access to everything we need in life.  The term ‘gilding the lily’ could have been thought up for Sydney’s Lower North Shore where often it can often feel like its citizens take their good fortune for granted.   I cannot help feeling dismayed following a recent episode which showed great ugliness within our beautiful school.  In a nutshell, a six-figure sum was raised at the annual fundraiser and the suggestion to donate a small portion of that to charity has been re-buffed.   It was put to the fundraising committee that 5% might be given to a cause such as a hospice for terminally ill children or a school in a disadvantaged area.  The idea was for it to be both an acknowledgement of the incredible generosity of parents and a lesson in altruism for the pupils.  As one mum commented ‘5% of [say] $100,000 is hardly going to take the bread off our table.’  And yet someone has pointed out that the wording of the P&C (parents and citizens) handbook stipulates that money raised on behalf of the P&C must be spent on the school.  Surely, surely we should be reading that and wondering how we might get round it, make the contribution work rather than closing it down and admitting defeat.  I am saddened beyond belief that it is considered acceptable to exhibit such greed and self-interest and by doing so imbue all of our children with those same morals.

As disappointed as I have been this week with one school so I have been delighted with the other.  Sam’s gorgeous class got talking a few months ago about people less fortunate than themselves and in the spirit of the school they were allowed the time and means necessary to explore this idea to their hearts content.  The conclusion of this exploration came last Tuesday when I had the great pleasure to help cook what felt like a billion sausages for children, parents, teachers and three representatives from The Red Cross.  The class presented a cheque for $191.25 which they had raised themselves through means such as doing chores at home, a cake stall and door knocking neighbours.  The occasion was overflowing with pride in themselves and spirit of generosity amazing in children so young.  It was humbling to watch.  Their engagement in the discussion of how the money might be used was incredibly moving; their knowledge and understanding of war, earthquakes, refugees, orphans was both overwhelming and terribly sad.  There is something about listening to your five year old son describe the fall-out from war and what can be done to help those suffering that can bring you to your knees.  What Sam meant, though he didn’t realise it, when he said “[War is] when countries fight and people get hurt and then lose their families and we have to help them find each other again” was ‘do as you would be done by’.  Amen to that, may we forever strive to instil in the next generation what appears sometimes to be missing in our own.

Hopefully the boys social conscience will emulate from here… Gorgeous inspired husband!