Bleeding Love...

Last night was great.  A 'proper' Rock Choir concert - with a paying audience, interval and refreshments!  We really know how to put on a show...
I'd been stupidly nervous beforehand.  Lots of loved ones in the audience and so many moves to remember.  I was downing the Rescue Remedy like there was no tomorrow. Not sure if it helped but it was either that or take up smoking.
Today's been a bit flat.  An anti-climax.  All those rehearsals, all that preparation and then, before you know it, it's over. I want to do it all again tonight and properly enjoy it this time.  It reminded me a bit of my acting days (way back when) except that last night we actually had an audience.  A three week run of Much Ado About Nothing up at the Edinburgh Festival was a fantastic experience all those years ago but performing three unabridged hours of Shakespeare to less people than there were cast members on a daily basis was a tad demoralising.  We kind of gave up a week in and ended up cancelling more performances that we actually gave.  I don't think we minded too much. We were young, permanently hung over and too busy checking out the latest up and coming comedy talent whilst downing cider out of plastic cups to waste too much time worrying about our own lack of theatrical success.
Last night's gig was for charity which made it feel particuarly special. I've been lucky enough to benefit from the support of Home-Start over the last few years and had prepared a five minute talk. It went okay, I think, though having my nearest and dearest taking up the entire front row didn't do much to steady my nerves.
I'd been worrying all week that my emotions would get the better of me. That sharing my 'story' in front of so many would have me blubbing into the microphone and leave the audience mortified, cringing and busying themselves with their mobile phones, not knowing where to look.
I was also fretting about the giant cold sore which had erupted on the corner of my lip earlier in the week and had started bleeding yesterday lunchtime. What spectacular timing.  The thought of pouring my heart out to three hundred strangers with blood dripping down my chin wasn't really helping my pre-performance mood.
I think I held it together. Just.  Had a bit of an out of body experience and actually felt strangely detached from the words I was reading which was probably no bad thing. And, I'm delighted to say, there was no blood. Yay. Talk over, I scuttled back to my place in the choir and the second half began.  'Anytime You Need A Friend', 'True Colours' and 'Proud'. We did good. There was a sprinkling of magic in the room last night and it felt great.  Long live Rock Choir.  And three cheers for super strength cold sore cream. 

It's never too late to try...

There has to be a way to make bedtime less torturous.  Ella, Louis and Theo's that is - not mine.  I can be upstairs, in my pyjamas with nice, clean teeth, an empty bladder and the light off in minutes.  I don't mess around and I rarely need a bedtime story.  Even getting Jake settled is plain sailing these days.
To say that my three three year olds mess around is the understatement of the year.  And I do not deal with it very well at all. It's a horrible way to end the day.  None of the picture book moments you'd imagine.  Just an old shrew screeching, threatening and occasionally weeping as she falls for the same tricks night after night and finds herself dancing to the merry little tune of three monkeys who are having an absolute bloody blast. I simply don't have the energy to stand up to them.  Theo refuses to clean his teeth? I let it go.  Louis wants to sleep in his t-shirt and vest?  Whatever.  Twelve long hours after the day began I am spent and would probably give them a Chunky Kit- Kat and a can of Coke each if I thought it would speed things up a bit. 
And they always save the best for last.  All finally in their beds, stories read, pull-ups on, dummies at hand and for Mr Louis his duvet postitioned just so, I kiss them goodnight, turn the light off and shut the door.
And then it's last orders. Milk and water. Despite having spent the last hour refusing repeated offers of both they now all seem to have suddenly developed an unquenchable thirst.  I dutifully bring up a cup of each and walk around the room back and forth between their beds. Back and forth. In circles. For ages. A sip of milk for Ella and then some water for Louis.  Oh and now Ella would like some water and Louis some milk.  What's that you say, Theo?  Milk and water?  It's the part of the evening that very nearly breaks me.  And don't they know it. 
I must look so unpleasant to the three of them.  Scowling and pinched.  Even the very last kisses and cuddles aren't given with much genuine warmth by this point.
We're learning 'Proud' at choir this term. It's a great song to sing. Truly uplifting.  (Even if it is virtually impossible to get Miranda's version out of my head)  But as I gave it my all at last week's rehearsal and attempted to put some real emotion into the words I felt a bit sick as we all hit the chorus. 'What have you done today to make you feel proud?'  Er, not much.  Just moaned and nagged and didn't appreciate for a single minute how incredibly bloody lucky I am to share my world with these three.  I just wish they'd cut me the tiniest bit of slack at bedtime...

Nothing on the telly so...

It's been a good few weeks. Calm and constant with the only dramas being the ones that occur inside my head, me being the worrier and over analyser that I am.  The three little monkeys seem happy and settled, Jake sunnier than he's been in a long while and I've found myself looking at my four thinking yep, we're doing okay, we're coping, we're managing - sometimes fantastically sometimes by the skin of our teeth and isn't it just great to be able to say that after all we've been through. Three cheers, about bloody time, hip hip horaay etc etc...
So, we've just been getting on with things.  The five of us. And I have to confess that I feel a little reluctant to make any changes to the current status quo. I'm not too keen on our boat being rocked. Very selfish of me, I know.  But I've been feeling a little primal, like a tigeress protecting her cubs (I did just mention my dramatic tendancies). 
What's hard is separating my desires from the childrens.  Remembering that they have a whole different set of wants and needs to mine. The tricky thing is I no longer seem able to suppress my own feelings to the point where they make me ill.  Been there, done that and would really rather not have to learn that particular lesson again. Does that make me the worst mother ever?
The fact is I'm starting to quite like life again. The levels of stress and conflict that, not so long ago, were the norm now feel so intolerable that I can barely stand more than a few minutes of tummy twisting tension in any circumstances.  I've become allergic to situations that don't feel right and just can't seem to turn a blind eye to them anymore.  Of course, for me as an individual, this is a good thing. But what about the children?  Maybe I should just put all of my uncomfortable emotions in a tightly sealed container and focus on what's best for them?  How do I create a situation that's best for all of us?  What is best for all of us?!  Wow. So many questions for a Saturday night. Where's a nice, brain numbing episdoe of  X-Factor when you need one?

Not just climbing trees...

One minute you're looking at your soon to be ten year old in his novelty jim jams giggling his head off as Miranda has another slap stick comedy moment and the next you're facing your first parental experience of boys and boobs and not sure what the hell to do.  I generally love it when Jake has friends to stay.  I like hearing the giggles, the whispers at bed time and am a total pushover when it comes to leaving them to it and letting them over indulge with treats and silly movies.  Last night changed things a bit.  Three nine and ten year olds in a room together.  Surely, it's still secret dens and football talk?  Match Attax and Moshi Monsters ? Apparently not.
It seems that with one or two members of the gang a little er.. curiousity has kicked in. Nothing terrifying, nothing that's going to turn me or any other mum grey overnight but I have had a jolt, a mini wake up call and have been left questioning how to proceed.
Last night was one of those occasions when I really, really could have done with a partner to take over. For a father and son chat to take place rather than my blatantly clumsy attempts at handling a rather awkward situation. But I did my best and the boys were fine.  The evening went on, the giggles and whispering eventually subsided and I'm sure the sugar induced dreams they all had, lying squashed and sprawled, were innocent and age appropriate. 
It's made me think, though.  We're fast approaching a whole new phase.  Adolescence, hormones and closed bedroom doors. Wish I could press the pause button and keep my baby nine forever.  Or at least until I've worked out how I'm going to handle all this 'stuff'.
Anyone got an up to date rule book going spare?  Used copies perfectly acceptable...

Homework hell...

Dear Miss J,
Please can you give Jake's homework directly to me from now on.  We all know the truth.  Let's stop the pretence, the smoke and mirrors and just tell it like it is.
I think you'll be very pleased with my, er Jake's poster on 'the gases around us'.  Did you know that air is the most common gas and that the air in my, er- sorry, Jake's bedroom weighs about fifty kg?  Did you like my drawing of a helium balloon and the picture of a can of coke - fizzy drinks contains carbon dioxide in case you didn't know. 
I got a bit stuck on  maths this week.  Had to get the calculator out a few times.  That's cheating, right?  Sorry, miss...I'll try harder next time.  You see miss, we're all so tired after a long day at work/school/home and the nights are dark and Ella, Louis and Theo are so noisy and disruptive and by the time they settle in bed it's quarter to eight and I can't think straight and neither can Jake.  And it just feels really tough to have to start on an hour's homework when all we really want to do is bask in the silence, have a bit of pleasant one on one time without having to fall out over impossible fractions and decimal points.
The thing is Miss J, Jake's nine.  A typical nine year old boy. He's a bright but probably could do better.  He's easily distracted, fidgety and hasn't really found his 'thing' yet.  He wants to be out playing with his mates in the den they've made round the corner.   It saddens me to say that I've never had to tell him off for reading late into the night with a torch under the duvet.  He's not like his cousins who spend every spare moment at dance classes, winning scholerships and trophies and yet still manage to come top of the class.
I worry about him.  I've already labelled him a bit, isn't that awful?  My darling, clever, bright, funny boy who's just nine and can name every flag in the world and who knows more about sharks and wildlife than anyone I know struggles with his homework, has really scruffy writing and can't seem to get his head around full stops and commas. 
So I think I'm going to step aside for a bit, just as far as homework is concerned.  The battles are just too painful.  And like I said, he's only nine.
Thanks for listening (I think you're brilliant, by the way).
Jake's Mum.

The list.

Jake's upstairs cleaning his teeth.  I'm down in the living room at the computer.
'Mummy?'
'Yes Jake?'
'I know the answer to this but is toothpaste liquid, solid or gas?'
 I pause and take a shot in the dark.
'Er, solid?' I was always bloody awful at Science.
'Yes, mummy.  That's right.' His tone was so full of approval that I half expected him to come downstairs, pat me on the head and give me a gold star.
Phew.  Nice to get something right for a change.
I'm trying, really trying to restore some kind of order back into our muddled lives. To reclaim some kind of leadership - to be the one steering the ship even if half the time it feels like it's sinking.  I seriously need to work on my self esteem when it comes to my role as a mum.
Over Christmas I vented to a wonderful friend. One I haven't known very long and would love to see more often.
'It's all so hard,' I whined. 
''Everything I do is wrong,'  I whimpered.  We talked about parenting and how children react to the moods of the adults around them.  She talked with great compassion and sensitivity and suggested some ways of doing things differently. I really appreciated the chat.
And then, a few days later a parcel arrived.  Inside was a laminated and framed list with a scribbled note accompanying it  - 'This came to me as I was driving home thinking about our conversation...'
I got goosebumbs as I read:

Our Family Rules

Please don't criticse, I am doing my best.
 
Please offer your help, we are all in this together.
 
Please be kind, peaceful and caring with your words.

Remember the most important thing is always to observe, not judge, with love and acceptance, to act from love and to give love always...

The list went on and then ended with 'And life really is meant to be FUN!' 

I was touched beyond words and felt incredibly grateful. What a lovely thing to have done.  I thought about where to hang the list. In the hall for all to see?  Maybe in Jake's room so that he could absorb the words and follow their sentiment.  And then I realised.  Who really needed to read, absorb and follow the 'rules'on the list?  Me.
I'm the one who needs to stop criticising and remember that my four little people are doing their best in every moment, even if it doesn't always seem that way.
I'm the one who often forgets that we're all in this together, that we're a team.
I'm the one who isn't always kind, who shouts too loudly and says hurtful things.
And I'm definitely the one who's forgotten that life is meant to be FUN. 
The list is by my bed for now and I'm reading it every day.

In the words of Mary J...

And normal service is resumed.  Thank the lord.  First day of term for my four, first day of recovery for me.
They had a good Christmas, Papa joined us and it was fine, new toys were pieced together and then promptly broken or discarded and I could usually be found in a small dark corner of the kitchen dipping yet another piece of festive shortbread into yet another cup of tea. It was either that or take up lunchtime drinking.  The days were long. God, they were long.
We managed to move on from tellygate though I couldn't help but keep reminding poor Louis just how naughty he'd been and how if anyone ever dared throw anything at the TV ever again then that would be IT.  Quite what IT was I'm not sure but I spoke with total conviction and the children seemed a tiny bit afraid which gave me a tiny bit of pleasure.  I'm kidding..a tiny bit.
And New Year's Eve was lovely.  An evening with the best of friends and not too much time spent on the melancholy thoughts that can often take hold as Jool's starts the ten, nine, eight...
I've decided that 2013 will be a good year.  A strong year.  A little less strain and struggle and a few more oohs and aahs.  Why shouldn't it be a good year?  Okay so I'll still be permanently knackered, my children will no doubt continue to run rings around me and I'm sure there will be challenges every now and again but if it's okay with you world, not like before.
It would be very much appreciated if life could be really good for a bit.  And if it can't be really good  then I'll happily settle for it being a bit dull.  Boring even.  Anything other than drama and crisis. Goodbye adrenaline, farewell fight or flight, you're SO last year...