Happy Birthday Loulou

Fifteen yrs ago today the most wonderful, precocious, impossible and delightful little girl came into this world. She was so tiny and sweet. Little waves of soft blonde hair and the MOST PERFECT rosebud mouth you ever saw. Word in the operating theatre that day was that this little girl took her own sweet time in taking her first unassisted breath, giving all doctors and nurses a nasty scare. Defiant from her first breath.

Having had my third C-sec in a tiny country motel hospital I stayed for 7 days, cocooned in blissful safety and quiet. My sweet little baby girl slept the week away, tiny smiles flickering across her face as she dreamed of pennywhistles and moonpies.

On day 8 I came home to real life, with a 3.5 yr old (undiagnosed) aspie boy, and a sweet 20 month old little girl, just 25 yrs old myself with a husband feeling the weight of responsibility for a wife and three small children like a noose around his neck.

The new baby cried, unsettled from the rawness of real life.
The new baby cried at her brother and her sister, at her father and her mother.
She cried in her pram, in the rocker, in their arms or her cradle.
She cried before a feed, during a feed and after a feed.
She cried at new sounds, she cried at silence. she cried on movement and she cried at stillness.
She was the most angry little ball of baby I had ever, ever met.

Tiptoe-ing became a way of life. The muscles in my right arm will forever be bigger than the left due to the hours of bellydown rocking I did as I wailed on the phone to my sister and mother. The only thing that soothed her was to roll up a towel to make a speed bump on the floor, then rhythmically drive the pram over the bump, forward, then back, forward then back as she slid up and down the pram bed like a little torpedo.

Misery had a new sherriff and she was shooting from both barrels until she felt independant. She was commando crawling at 3 months, screeching at everyone and determined to have her way. By six months she was on her hands and knees chasing everyone. THANK GOD. Those first six months are still like the abyss of hell. I don't know how we all emerged from that still intact.

My baby girl turns 15 today.

She has grown into a hilarious, beautiful, smart and loving girl. She still has a temper that can strip paint when it gets going, and her "It's not Fair" radar is hyper-alert. she is still fiercely independant and protective of herself and her family. She has many friends, does well at school, can make me laugh like no-one else and is the beating of my heart each day.

Happy birthday sweet girl xx

The Things You Do For Love

June 2010 - A Button Bliss File :

Today started out quite normal - I got the kids up, coffee in hand and started the morning drill - "Eat your breakfast, clean your teeth, brush your hair, find your homework, did you clean your teeth?? Go and clean your teeth...."
Miss A  went to make sure her two mousies were happy, with food and water.  
She came back bawling her eyes out. "They're dead!" She was so upset and sad, decided she must have fed them something bad. You know that feeling as a Mum when your heart just breaks seeing your child so distressed. 
We sat and cuddled and I promised to bury them somewhere safe, and that we would find a nice little plant to put on top (always fraught with danger given my lack of gardening prowess). I asked her to bring their little cage out to me. 
There I sat as the kids got ready, with Miss A hiccupping and trying to un-puff her eyes. The little pink cage was on my lap in front of me with two little furry bodies, with wood chips scattered on them. I thought it just wasn't right to leave them like that til we buried them so I reached in to brush the woodchips away. As I moved them , a little tail kind of ....wiggled. Not much but a movement. I poked gently at the other mouse and the tail moved slightly. I swear I wasn't even breathing !
I picked them up and their little feet wriggled. They were soooooo cold. She had left them in the laundry overnight on cold tiles, and it was below zero here last night.
I didn't want Miss A to get her hopes up. I got the wheat heat pack and warmed it up. I sat cupping my hands over them, lying on the heat pack, and little noses stared twitching.
I called Miss A and we sat watching her lovely little mousies come back to life. As they warmed up eyes popped open and whiskers wiggled. It was so exciting and happy, and crazy.

Miss A has gone off to school grinning from ear to ear. Mousies are now safely wrapped in a woollen sock in their cage in a warm spot. They've eaten and walked around, I never thought I'd be so happy to see them running about. So now you may all call me "the mouse whisperer".


Hope you are all happy and WARM where ever you are, I'm off to check on those precious little mousies again before I head off to study for a test.
Love to all furry and non-furry friends,
Lisa
x-x-x

Flashback Friday - FOUR

Flashback Friday.. hooking up with one of my fav. blogging babes Cathy

In my drifting, dreaming and dawdling through my photo stash this week, I came across this little flashback. Confirming once and for all that the number of 17 year old teenagers that fit comfortably in the boot of a 76-ish model Holden Gemini is.......

  Four....

Paul, Kels,  Nettie and Kyles , ... Love XXXXX

PS thanks Dad for entrusting me with your little car LOLZ!!!!!!


The crazy situations that little car has carried me through, sigh. 

... these are my baby-to-adulthood peeps. xxx

Am loving my flashbacks 

Who stole my steering wheel?

A Button Bliss File :

Up bright and early today we were, with a busy day ahead.
The older kids had walked to school and I was dropping Miss 5 off, mentally checking through all that I needed to fit into the next few hours.. buttons to be posted, a book to be collected, photocopying and pattern covers to be ordered and a study date with a nursey friend.

 Our school has a 'drive-through' drop off point at the very front of the school. It fits 3 or 4 cars at the most and at 8.45 it is prime real estate. Building works around the school means there is virtually no parking and every mother is in a queue heading for the coveted drop off.I pull up, at the very front of the Drop Off, a colourful line of 15 or so cars waiting behind. I got out and helped Miss 5 with her back pack and book bag, the "Corncob starts with C" item for the sharing table, kissed her gorgeous little face and let her walk inside. I got back in the car and .....

SOMEONE had stolen the steering wheel ! Little giggles threatened as I realised I had got into the backseat of the car and shut the door. Large giggles of hysteria started when I found that I had, as a conscientious mother, flicked the child locks on the rear doors, and was now STUCK in the back seat.

I own a very small car, which is normally perfect for me, but not an ideal size for me to squeeze my ample backside through between the front seats. LOL There was me, in peak school drop off, butt in the air, nose squished against the windscreen as I tried to get my legs to clamber through, avoiding the gear stick and trying to not break off the rear view mirror. Halfway across, puffing and panting and wondering how I find myself in these situations, giggles turned into snorts as I imagined the view all the Mums behind were getting. 

 

Finally seated in front of my steering wheel, I started the car and gracefully pulled out of the Drop zone - and tried to find some composure for the rest of the morning.

On Monday I think we will walk!

My Great Shame :Flashback Friday

It's Flash Back Friday.. Linking up with Cathy from Camera Chronicles -

You know I love you guys and I believe in being as honest as possible about my past struggles and failures.
It's time to finally confess to you my great shame.
Some of you will be confused, some very dissappointed in me.

Some may chose to unfollow me. That is okay.
I have to say that I only did it because my peers were. I followed the crowd. 
I thought it was cool. 
But it wasn't.

I am so sorry to have to tell you...
My first concert was Wa Wa Nee.

From their stone washed denim jeans, stone washed denim jackets and stone washed bleached blonde mullet  hair to their incredible dance moves ( featuring an inordinate amount of high finger clicking) this band was huge for a nano-second as I hit my teenage stride.

The event, held at a local Italian club was packed with screaming 16 yr olds all bouncing up and down in  rhythm like a bunch of Masai warriors.

I'm pretty sure I wore something stone washed and denimy ... Mainly because my Kylie Monogue inspired three tier bubble skirt made my arse look like... well, a giant bubble as it would happen!

The support act was Diesel, back when he was called Johnny Diesel and had a full head of hair, I wished I'd taken more notice because as it turns out .. he was the one with talent.

Flashback Friday - you know the words - sing along ... 

Not Outraged.

This morning a radio and tv personality admitted that she has been smoking while pregnant.
The social media storm that has ensued has, predictably, been an expression of outrage, horror, judgment and with occasional mentions of support. Much has been made of whether she can be viewed as healthy role model, whether she deserves this child, how could she......!

A few weeks ago a tv personality made some ill-thought out and frankly stupid comments about breastfeeding in public and the backlash via social media was fast and fierce. The stern talking to that I'm sure he got from his TV stations legal team would pale in comparison with the absolute flogging that his character got on twitter, facebook and blogs. There have been rallies, "nurse-in's", calls for him to be sacked......

During the great breastfeeding debate (yes this debate, not one of the millions of other debates that have taken place since the first time someone made a bottle and shoved a teat on the end of it as an alternative), I commented on twitter that although I didn't think he was correct, I was not 'outraged.'
In response I was promptly unfollowed by 10 people, called complacent, lazy, a woman-hater, an enabler,  as well as called a very rude name starting with C by one charming Mummy.

The fact is, we are so pummelled with things to be outraged by, it's really hard to know where to place your energy. It's so easy to jump on every bandwagon rolling by and start screaming but it is also exhausting to be so filled with anger all the time.

Yep, I'm all for breastfeeding if that's what you want to do, and you should be able to do it sitting on top of the flagpole at Parliament House if that is what floats your boat. But I am not outraged by this mans comments. He is a middle aged bloke sitting on a couch, well past his prime and his wife probably served his balls up for dinner when he got home that night. 
I don't think you should smoke during pregnancy given the information we have available. But I'm not outraged by this mornings admission. I'm sure every time this little baby coughs, wheezes or looks even slightly out of breath this Mummy will have a massive guilt trip.

I AM outraged that business criminals, tax evaders and common law breakers are given harsher jail sentences than child sex offenders. That pisses me off! I am outraged that an uncle who has systematically abused 3 toddlers over a two year period gets a nine month sentence because he's young and has a chance to reform. I'd rather live next door to a reforming tax evader thanks very much Australian justice system!!!!

I AM outraged at the widespread cruelty to animals within our meat and egg industry. I am horrified at the constant pictures and stories that come into my news feed. They can't be unseen and they break my heart. It is sickening what we as humans can turn a blind eye to in order to get a cheap piece of meat.

I AM outraged that the Australian government gives itself a happy pat on the back and a pay rise each year and yet still has not addressed the chronic shortage of respite and long-term care for the thousands of people at home caring for their disabled loved ones. I am outraged they can justify even one trip out of the nation, with personal stylists, swanky dinners, top notch accommodation and transport when so many people are living below the poverty line in our country. When so many carers are told there are no funds to help you. That really pisses me off. 

So no, I'm not really outraged by a woman who has made a poor choice but is at least remorseful, Nor am I outraged by a middle aged man with uneducated and old fashioned views on breastfeeding. 
I'll save my outrage for those things that make my heart cry out for justice.  It's okay if my things aren't your things. It's okay if you aren't outraged by my stuff. 
But don't call me names.

The rebellious period

I am still waiting for the rebellious period.

You know, the one that all teen boys are supposed to go through. When they are all broody and secretive and just grunt at you. When they stay in their caves and only emerge for food.
I'm waiting for it because that rebellious period.. I'm told.. is what I as a parent need to experience to be ready for him to leave my safe little nest.
The stretching of the independent wings, and with it my patience, should be what readies me to gently nudge my offspring out of the cradle so to speak. 

Gorgeous image from http://hdwallpaper.ws/14956/

                                               
Except that in our case, there is no stretching...yet.

For the most part, my 18yrs 9 months old aspie boy is a kind, helpful person who is respectful to me, tells me where he is going.. In fact, if he got really silly this evening I could actually send him to bed at 6.30pm and HE WOULD GO! 

All around us, his peers are packing and preparing to leave home, whether they are heading for University or jobs far afield. I am reminded that by his age, I was living in a flat 500km away from my parents, working 5 days a week and caring for myself.
The Man I Married left home at 16 and by 18 he was a seasoned professional! He was street wise and savvy. I am not seeing much "street-wiseness" in J-man. He is delightful, but still very young in his choices and decisions.
So this week I am unsure of the path this will follow. By now he should be champing at the bit to get away from parental control, but he isn't.
He should be eager to be away from our prying all-seeing eyes, but he isn't.
He should be grunting and obnoxious, but he isn't.

I am grateful for the reprieve.
I am fearful it will never come.

Flashback Friday - 1st days of school

This week my three girls have returned to school, new classrooms, classmates and teachers. 

Normally this time of year has me on my knees with worry. The organisation that goes in to re-launching kids at school is enough.. but the effort needed to re-launch an Aspergers child into school is immense !

In the past...

After 6 weeks of worry and nerves about new routines, new teachers and new expectations, this week would have been planned with military precision.
We would have written a letter to the new teacher over the holidays and hopefully received one in return. We would have had a few 'meet and greet' sessions, some getting-to-know-you sessions. There would have been planning meetings between myself, the teacher, aides, principal, applied learning co-ordinator, welfare officer and everyone else who wanted to have an opinion. 

We would have been practising wearing our new school shoes - well actually practicing keeping our shoes on for more than 10 minutes. We would have have some packed lunch days so the lunch box opening was practiced. Throughout the holidays we would have continued our learning objectives, so there was minimal backsliding.

I would have sat down with a glass of wine and a pen and paper. I would try to explain J-man within a page, give a brief overview. Highlight his strengths. Alert the teacher to his worries and idiosyncrasies  I would encourage them to have a look through his very thick file of reports before we arrived for the first day of school.

On the first day back to school, J-man would be teary and not want to go. He would be angry with me for making him go. I would be as positive and encouraging as a new age birthing coach.. all in order to get one small boy to go to school. I would then come home, sick to the stomach and wait....

Last year J-man completed Yr 12. His days in formal education have finished, at least for now. This week has been a breeze. Not a tummy ache or headache, no melt downs, no lunch box mishaps. The girls went off to their new classes happily. All is well. For the first time in 13 years our house has not been on high alert for return to school week. It's been nice.

It's been nicer than nice. I feel like there's room to breathe. 

J-man - Prep year .. how cute is he ??

Flashback Friday - linking up with  The Camera Chronicles .... join in guys.. you know you want to!!