Photographers.

Saturday is a special day. It's the day I get to sleep in a lot and be on my own a lot, too. I love Roman, don't get me wrong, but I need time to think my own thoughts as well. I don't have my side of the family close by, I don't have someone I can go to and ask for quick advice and I don't really have any friends here. It's hard when you spend a majority of your week with a two year old who wakes early and protests to a lot of the things you want to do (you know like use the toilet and how dare I take a shower without consulting him first.)

I'm by no means complaining - I chose this life, I agreed to live where I do, I chose to have a child and well he's actually really brilliant but it's still hard. I miss life when it was easier to do things but I can't imagine a Saturday morning without little elbows jagging into the most tender parts of my body (okay...maybe I can and maybe it was wonderful) or a little boy who is so keen and eager to learn everything he sees. A little boy who loves to play a game of photographers with me ;). 

If I had chosen never to have children I wouldn't know the extreme loneliness that comes with parenting at times but I also wouldn't have known the exquisite joy and cuteness that makes up the other bits of the parenting equation. I wouldn't have known Roman, I wouldn't have known what he's capable of doing and making me feel not just as a parent, but towards others and myself.

Popcorn Lovin'

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Right now you're popcorn mad. "More popcorn!" you'll demand, after finishing a full bowl of the stuff. Today when I said "I think you're all done with popcorn, Roman," you immediately understood this was my way of saying 'no' to you and you threw yourself down in protest - you really like popcorn, I guess.

It's funny because you have these little upsets (rarely) and they're over in a few minutes - just when I want to say "okay," and give in to your demands, your upset is over - thankfully for me as I am a bit of a flake and would probably cave when your first crocodile tear is shed.

Parenthood is not a hobby...

"Motherhood is not a hobby to be done in your spare time, it is what God gave you time for." 

- Elder Neil Andersen

Can't have said it better myself. Although would like to add that it can be applied to fatherhood, too, as there are a lot of fathers out there who simply think that by popping their head round the door a few times a week and then buying chocolate at the weekend qualifies them for fatherhood.

Of which I'd like to state that my husband isn't. He gets up with our son almost every morning, feeds him each and every meal, does nearly every nappy change, takes him out on adventures and then bathes and puts him to bed at night. He's a madman when it comes to childcare and I can't think I'd be doing all these tasks so graciously if it was me doing it all full time. 

Sometimes I hate being full time sick but being married to Bryan lightens that burden a lot. He can't invent a cure for me and sometimes doesn't always know what to say when I'm losing it and fed up of it all but he takes care of me and Ro - and does it in a way that involves zero complaints and little criticism. That to me is more than enough and doesn't even cover why I think he's the best husband in the World.

Yet he faces more criticism than praise in the World for his role and that's ridiculous - he is such a huge part of Roman's every day life and will essentially help to shape the man he becomes.

My own dad is a work horse. I can't think of many times where he wasn't working. But when he was with us, he was with us. Present. In that moment we were in. We'd always be involved in whatever he was doing and one time, when my mum was away with my oldest brother at camp, me and my sister convinced him that cookies and lemonade (a fizzy drink in the UK, not the flat American type) were our lunch-box staples. I suppose the balancing act of this deception was that he burned our dinner nearly every night. Karma is served - and very crispy it was, too.

My mum is a power house. Four kids all under 5 years old gives you some perspective on the situation. Both of my parents were always firm with us, but you always knew you were loved. I've known people who had strict upbringings and they didn't always feel loved. I did. There's a difference.

My mum also began home-schooling us (although you didn't call it that back then because 'home schooling' meant you were 'weird') through our school holidays. She called it 'Mummy School' and at first I dreaded the thought of this. We all took part and oddly enough really behaved ourselves. We'd do an hour before lunch and then an hour before dinner and it probably turned me into the grammar Nazi I am today. Part of this home-schooling was scripture study - on top of our family studies - and we'd take it in turns to read various verses of the Book of Mormon, getting through a chapter each night between the five of us.

This all sounds a little strange to you, right? Well to me it was home sweet home. Home sweet normality. And seeing as my brother had some troubles with his spelling and reading it was essential and instrumental in his development. And by having us all join in, it didn't single him out. 

I am so lucky and so glad I wasn't just a weird social experiment of my parents and that I wasn't an after thought or a hobby to them. That I was a real, living breathing individual with my own thoughts and feelings. And I am most grateful to my mum for the time she sacrificed in order to make our development accelerate.

I'm glad they took the time God gave them to be parents.

Dear Mothers/Fathers/Parents/Carers et al,

Try not to worry if your baby spends the day dressed in a babygro (onesie.) I used to fret about this, that my son didn't look "properly dressed." But who cares? Several months down the line I don't. And I wish I'd done it more often. 

Don't be too quick to wish their babyhood away - savour each phase before they hit the next. Smile when they learn to crawl, laugh and cheer with them when they begin to pull themselves up onto the furniture and do you know what? It's okay to shed a little tear when they begin to walk, not least because they will drive you crazy with how much more they can do!

Let them feed themselves - at least once in their babyhood. It will be very, very messy (and your OCD-meter might go off the charts with the  mess) but it is also very, very good for them.

Bath time is a baby's playground. It will cause you to go into complete melt down mode as they go after everything at their eye level...just baby proof the bath and enjoy bath time.

Have at least one 'run and grab camera' moments before you help them out of a tricky position they've got themselves into ;).

Enjoy the babyhood. The chubby cheeks. The blue eyes. The soul-searching looks they will give you. Even those late night snuggles.

Play with hats often. They might begin to hate wearing hats.

Let Granny get a look-in. Even if you have to squash any paranoid thoughts. Unless she's a reckless child carer she will bring a calm to your new motherhood that you can't culture until you've been there and done the whole hog of motherhood. 

Indulge their cheeky tendencies every now and then. And try to find new ways of saying 'no' without actually saying no ;).

Also, buy the best camera your budget will stretch too. These memories and moments are precious and are worth capturing so you can have them in your family for generations to come.

Baby Proofing.

Before I begin let me just post this picture and draw on it's comparisons:

TWINS! 25 years apart. And well, not really twins as I'm his mother and he's my son...but you get the jist of it ;).

So... the other day B  'baby proofed' the living room. I was asleep at the time this happened because I was still recovering from the time he was sick - when he gets sick, I follow suit, but not because I contract whatever he has...my body can't cope with the sheer amount of energy that is required in looking after a toddler and a home full time. Yes, I'm aware many people do this parenting gig on their own and full time but I am also full time sick. And as such, that's my life and my set up. My body is like an elastic band - push it too far and it will break. 


Back to this baby proofing deal. Now, usually I'm sure a lot of people would be over joyed their spouse had been so ingenious as to baby proof their home. In fact they'd probably be downright shocked and/or impressed. 


Me? I'm a little startled by Bryan's methods.


Our problem is that Roman has a little problem with ownership - he thinks everything is his to destroy or throw to the floor to watch what happens to it. This really bugs me, even though I never let it show (first rule of parenting: don't show your kids your weak spots as they'll only exploit them at a later date.) So baby/toddler proofing was the next sensible and ultimately inevitable step...


For me I prepared by buying corner protectors and imaging things being in little neat boxes; tidy and organised, the opposite of my husband who works in a more haphazard fashion. I also have to tell you that this is the man who at 22 said we could "just keep the baby in the bath and throw a towel over them and then scoot them down when they pee or poo." This was his solution to not buying nappies - even though he is a disposable nappy advocate these days and I am very much a cloth advocate. 


So imagine, if you will, what his baby proofing might consist of and try to picture this scene:


I come into the living room and the insides of the book shelf have disappeared. 


No books, no blooming shelves. Nothing. 


Our bookshelf has been gutted. 


Okay, let's move on...this might get better. I also notice that everything that was under the coffee table is no longer there. I begin to panic. What's he done with it all? I notice that a suit case is blocking the entrance to one side of our corner unit sofa - Roman loves to go behind there and cause mischief. I look behind the suitcase and what do I see?


The contents of the bookshelf and coffee table. All lumped into one pile, looks like it's just been thrown into a heap. 


On the other end of the corner unit is a punch bag blocking that entrance. Roman runs up to, huffing and puffing and proceeds to smash his tiny fists on it as though he's attacking someone.


Bryan, what have you been teaching him while I sleep?

The 'guts' of the bookshelf have never been returned, they just lie dormant  in that same heap. And the shelves? They were completely out of view, tucked away nicely in Bryan's gym equipment cupboard.


Oh well...at least if they're out of sight, they're out of mind - right?


So I ask you, Ms/Mrs/Mr Reader: Do I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder or am I completely justified to feel trapped under the chaos?

Can't Fathers be home-makers, too?

Today something really annoyed me. I saw a banner ad for a site that had the caption along the lines of; "Preparing our daughters to be home-makers." This caption has really ticked me off.


Why are our daughters being prepared for this role? What about our sons? Can't they be nurturing, caring, loving and understanding home-makers, too? It makes the suggestion that only females can and should be home-makers. And while I'm willing to play fair and bet the site admin didn't mean any harm, I think inadvertently sites like this cause it anyway. 


I have a son, so I take this personally. I am rearing a home-maker. He will learn how to use a washing machine, how to cook a number of recipes, how to sew a button onto a shirt, how to mend a pair of socks and he will be expected to take an active role in duties around the house.


After all, one day, he will be a father. And he will have a home. If that's what he chooses, of course. And if or when that day comes, I want him to make his house a home. I want him to be a home-maker. And to be prepared to be the one who works in the home, rather than outside the home.


And the person preparing him for most of his early learning? His own father. Who cooks, changes nappies, feeds our son, does the shopping and vacuuming around here. Our own home-maker.

So why just prepare our daughters to be home-makers? Our sons need it, too. And none of this 'Modern Man' rubbish, either. It's just normal and natural because being a father is more than about clocking in and out of an office building, coming home, putting your feet up and expecting someone else to do things for you at home.


Being a home-maker is about making a home; where children laugh, sing, learn and play. Where the father has to have the maturity to handle being the head of the household - how can that be possible if he has never been shown what goes into making a house a home?