Mothering.

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This is the subject that I could write and write about forever.

Mothering. Being a mother.

It's about many things for me; a messy kitchen (not through choice), struggling and struggling to say 'help', sometimes feeling isolated in my little community of 3, a day stretching ahead and wondering at the end of it 'where did all that time go?' and mostly trying to fit everything into those days. 

Life before Roman; I think about it often but not often fondly. My life before him wasn't horrible, it was filled with purpose and with promise - a promise of all the things in front of me. I'm 26 and still so young with that age. Life was also easier in a sense that I didn't have to think ahead or worry that I'd spend 9 hours of a journey entertaining one person. In some aspects being a mother is far easier, but also far harder, than I ever dreamed it would be.

He is my life now but he doesn't consume my life - if that makes sense. We haven't spent a night apart but nor do I feel anxiety or pressure to make that happen. When it happens, it will happen just like everything else. Since the day he was born I've been sure of a few things; he has his own set of rules, his own personality and that he was and is loved by many. 

Love grows as your children grow, that's what I know. Even if they are two and a bit years old, squirming on your lap shouting 'CAARRRR!' while you're trying to document motherhood through photography with them. 

Another thing I know? Roman really likes his ride-on car toy ;).

* my hair is wet in this photo, not greasy. 

{Righting our wrongs} a blog for my mum.

Dear mum,


it's been an interesting few weeks and I am happy to say that 2012 will be a great year. 2011 was good, there's no denying that, but 2012 will be better. 


Not because I have a perfected idea of what it will be, but because I know it will be good. I have a few loose plans, rather than resolutions, and I really hope to stick to them - but if I lose my way and I forget my plans and I somehow completely abandon them I won't wait another year to start again, I will start as soon as I remember I've gone off track. I also refuse to feel guilt or a need to punish myself just because I've forgotten something. 


And why do we feel guilt so much anyway? Is it a 'woman' thing? Are we raised to consider everyone else's feelings but our own? 


I've been giving that some thought this week because I am trying to watch what I say and the things I do around Roman. Yesterday was a day where that all went out the window. I told him to go away several times, I also imitated his 'want up, want that!' mantra back to him and he looked at me like I'd finally cracked. I felt awful before the day was up and I didn't know why, when I worked out that the way I'd spoken to him was making me feel so terrible it made me feel even worse.


It was one big cycle of guilt and not really liking myself. I was useless when I felt this way. I couldn't do dishes, I felt frazzled and unmotivated and my stomach was really hurting. I had been harsh to him because I could, because I hadn't slept and because I didn't think about what I was saying. I snapped and reacted in the moment.


Maybe it's not that we shouldn't consider ourselves - or others - but that we should be aware of the long term effect our words and deeds have. That would go a longer way to repairing our guilt cycles, I think. 


And so what did I do to 'fix' my feelings? I forgave myself. I'd gone through the day in my head again, played it out as though I hadn't said and done certain things and then I decided I'd be calm, loving, patient and playful the next day. I moved on from my mistake and I forgave my wrongs. 


The best part in all this?


I slept better because of it.  


Follow: @MamaChaser 
Email: carakirk@hotmail.com

{A happy week} A blog for my mum.

Dear mum,


We've had a wonderful week.


A week full of Roman trying to escape from his nappy, brushing his teeth, growing out of clothes and fitting into the next size up. A week full of storms and rain. Of darkness by 3.30pm. Another week down until Christmas, until my birthday.

You always gave me such great birthdays, with rich chocolate cake and crisps (err, not together.) With my birthday being on Christmas Eve it always felt separate to Christmas - I don't know how you pulled that off.


 We ventured out today and it was so much fun - all the Christmas lights were up in town (along with a big tree) and we were all kept warm by our hats, scarves and gloves. I was shopping for Bryan's stocking - which is more of a challenge than you'd imagine, but I am so excited to hand it over on Christmas day - and I had an overwhelming memory of Christmases past. Of stockings stuffed full of treats. Is that shallow, to remember the stuffed stocking?


It was never really the quantity - or quality - of the stocking, but more the little surprises I'd find inside. One year it was a sweet making kit and when I was 22 it was the shiny new purse with the shiny new 20p inside, with the year's date on it. It was the way you knew what I'd like so well. And now you've passed that skill onto me. 



Follow: @MamaChaser 
Email: carakirk@hotmail.com

Cheeky.

A cheeky little boy. 

Today we got him a new chair to sit in - a kid sized version of a stylish chair. I felt fairly confident he'd enjoy the chair. When it arrived, B made up the chair and we introduced it to Roman. He sat on it, sure, but then he spent most of time pushing it around the room!

Eventually, in the fading sun of the afternoon, he settled down for a seat. His relaxed attitude was a contrast to my panic over a wrongly delivered parcel (what was meant to be our TV stand was actually our neighbours Betterware order.)

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.