I was raised by a single mum

For most of my childhood and nearly all of my brother’s, my mum was a single mum. Not a primary caregiver who shared custody. Nor a parent who received maintenance payments from an absent father. No, she was a 100%, full-time single mum who raised two children on her own. She was the mother, the father, the disciplinarian, the breadwinner, the cleaner, the good cop, the bad cop, the cook and the nurturer. It wasn’t an easy life. For her or for us. But it certainly wasn’t a terrible life either. We endured that life together and now, as adults can look back with an almost fondness in our hearts.

“Remember how poor we were Tan?” Mum would ask, smiling. And I smile too when I answer “Yes! How could I forget?” Because there’s something about shared struggle that really binds people and hearts.

We were a small, tight and happy family. The simpleness of our lives, borne out of the inherent lack of money and financial security bred intense gratitude for the smallest things. Fillet steak for dinner on my birthday and my brother’s first ever designer sneakers come to mind. But conversely it also developed a desire for a greater life and a hunger for security – both emotional and financial.

I talk about my mum being a single parent a lot. I do it because I’m proud. Because I understand just how incredibly strong and capable a person needs to be to fulfill that role with any level of success and competence. And I’m proud that MY mum is one of those people. I do it also because I wholeheartedly believe that being raised in a single parent family has shaped me as a woman, as a wife and as a mother. Some of it in my favour and some of it to my detriment.

As a woman I am empowered. I know, without any doubt, that if the shit hit the fan and our lives went to hell that I would be able to pull us through. I believe in me and I believe in women. My mum didn’t mean to raise me as a feminist, it was just the by-product of having such an incredibly non-reliant, kick-arse, can-do female role model. I value women. I value my girl friends. I value me. Seeing my mum unapologetically take on the world lit a fire in my belly. But the flipside is I don’t value men as much. I have a distrust of them. Though that is changing. With every year and with every test I subconsciously set for the men in my life, but it is still there. It’s a hard feeling to shake. Having sons helps. Watching and helping them grow into loving, respectful and reliable young men restores my lost faith.

As a wife I am mostly pragmatic and demanding. On the one hand I believe I don’t need my husband and I can do everything without him. On the other hand, I’m terrified that he will leave and I have high expectations of him to be an active partner and father. Perhaps testing him. Perhaps trying to convince myself that he’s a good man. Growing up I always knew I had to ‘find a good man’. And now that I’ve got one I almost dare him to prove me wrong. He hasn’t and the largest part of my heart knows he won’t, but the smallest part still waits. I am heavily involved with my in-law family, grateful for them and what they bring to our lives. I only had my mum’s side of the family when I was growing up and though I never missed my dad’s side I am profoundly aware of how fortunate I am to have two extended families to call my own these days.

I am far too emotionally invested in my home. We moved quite a few times when I was a kid. There’s no family home for me to go back to. My mum hasn’t converted my childhood bedroom into a gym. There aren’t any marks on any walls that show how tall my brother and I grew over the years. We were long-term renters so my dream was always to buy a big house, fill it with kids and stay forever. I am in my forever house. Even though it’s not sensible or affordable or even manageable at the moment. I am in love with my house and have an unhealthy and intense feeling of security there. Even the thought of selling it makes my stomach turn.

As a mother I am tough. But mostly on myself. I want to be all things to my boys. I want to be strong and capable like my mum. I want to teach them gratefulness by not giving them everything but I don’t want them to ever feel hungry. I want them to learn independence and resilience but I never want to not be there for them. I never want my work to be more important or necessary to me than being there for them. As the only income earner in our household, my mother’s numerous jobs were necessary to our survival as a family. It meant she was away from us a lot. Even as kids we understood that but we shouldn’t have had to and I don’t want that for my boys. I expect them to appreciate the privileged life they live, though they know no other life. I struggle with my absolute maternal need to give them the life I didn’t have and my fear that I am robbing them of ever understanding the value of disadvantage. So I am tough and contradictory. I sacrifice overseas holidays, designer clothes and new cars to send them to a private school but refuse to succumb to spoiling them with the latest technology, gadgets and toys. I tell them that our family and our home are the most important things in the world. I tell them that my main job as their mum is to help them get through life with their health and their heart and their happiness. I tell them these things in words because I’m not confident that they will work it out themselves and I need them to know these things. I tell them they’re lucky and I tell them I’m lucky too. Because if you hear it enough times, you begin to believe it. I tell them what a good man their dad is and I show them that I love him and he shows them that he loves me. We don’t hide our arguments from them. We tell them that it is ok to argue with someone you love. It is safe. Family can disagree and still be family. Together. I want my boys to always know the feeling of security. Emotional, spiritual and financial.

I love the woman I am today. It took many years to love her and to understand her but all my resilience and insecurity and contradiction combined makes sense to me now. And it all fell into place when I realised that I had it wrong. Coming from a single parent family was not something bad that happened to me. It was a gift and a life-long lesson in family, love, strength, self, vulnerability, courage and choice.

Being raised by my single mum was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Warring Women versus The Sisterhood

Image source: www.ketzali.com

We are one bitchy, judgemental lot aren’t we?

Every day I read social media updates about mummy wars and women criticising each other for choices made and clothes worn and parenting decisions and food choices. Blogs and articles are constantly being written by women imploring other women to stop judging each other. To give a sister a break. To stop being such bitches. Our own focus on women as crap people is relentless. The negativity that we are imposing on ourselves is endless. It feels like we are all beating the same self-deprecating drum in an effort to show how evolved we are.

And it is true that we are judgemental. Many of us measure our own performance and, sadly, self worth by how we see everyone else is performing or coping or falling apart. It’s not new. We’ve always done it only now, in the information era, everyone knows about it. We used to just bitch behind each other’s backs. Now we post status updates and share articles in a passive aggressive attempt at saying “I’m doing a better job than she is.”

So now that I’ve got that out of the way, let me remind you of something very important about us 'warring women'.

We are a sisterhood. And just like sisters, we are able to bitch and insult and fight and disagree until one of us loses our shit and then we’ve got each other’s back.

Yesterday, I saw three separate women unexpectedly and spontaneously burst in to tears. They all went from smiles to sobs in less than 60 seconds. Each time they were surrounded by women they knew. Each time they succumbed to their emotions because they felt they could. And each time the women in their vicinity moved in with a speed and purpose that only other women understand... because for all our bitchiness and comparisons, we get it. We are all struggling. When we see a sister crumple under her own pressure we are fundamentally compelled to support her. When we see another woman struggle to fight her demons we stand behind her, next to her and many times in front of her. I see women rally for each other all the time. I see it online even more than I see the apparent war of women.

My sisterhood is strong and incredibly valuable to me. It is rich and full of women who represent so many different walks of life. It is diverse in age, culture, politics, religion, sexuality and geography. 

It is my anchor. It is my constant. 

I was raised by a single mum who had an amazing sisterhood. It is in her battlefield that I learnt the lessons of womanhood. It is through her and her friends that I learnt to gather my own army. Watching my mum and her friends navigate life together is where my awe of women began. In fact, from my view point, watching them around the dining room table making cups of tea and smoking cigarettes as they swapped stories and ear-rings, it was almost magical. 

To this day, I find magic in my friendships. My sisters have single-handedly healed gaping holes in my heart. They have saved me a million times from a million different tragedies. They have stood by me through fist fights [real and metaphoric] and I have seen my joy reflected in their eyes and heart  time and time again. I have a friend that calls me crying often and by the end of the conversation, which is sometimes only 5 minutes long, she’s laughing. 

That’s magic. That’s powerful. THAT'S what women do.

And if you’re reading this and thinking to yourself “What are you talking about? I don’t have a sisterhood!” then you’re probably a man OR you haven’t met the right women yet. 

Do not despair, sister. Start close to home and gather your army and in the meantime stick around... 

I’ve always got room for more in mine x

4 Friends Every Girl Should Have

Something old

This is my high school buddy. The one that I met when I was still a kid. That grew with me. That shared my firsts. The one that anchors me to my inner self. The one that knew me before I was a grown up. My longest relationship. The family I chose for myself.

Something new

This is my friend that my kids brought to me. The mum of their friend. The one I was drawn to despite not being in the ‘friend market’. The one that comes from a different place to me but shares the same values. The one that I see myself sharing my future with even though we don’t share a past. The friend I found after I discovered myself.

Something borrowed

This is my friend that is the girlfriend of my brother and brother-in-law. The sister of an ex boyfriend. The wife of a cousin. The one that is on loan while they’re together. The one I think about after they’ve split up. The one I’m friends with on Facebook.

Something blue

This is my boy-friend. The one that never crossed the line – and never will. The one that comes to me for girl advice. The one that likes clothes shopping with me. The gay one.

Do you have an old, new, borrowed and blue friend too?

I've got this

"Mum, I don't feel well'

Those words are always so heavily laden with dread but never more so than hearing them at two o'clock in the morning.

It's dark, it's cold and I'm in my deepest sleep. The voice comes from the left of me which is strange 'cause I can feel a small, warm body cuddled up to the right of me. Oh right. The youngest has made his way into my bed sometime earlier, slipping in unnoticed. It's the eldest who's standing next to the bed. Sniffling.

"You'll be ok hon. Just go back to bed and try to sleep it off"

I'm not good at being woken up in the middle of the night. When the boys were newborns I was ok because there was no middle of the night. I was working on a 24 hour clock broken into increments of 'feeds'. Now though, the middle of the night is not a good place for me and I will do anything to stay in bed. Including sending my sick son back to bed without any intervention from me. Which he does.

Exactly 8 minutes later he's back. 

"I still feel sick Mum. I feel really, really bad. I need you to come."

Ugh.

So now I'm up. Dressing gown is on and I'm at the medicine cupboard. Thermometer. Check. Kids Panadol. Check. Measuring cup. Check. Cup of water to wash down the Panadol. Check. Deep breath and smiling bedside manner. Check.

He's waiting for me all bundled up in bed. He's miserable which is very unusual for him. My eldest doesn't like a fuss. He hates to be sick so will usually do his best ignore all symptoms and just get on with it. Not tonight though. The thermometer beeps and confirms my lips-on-the-forehead assessment. 36.7C. No temp. 

"What do you feel hon?"

"My throat is really sore." 

I'm not a doctor but I have had 8 years of diagnostic training. I check his neck. His glands are up and he's a bit tender. Tonsilitis? No fever so probably not. I sit there in the dim light and consider what it could be. And then he coughs.

And he sounds like a seal barking.

"Oh hon, I think you've got croup."

"Is that bad Mum? I feel really bad."

"No hon, it's not bad. I'll make it better."

It's now 2.30am and I'm giving him Panadol. I promise to stay with him until he falls asleep again, which I know will be about the time that the Panadol kicks in. I slowly and gently rub his back and watch his 8 year old face relax.

I'm back in bed just after 3am and immediately I feel warm little feet against my legs. The 5 year old is still there, hogging my pillow. I'm awake now so I mentally prepare for the day ahead which will start in a few hours and which I'm facing with half a tank of fuel. A trip to the doctor; notify the school; cancel my morning's meetings; think about dinner 'cause we're clearly not going out now; be ready for the little one who'll be jealous that the big one is staying home and he's not.

I sigh, no longer pissed off that I've been woken up in the middle of the night. I feel strong. Tired but strong. 

I'm a mum. I've got this.

I am woman. Hear me raw.

Today

I am a working mum. My days follow a strict routine which involves ‘just another 10 minutes’ in bed every morning, regardless of what time I wake up. Those 10 minutes feel like those delicious stolen moments with a lover... but better because I’m alone in the bed and I can stretch out and remember my days when I didn’t have ‘a side’. In those 10 minutes I lament the too few hours sleep preceding them and dread the rat-race following them. I mentally check through my wardrobe and decide what I’m going to wear and hope to god that I’ve washed it and if I have, hope that I have hung it up and not left it in the washing basket. It is the only quiet time I will have to myself all day.

There are boys to be dressed and teeth to be brushed. Bags to be packed and lunches to be made. Husbands to send off and make-up to be slapped on. School to be walked to and teachers to touch base with. Meat to defrost and washing to be put on. Emails to answer and coffee to make. Traffic to negotiate and cars to be parked.

Then a day of work which, most days, is good but some days is not.

Followed by errands to be run and calls to be made. Appointments to squeeze in and dinner to be cooked. Washing to be hung out and coffee to make. School to be walked to and bags to unpack. After school snacks to prepare and homework to be helped with. Sports to be driven to and tables to be set. Baths to be run and stories to read. Dishes to be done and washing to put away. Uniforms to lay out and beds to collapse in.

It is gruelling and draining and gratifying and real.

Yesterday

I was a stay at home mum. My days didn’t follow any routine and I was almost totally at the mercy of my sons’ needs. Breastfeeding on demand. Tiptoeing around the house at nap-time. Scraping soggy teething rusks off the carpet. Rinsing off poo on sheets/clothes/cushion covers. Throwing out bibs that had mashed banana on them ‘cause that shit just does not come out in the wash. Toilet training. Manners training. Sleep training. Rich play. Fine motor skill development. Gross motor skill development. Socialisation. 

Some days time would stand still and I would wait, desperately for the husband to come home so I could turn myself off for 10 minutes. Just 10 minutes to not be the one who had to pick up the crying baby. Just 10 minutes to be alone and not feel guilty for the pleasure that would fill my bones to be quiet. And still. Other days time would steal my life away and I would despair that I didn’t have longer to float in the wonder of seeing the world through the new eyes of my baby. I would feel it slip through my fingers as I traced ‘round and round the garden’ on chubby little hands. I would watch it run away as I delighted in seeing those first, wobbly steps. I would look up, after feeling like I had only just sent the husband off to work to see him return and watch my son run to his arms. Happy to see another face. Eager to tell fresh ears about his day. And I would wish for just another 10 minutes to be alone with my boy.

It was exhausting and demanding and rewarding and real.

Long ago

Before I was any kind of mum I was a girl. Those days were all about me. They were about finding my place in the world and deciding where my world was. It was about working and partying and loving and earning and yearning. It was about learning. And the only real way to learn is to fail. So it was about failing too. It was about heartache. It was about self doubt. And it was about wonder. There were no 10 minute increments in those days. Going out for coffee lasted for hours. There was no grocery shopping. If I needed anything, I picked it up on the way home from work. There was only clothes shopping. Phone calls lasted all night on a phone with an extra long cord which would reach all the corners of my unit and never ran out of battery. Friendships were the most important relationships in my world. Other people’s children were to be seen, not heard. Mothers were to be ignored. Boys were to be toyed with. Washing was to be done in the middle of the night and hung out on the backs of chairs. Dancing was to be done. All night.

It was arduous and confronting and fulfilling and real.

Every day

Throughout it all I have been me. I have not always known who I am but I have been defiantly ‘me’ nonetheless. All my life stages are real. All my chapters are fulfilling. All my dreams are valid. All my pains are confronting. Being single and childless was tough. Being a stay at home mum was demanding. Being a working mum is challenging. The next path I travel down will also test me.  Each life stage presents something new to learn and overcome and enjoy. 

My journey is not unique. My lessons are not new. You may relate. You may disagree. You may learn. You may cringe. You may just quietly be thankful that someone else is struggling to get it all right too.

I will laugh. I will sob. I will exalt. I will grieve. I will succeed. I will fail. 

I will live.

It’s my story and I will share.

I am woman. Hear me raw.

Sister from another mister

I have a little sister. And when I say she’s little I mean she’s 20 years littler than me. I can hear you screaming ‘ACCIDENT!’ but she was planned and the reason is simpler than you may think. My dad died young. My mum remarried. Enter Little Miss PIMA [pain in my arse].

I was the same age as my mum when she had me when Pima was born so my role in her life is one part sister, one part friend and two parts mum. Oh, and twenty seven parts exasperation.

Pima is about to turn 20 which means that as well as having two young sons, I have also spent the last 7 years with a teenage girl under my wing. In my every-day thoughts. Front of mind and under my skin. And I have had the joy of NOT being her mum.

We talk a lot. Sometimes too much. We talk on the phone. We text. We Facebook. We hang out. It’s a relationship high in maintenance, for sure, but rich in reward. Which is not altogether limited to having an amazing, trustworthy and reliable babysitter on hand.

The real reward is in my opportunity to mentor a young woman in today’s world.

It keeps me aware and relevant and stretches my thinking and challenges my knee jerk compulsion to judge. I draw on my own life experiences. My own mistakes. My own successes, fears, dreams and ideals. And from there – I counsel.

Stay at University little sister

No, you cannot have a gap year. No, you cannot defer. No, you cannot change direction mid degree. You will finish. You will pass. You will thank me later.

Stay away from anything you can smoke, little sister

Keep your lungs fresh and your mind healthy. That's all.

Keep your legs crossed, little sister

My generation got all confused about sexual empowerment. We thought it was cool and grown up and enlightened to sleep with who we wanted, when we wanted. We thought it would make us grow and show how liberated we were. We didn’t give enough thought to how that would play out once we actually did meet the ‘love of our life’ or when we became mums or when we joined the parent community of our son’s private catholic school... or so I’ve heard. Anyway, there’s no hurry. Hold off. Don't compromise. Don't believe that 'friends with benefits' is anything other than a crappy Hollywood movie. Wait for a while when you meet someone new. Maybe he's 'the one' in which case you can wait and if he's not, then don't bother. You’ll have plenty of years and plenty of options and just quietly you won’t reach your prime ‘til you’re in your  thirties anyway.

Don’t ink your body yet, little sister

Wait, wait. Wait until you know what you believe in and know who you are. Live in your body a bit longer before you stain it with a cliché that means more to your friends on instagram than you.

Love yourself, little sister

You are bright and gorgeous and smart and honest. You sparkle when you smile and you snort when you laugh. You are healthy. You are a woman. Your body is beautiful. Now. When you were skinnier. When you get fatter. It’s YOUR body. If you love it, taking care of it will be easy. Be comfortable in your gorgeous skin. Be true to your earnest heart. And for fucks sake, pluck your eyebrows.

Be proud to be a woman, little sister

Remember when you were so excited to find your first pubic hair [or was that me?]. It was exciting because it heralded the beginning of your journey into womanhood. Women have pubic hair. Prepubescent girls don’t. Strippers don’t. Sex workers don’t. Real men like their women to look like women. Don’t be sucked into this craze that makes you feel dirty or unclean to look like a woman. I read somewhere that there are some boys of your generation who have never seen a woman with pubic hair and feel ‘repulsed’ at the mere thought of it. Do not date those boys. I will be forced to hold them down and wax their balls and arse myself. Keep your hair down there.

Love your Mum, little sister

I know she’s annoying. I know she doesn’t seem to ‘get it’. I know she doesn’t let you sleep in or have boys in your room or like you drinking. I know. She’s my Mum too. The thing is, when you get older, you’ll realise she was right about sooooo many things. Boys, friends, fashion mistakes, husbands. Your Mum is cool. When she’s not being embarrassing.

Be yourself always, little sister

I know that’s hard. I know you struggle. It comes with the territory. I know you don’t know who you are yet. That’s ok. Be yourself today. And tomorrow be yourself then. If you get confused, come to me. I will remind you of who you are. I will help you see who I see.

Be grateful, little sister

The world does not owe you, despite what your generation thinks. Be grateful for your gifts of health and intellect and freedom and love. Use your gifts to make a difference. To matter. Start with your family. When you’ve got that right, move on to your friends. Once you’ve got the hang of it, the world is yours to make a change. Do not waste your youth and opportunity in a life unlived, unexplored or unappreciated.

Stop using hashtags, little sister

We have a language. It’s called English. Use it. Spell out the words. Use a pen and write the words. Send someone a real card in the mail one day. Words are beautiful. They’re long and descriptive and evoke emotion. Stop abbreviating. It drives me nuts.

Laugh out loud, little sister

Actually live in the moment. You do only live once. Make it worth it. And don’t fuck your life.

Listen to me, little sister

I’ve lived your years. I’ve known your struggles. I recognise your fears. I’ve made [some of] your mistakes. Learn from me. Lean on me. I love you more than you love yourself at the moment. It’s just the way it is with girls. Let me guide you. All I ask in return is that when you become an amazing, love-yourself, authentic woman... you pay it forward.

Oh, and I still need you to babysit.

Love your totes awesome sister and #bff in the whole world,

Tan x

Happy New Year - 12 lessons from 2012

I love a new year. I love saying goodbye to the old and looking forward to the new. I love that everyone gets all sentimental and grateful and earnest. I love that people are resolute in their good intentions, that are almost always broken, and that young and old alike celebrate side by side.

It's a great time to reflect. It's a proverbial line in the sand for us to stop at. To get on our marks. To go. Travel down a new road. Take a new path. Start a new race.

In fact, the whole of last year was a line in the sand for me. My 40th year. It was a great year of discovery and celebration and an expanding girth. It was also a significant year of learning. 

Here are 12 unexpected things I learned in 2012.

1. Blondes don't have any more fun than brunettes... but the greys are much less noticeable!

2. Throwing a surprise birthday party for someone you love is EXTREMELY stressful but may well be even more special for the host than the guest of honour. I hosted two and the joy they both brought me was unimaginable.

3. Making a conscious and public effort at being grateful was easier than I thought and actually filled my heart with light.

4. My 7 year old is a 'stand up and notice' kind of awesome soccer player AND has courage enough to face his fears to perform on stage for the school production.

5. There are still far too many moronic Americans who believe in a 'right to bear arms' and I have been ASTOUNDED at some of the ridiculous arguments I have read in the case to support that lunacy.

6. Returning to paid work after a long time at home is a tough adjustment and I will certainly be doing my best to support any friends taking that journey.

7. The definition of a wolf in sheep's clothing... as discovered by too many women in my life.

8. My 5 year old has such strong and unexpected willpower. Last year he made the decision to swim without floaties and to give up night nappies and to ditch the training wheels on his bike. He did it himself and they each took only days to accomplish. Certainly makes my job easier.

9. It's really easy to make jam!

10. Celebrating your own milestone birthday in grand and lavish style is an absolute must at least once in your lifetime.

11. Bridesmaids. Best chick flick. Ever.

12. I am a story teller and some of my stories, are your stories too.

The stranger who tells our stories when we cannot speak not only awakens our spirits and hearts but also shows our humanity... 

Mende Proverb, Sierra Leone

Attitude of Gratitude

So, on the first day of December this year I committed to having an attitude of gratitude for a month which I would share with my Facebook friends each day. I didn't come up with the idea myself. I was inspired by The Mums Lounge "Attitude of Gratitude Photo Challenge" because I have been feeling more grateful lately and because, to be quite frank, I like that it rhymed.

I started off slow. A quick photo and something small in my day that I was thankful for. But, as all good things do, it gathered a momentum of its own and my thankfulness became more significant. 

My attitude actually changed. 

The commitment I made to having to stop each day and think of something to be grateful for, during a very busy time of the year, became my calm. I discovered that I have so much to be grateful for and that I have fallen into the well-known trap of taking my good fortune for granted. This month has reminded me to be extremely grateful for my journey in life. For the lessons I've learned. For the losses. For the gifts. For the growth. For the pain and for the joy. It's EASY to get caught up in the rat-race of life, particularly at Christmas time. It's soooo busy and everyone seems to want a piece of you and I have MANY times spent almost the entire month complaining. But this year, not so much. This year when I have caught myself whingeing about.... whatever, I have stopped and said 'Lucky you Tan, that there is space in your mind for such a silly complaint'. 'Lucky you that you do not live in fear. Lucky you that you do not live in pain. Lucky you that you do not live with loneliness. Lucky you that you do not live in darkness. Lucky you that you do not live in silence. Lucky you, Tan.'

I had planned to post something to be grateful for every day of December, but I stopped a couple of days ago. Not on purpose. I was running out of hours in my days and telling everyone how grateful I am was the first casualty of tasks I didn't have time for. I have still stopped every day though. Stopped and thought and felt lighter. And now, in the quiet aftermath of a marathon family Christmas lunch, I have stopped to think about what I am thankful for. And of course, on days like today, there is so much. Family. Love. Tradition. Giving. Eating. Playing. Fun. Togetherness. Sharing. It's almost a no-brainer but I have something more [yes more!] to be thankful for.

Attitude of Gratitude - Days 21-25 (!)

I am grateful for my friends who came along for the ride with me. All of my friends but especially the friends who are otherwise quiet on Facebook but have showed their support by 'liking' my post. It kept me honest. When I realised how many people were listening, it encouraged me to actually say something.

I am grateful for the friends [who I do not 'see' socially but with whom I share my Facebook life] that took the time to comment on my posts. Friends like Di, Riannon, Crawford, Monique, Josie, Mia and Mandy. When I realised how many people were touched, it encouraged me to dig deeper.

I am grateful for the friends who made a special effort to tell me how my Attitude of Gratitude posts had inspired them. Friends like Alischa, Isabelle, Kalyna and Isabella. When I realised how many people were inspired, it encouraged me to share more of myself.

I am grateful for my friend Polly who took my proverbial hand and travelled down the road of gratitude with me. When I realised I was not alone, it encouraged me to stay on the road.

I am grateful.

We need to talk

"My kid just won't tell me what's going on.."

It's a common complaint of parents to children of all ages today. 

"How was school?"

"Fine"

"What did you do?"

"Nothing"

Sometimes that's frustrating. Sometimes that's worrying. Sometimes it's hurtful. Nonetheless, mums and dads everywhere will keep asking those same questions hoping, one day, for a bit of insight.

My kids are really good sharers which I'm sure doesn't surprise you given that their mum IS a blogger and I can't help thinking of an apple tree somewhere. There are other reasons that they share their stories so freely though. We are invested in communication in this family. Good, old-fashioned talking. We do a lot of it. In fact, we have to tell our youngest to STOP talking regularly. 

5 things that we do to encourage sharing are...

1. Dinner time is family time

We eat together as a family almost every night. Phones, iPods, iPads, tv etc are not allowed at the dinner table and the kids are used to chatting. The location is not important either. Our usual dining table, outside under a tree, at a restaurant or fish and chips at the beach. It's the ritual of sharing at dinner time that is important to all of us and very rarely missed. It usually starts with a comment about dinner [loving it or hating it - doesn't matter] and then one of them will ask "Who's starting?". 

2. Highlights and Lovelights

We all get a turn at starting 'highlights' and this is when we share the best parts of our days with each other. We do it every night and if we have guests at our dinner table, we invite them to share too. If I was to be honest, the highlight of my every day is probably hearing 'highlights' at the dinner table - but I'm not allowed to say that. I have to come up with something good that made me happy during that day. Somedays it's hard for all of us but we never let anyone get away with not having at least one highlight. Just recently I added an extra little thing which was everyone to share one thing that happened in their day to make them feel loved or cared for, which the boys have called 'Lovelights'. The kids worked this one out really quickly and are coming up with some really warming moments in their day such as "I felt loved when Mum sat with me on the couch and watched tv with me" and "I felt cared for when my teacher put a bandaid on my knee". 

3. Drive time is chat time

Any time in the car is a perfect opportunity to chat because your audience is captive. We don't do headphones and we don't do movies in the car, even on long road trips. We learn so much about the boys here. Just yesterday while I was driving with my 7 year old I discovered that he's already thinking about the logistics of getting his licence and how he can save up to buy his own car. It was an absolutely fascinating conversation and it gave me great insight into his thought processes.

4. Bedtime is story time

Most nights we are both home to put the kids to bed. Almost always on time and almost always with enough time for a family story. My boys share a room so we can all be in there together to read the story. They get to choose a different book each night and we all take turns to read. Even the little one has a go now too. After stories it's time for the goodnight kisses and a quick reminder of what's on the next day. Sometimes this is when I hear about something they HAVE to bring in to school the next day that I have to pull out of nowhere. Little Stefan often asks me "What do I have to look forward to tomorrow Mum?"

5. Many hands make light work

Wherever and whenever we can, we share the chore workload with the kids. Which means we're weeding together, washing the car together, stacking the dishwasher together, doing the laundry together, washing the windows together and planting the garden together. In my experience this is the best time to learn about something that may be bothering my oldest particularly. I find that if he's distracted I can take the questioning and conversations to places he would not usually feel comfortable with in the 'spotlight' of a one-to-one talk.

The foundation of solid family communication is essential for so many reasons. Harmony. Togetherness. Longevity. Respect. Understanding. 

If you are having trouble getting your kids to open up to you, try any one of my 5 tips. It doesn't matter which one/s you can do. If you're not able to eat as a family at night then come together at bedtime. If that's no good and you're flat out ferrying them from school to care to sports then use the car trips. If you're not already getting your kids to help out at home then pick a task you can share and start there.

The truth is they're all easy and I'm sure that even doing one of them regularly will result in a positive change.

xx

work-life balance, also known as LIFE

Having it all.

Just saying it out aloud makes me tired. Because I am tired. I've just recently gone from full time mum to working mum and I'm exhausted.

I'm new at this work-life balance thing. Well, maybe not. I mean what is work-life balance if not just life itself?

Working outside of the home, even part-time, IS harder than I thought though. It's quite the struggle to be on top of my game at work and at home and the learning curve is steep. I entered into this new life stage with the same arrogance that I did when I became a mum. "Millions of women do this - how hard can it be?"

Well, a bit harder than I thought as it turns out. I think I'm sucking at it.

I'm not good at doing things part-time. During my interview for my new job my boss remarked on the fact that I had spent the last 8 years raising my boys, at home, full-time. "Oh, you're an 'all or nothing' kind of person". Which I guess I am and I'm finding it tough to work out how to be a part-time home maker and a part-time employee. 

My washing is piling up. My filing is piling up. My guilt is piling up.

This is real and can be found on my spare bed.

I've run out of milk, eggs, bread, butter, cereal. I've missed my son reading at assembly. I've spot cleaned uniform shirts that I forgot to wash the night before. I've handed in forms late and I haven't organised a single class get together [shame on you Class Rep].

But it doesn't stop there. Oh no. I've dropped work balls too. Leaving unfinished jobs and missing things that need to be done.

It's become a lesson in humility. A hard lesson but I'm keen to learn. And I'm happy to share what I've learned so far. And this is it.

Having it all is all about perspective.

Here are 13 things I am grateful for when I am really down on myself for not getting the balance right.

1. Working part-time allows me to maintain my personal objective of never having to put the kids into childcare. 

2. Having a 'day off' mid-week really does feel like a 'day off' and I'm grateful for the quiet.

3. After 8 groundhog years I finally have a weekend again!

4. I feel supported by my family to return to work and this validates my choices.

5. I feel appreciated by my colleagues and it feels so good to be recognised by people, who have no affection for me, as someone worthwhile.

6. Earning my own money again is affirming.

7. I like that my boss tells me that I have 'a brain the size of a planet'

8. My boys see that Mum can work out of the home and do 'important stuff' too.

9. I am challenged again and I will always be grateful for any opportunity to learn.

10. When I drop the ball at home someone else picks it up and sometimes that someone is a 7 or 5 year old boy and that makes me so very proud... even if it's not the way I would do it.

This is how boys 'tidy up' the playroom. Just shove it all into the corner.

11. There's nothing quite like enjoying a homemade cafe latte in the quiet of the home you're working to pay off.

12. I now have 'washing days' and 'grocery days' and they are not my everyday.

13. I look forward to coming home and I can see past the mess and know a family committed to life lives here.

I do have it all. 

And I am grateful to know that.