Responsibility.

My eldest child is sixteen.

He drives now. He travels all over our city armed with his transport card and a mobile phone. Right now he is living with my mother because she lives closer to his work experience location, and he has arranged his lunches and everything he needs himself. I have been called upon for one thing only: money.

It doesn’t really matter which child is missing, but one less child means things feel quite a bit more relaxed at home. I use these times to catch up on things, and lately my time is also being spent pondering the larger picture of life. Now that my teenager seems ready to step out in the world alone, I can reflect on the journey of parenthood from the very beginning to this point now – where I feel my son will be fully independent in no time at all.

When I left high school and was pondering career choices, I shied away from many things I was interested in – paramedic, morgue worker (yes, they were what I thought I wanted to do despite having no talent for science and top marks for essay writing and history!). I could not imagine myself doing anything entailing massive responsibility, and I remember that feeling as a conscious thought.

I drifted along in my arts degree, and met my husband literally the week after I finished, providing an escape from having to think about a career. We took off travelling. Then I studied kinesiology – again I shied away from becoming professional. I didn’t want the responsibility of expectation that I could help people.

Ironically, I have embraced the greatest responsibility of all: childrearing. With five children, I have accepted into my life a massive load. When my children were babies and toddlers, it was hard to imagine the worry about teenagers that now keeps me awake into the night. And this is only the first child – there are four more to go!

My son wants a cat. And this extra responsibility, I already know, is too much for me. We always had cats and dogs when I was growing up. It was normal for me. I remember when I was a teenager, left at home for a week whilst my mother went to a spiritual retreat. I came home one night with my older sister to find my beloved ginger cat sitting in the hallway with a puffy, injured eye. That sight was a shock to me, but what was worse is that I was responsible for the cat, and I had no money to take him to the vet. My sister stepped in to save the day but that experience has stayed with me, and not in a good way.

Now we have guinea pigs and our children love them, and they seem just the right amount of work for us to manage. But a cat as well….I would almost rather have another baby than get a cat! The responsibility involved overwhelms me. I wonder about this theme in my life – maybe responsibility is one my major life lessons to come to terms with.

Last night, I held one of our guinea pigs in my arms as he passed away. I sobbed and sobbed over this little animal.

Later, in bed, I asked the angels to help me be strong enough for the responsibilities in my life. I have a deep determination to always be there for my children, but some days things can feel very overwhelming.

A new Venture

For the past few weeks, I have been busily preparing for my newest venture.

Toys and precious hand made items have been re-found, after sometimes years in storage. Fabric has been cut, dyed, and sewn: into aprons of course! And the house has been subject to a major de-clutter and premature spring cleaning.

This week saw the first day of the Gaia Playgroup. Eight little children came to my home (well, two of the eight were my own children!) with their mothers, and played, baked bread, sang, and scampered after our guinea pigs.

For five years I have run the Playgroup attached to the Steiner school my children attend – it was a glorious experience – a little job that nourished me as much as the families who attended. A role that I held through the births of two babies. I am so thankful for all the skills and awareness that role gave me. The songs, stories, and rhythm that is so natural to me now as breathing – elements that I can trust, and fall back on, as I embrace the little bit of fear that comes with now launching my own brand of Playgroup.

With five children, the eldest now fifteen, I have realised that maybe I do have some experience or wisdom to share with others. And more recently, I have come to the conclusion that it is necessary to share one’s gifts with the world. It is such a privelige to be a part of the life of a child in early childhood, and to be there as a model, or inspiration, or sounding board for their mother.

This week the beginnings were humble. There is so much more I want to do, so many more details to include, so many stories to tell. I can’t wait to see how it unfolds.

 

Seasons Changing, Letting go

This year summer seemed to be truly endless. I was swimming at the beach just three weeks ago.  Since then we have changed our clocks and with that, the mornings are suddenly cooler. I’m now waiting for the first leaf to fall from the star leaf tree in the yard next door.

This past month, the shift in seasons echoes the shifting seasons of motherhood. Tomorrow I (gulp) say goodbye to my 14 year old son, going camping with a few mates into the bush for the first time without any adults. Suddenly he seems almost a man, and is gradually making steps further and further into the world, alone. There is nothing I can do except to let him go, and hope we have ‘cooked’ him right.

At the same time, it is time to begin to let go of Robin a little more. Robin turned two a few weeks ago. His birthdays have been emotion-laden days for me.

The day he was born: an amazing, unpredictable birth full of joy and radiance. His first birthday: a bittersweet acknowledgement that he was alive, amongst the painful awareness of all we had been through. And this year the most intense feeling was one of gratitude. Gosh, our journey with Robin has been both difficult and stressful, heartwarming and full of so much love. I am so thankful for all the gifts he has brought into my life. I’m so lucky to be chosen to be his mother.

Which brings me to breastfeeding. Generally I wean my babes at two. Robin….I thought I would breastfeed for longer, given that he spent much longer than usual in the baby phase. But something changes for me when my children reach two: their speech develops, they grow, at the same time that I am ready to reclaim my own body and bed space. Certainly the last couple of months have been marked by bone deep exhaustion, the kind where I feel hollow, like everything has been sucked out of me (literally)!

I’ve begun weaning Robin at night. So far it has been two weeks of very broken sleep, as I gently let him know that the ‘boobs’ are away and we will be having a cuddle instead. A few times he has pushed me away and turned to Sol’s arms in refuge, only to return a moment later, needing a continued connection with me. Now he is beginning to roll over and return to sleep quickly. I am hopeful we are nearly there. And my energy is slowly returning.

But today, I realised he had only breastfed once in the past 24hours. No! I am not ready for it to end altogether. I cherish the closeness Robin and I have experienced in his short life, and breastfeeding has been an integral part of that. When Robin was ill, breastfeeding him served so many important functions: nourishment, connection, something I had a purpose for, an affirmation that he was still my baby, and through all of that, yes, protection.

The truth is that am scared to let him walk into the world, further away from me and my protection. I gave all I could when he was a defenseless baby to keep him safe, and help him heal. Now he is a toddler, and I know that for many reasons it is time for him to leave my arms.

He is/was my baby. I’m sad to think my childbearing career is at an end, even though there is much to look forward to. I imagine us, walking off into the sunset – me no longer carrying Robin, but walking beside him in strength and harmony.

Oldest and youngest.

 

Mother’s Day #2

 

 

 

 

 

I was so excited to get a Kobo for Mother’s Day from my own family! William, our resident technological genius, chose it. With my recent overwhelm regarding my physical surroundings, something that reduces clutter is a great idea for me. I find it hard to justify spending money on books, unless I know for sure they will be repeatedly read, so this little gadget is a win!

But it was the handmade gifts that touched my heart. The thought of my nine year old Samuel, sitting at school diligently sewing all those little crosses, makes me melt inside.  ‘To Mumzes’ – so unique, so Samuel.

Lily was so excited to present me with her handmade soaps and heart, and of course a gorgeous card that she drew. I keep all her drawing lately, with dreams of turning them into embroidered pictures.

Mother’s Day isn’t for me.

It is for the children.

For the older ones: teaching them to appreciating their mother, and women generally. It begins with this day; somehow I transform from just ‘Mum’ to a person whose turn it is to receive. And the younger ones love preparing gifts and cards to give. I love sharing in their excitement.

One of my motherhood goals this year is to really encourage independence. When I was growing up, we knew a family with six children. We spent many holidays with them, camping, bushwalking, canoeing… generally all the adventurous things that my single mother would/could not have attempted on her own. But as I grew up, what I admired most about this family was the kids: all self reliant, independent, motivated kids. They all had jobs as soon as they could, even unofficial ones before that. They pooled their money when some of them were still teenagers and bought a block of land. Now they are spread around the world, living their own lives.

And when I had my first baby, those parents became my role models, and still are (since the kids grew up, the parents have literally built their own house (in their 60’s), done all the huge weeks-long bushwalks in Australia, and travelled the world by container ship).

So when I see how my children don’t need me, in big ways as well as small, I feel I am doing a good job.

Boys on the bus to school? All ok.

Lily going to ballet with someone else, sleeping over at her Nana’s for a few days alone (at age 6)? Easy.

Kids all ok with the Grandma’s for a month while I live in hospital with Robin? Check.

William off to NZ for three weeks with his class at age 13? Yep.

It is hard sometimes to let them fly. But as I have always thought: motherhood, for me, is mostly an endless line of promptings to let go.

A Stitch in my Heart

A good friend visited me recently, to be an ear for my grief and provide suggestions for healing. One of her ideas was to make a heart, and to cut it to how I felt  Then, to stitch it together again, one stitch a day. When the heart is complete, I am complete, the griefs of this year healed.

I’ve cut the heart, I’ve made one stitch. I’ve begun the healing…. but it has stayed this way for a while now. I’ve noticed that somewhere deep inside is some resistance to being whole and healed, to moving on with life.

Who would I be without the grief of Robin’s illness, the grief of feeling I was absent for Zara’s babyhood, the grief for the baby who died?

I don’t know, and I am scared, but I want to put down the burden.

I’m willing to heal, that is enough for now.

When my first child was still a baby, I used to think a lot about the kind of mother I would be, the kind of family I wanted to create. I would try to imagine my boy as a teenager, and it seemed so far into the future and so removed from my reality that it scared me a little.  All I knew was that I wanted to stay connected  to my children, throughout their teenage turbulence and beyond.

Now he is a teenager, and just last week graduated from his primary years at school. At the ceremony, photos were shown from class 1 (age 6) up till now (age 13). They reminded me of those yearnings I used to have. I felt so much joy watching my boy standing on stage, and a profound sense of achievement that we made it this far… to this point, this age that used to frighten me with it’s bad reputation.

Since he has been born, we’ve moved house more than ten times, we’ve homeschooled and moved states and lived in a tent. He began at this school, and then returned. He thinks I am a hippy and is determined to be anything but that. He seems to know who he is very strongly; he can be very strong, or stubborn. But he loves to tell me about his interests, for me to watch his trampoline tricks. We love to watch movies together, to play cards.

I often feel I am stumbling about in the dark, as a mother of a teenager. I tell him we will make all our parenting mistakes with him, being the eldest. But seeing him complete a 3-week trip to NZ with his class, and seeing him confident and happy with his peers… it gives me hope, a glimpse of the bigger picture where children turn into young adults who are capable and happy. (Did I have anything to do with that? It just seems to have happened!).

I feel so much love  for him this week- so much so that sick or absent babies are forgotten, and there is a knowing that mistakes can be put right. And that I can heal.