Sunday morning

I woke up with no alarm clock today, well no actual alarm clock- the birds were chirping away and the sisters were fighting over something or other. I lay in bed just listening and trying to adjust my eyes to the sunlight.

Then my middle girl came into my room with a breakfast biscuit for me, she whispered -'I'll just leave your breakfast on your pillow Mammy.'

About two minutes later, eldest sister walked in and offered me coffee. (I declined as the last cup had half a bag of sugar in it- or at least that's how it tasted!)

And, I smiled as I relished not having to jump up and get ready for work, or wake at the crack of dawn to peel bananas and fix juice for three. This stage of parenting is special for sure, but bittersweet too.

My girls are pretty self sufficient. Of course they still need me for lots of stuff, but mostly they are happy for me to just be around rather than demanding my time.

To any exasperated first time mamas who might be reading this, those long sleepless nights won't last forever. Neither will the fussy eating, and the days of not changing out of pyjamas and snuggling your sweet baby on the sofa. Where possible, embrace all of those things, even the hard bits, because one day they'll be gone and you'll struggle to remember them!

Instead, one day you'll stay in bed until 9am on a Sunday whilst those babies you rocked will rock up to your room with a breakfast biscuit and a can of dr.pepper. Then you'll lay back, smile and wonder if the fact they think a breakfast biscuit and a can of Dr Pepper counts as breakfast, is a bad thing, or just awesome parenting skills...

Keep kissing the rocks

I've taken some time for a little r&r this week...in Ibiza! 

It's been a welcome break in the sense that the last 9momths have been crazy busy. I felt like I was constantly running at 100mph, okay running might be the wrong word to use, since those who know me well will know that's not what I do best at all. However, none the less I've been on constant.

This week I've had time to lounge by a pool and nap in a hammock and it's been refreshing to say the least. It's also allowed for lots of people watching, meeting new people and thinking things through. 

Some people go on holiday to escape everything back home, whilst some use a holiday to make sense of everything back home. I'm entering yet another season of change in my life, and whilst watching the sunset over Ibiza island this week, when moments become memories, I got some clarity.

The sunsets every night- every single night. Each time seemingly more beautiful than the last 

Yet every morning it rises again.

In much the same way as the waves keep returning to the shore. No matter how choppy the waters are, the waves refuse to stop kissing the rocks.

The tide goes out and the scenery- everything around you, looks entirely different, and then it comes back again. Then, the whole seascape changes under sunset as it becomes bathed in orange and red. You can be sad the sun is going down or you can marvel at the colours in the sky.

Changes aren't really about circumstances, they're about how you look at them. I'm fast learning that your perspective can turn a situation right around. So, rather than being sad that the sun is setting and the night is cold, I'll stand back and marvel at the masterpiece that's being painted before me. The colours are vibrant, and the sunset excites me. 

If nothing else, life teaches you to be resilient and fiercely determined. Keep kissing the rocks, even when things get choppy...

Allie

Top 8 rules of working on a Saturday night

Being self employed sounds like the best deal ever- not only do you get paid for a job you have chosen to do, but you also get to be your own boss and dictate your working hours. Brilliant, right? Except what that actually translates to is being super self disciplined, running to tight deadlines and getting a tad stressed when it all goes a bit wrong! So, here are the 8 laws of being self employed on a Saturday night...

1. Don't watch TV.
Seriously, just do not even turn it on, because the moment you do, any ounce of willpower to do work will evaporate and Saturday night junk programs will sucker you in.

2. Equally, don't sit on the sofa.
No matter how comfortable it looks and no matter how many times you tell yourself 'it'll just be for a minute', just don't do it to yourself. That sofa will make itself ten times comfier the minute you touch it, and you will be held hostage to its cushions and throws all night.

3. Make sure you drink caffeine, not wine.
One evening I tried to be sophisticated and drink Pinot Grigiot whilst I wrote. Let's just say that the morning after, I spent twice the time it would've taken to write it, to edit it and put in commas and full stops. Apparently wine makes me talk/type in long sentences that aren't possible to actually say without taking a breath. Who knew?

4. Stay away from pinterest and Instagram.
You will go on there after finishing something as a reward, and then forget you were meant to be working, until you realise it's 10pm and you've done nothing all night. True story. Learn from my mistakes folks.

5. Do not spend any amount of time daydreaming about birthday cake/ end of diploma holidays/ outfits/ shoes/ other.
It's really hard to not think about any of those things when all you want to do is think about those things. However, what some might see as motivation, others will find as distractions. Thinking about which strappy sandals to buy for Ibiza does not spur me on to work. What it actually does, is make me click onto asos and forget I was ever working to begin with.

6. Don't go into the kitchen.
You will get way laid by dishes, laundry, counters that need cleaning and a cat who is always hungry. hibernate in a little nook in the house and get cracking. It's the only way.

7. Don't start blogging when you still have work to do.
Oops. No one likes a hypocrite, so let's just skip over this one shall we?

8. Don't work past 10pm.
It's the weekend, so for the love, do something non work related before you go to bed. Drink some Pimms, have a dance, take a bath or read a book. And, if the boss asks you to work on, tell them you can't... :)

They tricked me

You'd think after nearly nine years of parenting three littles, I'd be savvy to their little tricks by now, and usually I am! 

I know that asking for another drink just before bedtime is a ploy to defer tuck in time, and I know that asking for a snack at night serves the same purpose too.

I also know that 'forgetting' to pick up yet another teddy or dolly they 'can't sleep without' around twenty minutes after they've been kissed goodnight is a ploy to make sure nothing exciting is happening downstairs.

Tonight though, as I lay in the bath, I had a soundtrack of little voices convincing me they were too hungry to sleep.

I knew it was a ploy so I sent them back to bed. It's gotta be a trick, right? I mean they had dinner, cookies and a cereal bar not to mention a glass of milk and a slice of cake. 

But, the more I lay back soaking in the bath, the guiltier I felt. What if they were still peckish? It's horrible trying to get to sleep when you can't stop thinking about a snack- post baby dieting taught me that much!

So I pulled the plug and went downstairs to fix them some fresh buttered toast. I took them each a plate of toast and a drink and they kissed me goodnight telling me I was a kind Mammy.

I'd just sat down, when two little ladies appeared in the doorway with only half eaten toast. Apparently they weren't 'hungry' now. And that's when I knew that even a seasoned pro at bedtime stalling tactics can still succumb to pretty little faces and cutesy voices.

They'd had me again!

Note to self: don't bother fixing toast next time!

Can we change Lunar's name?

Littlest lady is currently at the  stage of being incredibly adorable without even trying (she's four and a half, which by the way, is also the best age for a selfie partner to be!) and she comes up with the funniest little nuggets ever that just make my day.

Her most recent one was a few night's ago when we were driving home and it was just starting to get dark.

S: "Mammy, look Lunar [the moon] is out!"

Me: "Oh yeah, she is honey, isn't she looking beautiful tonight?"

S: "Yep, her isn't hungry tonight either."

Me: "No? How do you know?"

S: "Well the other night when she was only shining like a curl, it was because her was hungry and she had bitten herself."

Is that not just the best description of a crescent moon, that you have ever heard? It made my night, no, my week!

She carried on chatting away about the moon and then asked me this:

S: "So, can we just call Lunar something else too?"

Me: "Yep, I don't think Lunar minds what you call her."

S: "In that case, I'm calling her Layla from now on. Layla, the moon. The moon that isn't hungry tonight, but sometimes is."

Celebrating the 'lasts'

Remember celebrating your firsts? Your first date, your first kiss, your first dance, your first car, your first exam success, your first job? Can you remember how you felt after any one (or maybe all of those things?) I know I would have felt giddy with excitement at all of the above, a wild mix of anticipation, adrenaline and youth.

Then we crack with the game of life and more firsts are celebrated and longed for and hoped for: first house, first baby, first promotion. On and on it goes until the firsts seem to run out and a plateau sets in. That's it, you've rolled the dice, moved along a few paces and et voilia, you're an adult.

But, I can't help but wonder about the things we might miss along the way. In looking for the firsts, are we missing the 'lasts'? Mamas, remember when you were willing your sweet little baby to walk and cruise around? Those first steps are a milestone that are much anticipated and watched for, but were you also watching for the last time you'd ever get to push your little darling around the shops in that pram (that took you forever to decide on, as it had to be shock-absorbant, easy to push AND super cute!) I've been having a clear out, and I came across the monochrome stroller that my littlest styled for a few years of her baby life. It struck me that I remember her first steps, even her first pair of shoes, but I do not recall the last time ever that I put her in that stroller and stopped at a coffee shop.

As I tucked my eldest into bed this evening, she was telling me excitedly about which part of Harry Potter she had recently read, and again that same thought hit me- when did she get too old for bedtime stories to be read to her? What was the last story I got to read aloud to her? I don't remember, I'd like to say it was the velveteen rabbit, but in truth I think that I thought that because I'd recently read it to littlest lady.

I think that maybe, just maybe, those lasts are perhaps a little too bittersweet to keep in long term memory. Maybe our sub conscious blocks them out, so that they don't upset the balance of our emotions. Or maybe, we are too busy willing the next stage to come to even notice the present stage passing by, sometimes all too quickly. Or perhaps it's even a small sense of entitlement, that we don't look for the lasts because we assume there'll be another.

There was once an old saying that 'you only appreciate what's gone when it has gone' and I think it is absolutely spot on. However, when change rears it's head and shocks you into flight or fight mode, that is when you become fully in the moment, realise what is before you, and cling onto it with both hands.

So, last night, I let bedtime slide a little later than routine denoted and the littles and I went to watch the lambs in the field behind the paddock. They're a definite short term thing, as a cute fluffy lamb to us is revenue for Tony the farmer! This evening was much the same, just before setting off to take the older two to Badgers, I caught one of them dancing without a care in the world on the driveway. She had earphones in, the sun was beaming down on her and she looked like the most beautiful and confident little girl in the World. When did I stop dancing like that? I took a sneaky iPhone pic for posterity and prayed she would never stop dancing as she continues to grow up (although if this were to happen at a slower pace, I would totally be okay with that!)

All this to say that change isn't always long awaited, expected or welcome, but at times it creeps up on us, and that's the pivotal point where we can start to hope for new things at the same time as savouring the old.

A storm is coming

I remember being around 7yrs old and being terrified of thunder storms. No matter what analogy I was given, the unexpected noise that came out of nowhere used to scare me half to death.

My mum would switch all the electrics off, turn out the lights and sit on the sofa with us as we covered our eyes with pillows and waited for peace and normalcy to return. Which, it always did. That was an important lesson- be still and wait for the storm to pass over.

The weatherman said there's a storm coming, and I don't think he's wrong. The clouds are gathering, the air pressure has dropped and it looks gloomier than it has done in a long while. 

Yet there are also storms gathering in adulthood that we have to weather. Unexpected noises in the form of job losses, disappointments, financial strain, house losses, illness, relationship breakdowns. They come from nowhere and cause havoc in our comfy way of life and all we can do is wait for it to pass. 

The only difference is, there aren't nearly enough pillows to cover our eyes and take respite for a little while. Instead we are open to the elements, the critics, the uncertainty.

Yet, I'm reminded that this too, shall pass.

Sometimes just when you think you've reached your limit, the sun breaks through the cloud and reminds you that better days are coming- summer is on its way. 

A working mama

Last week one of my colleagues told me how 'brilliant' I was to be in full time education, work a part time job, work my own writing business, and raise 3 littles. I don't say that to big myself up or feed my ego, I say it because it's simply not the case.

The truth is, I'm not brilliant at all. It's survival. I HAVE to work two jobs to pay the bills and give the littles the treats they deserve. I HAVE to complete education to eventually get a higher paid job in a field I'm passionate about. And I HAVE to be a responsible mama and bring up my children. 

However, to those who think I'm keeping the plates spinning without a struggle, I'm going to go right ahead and burst that bubble. It's hard. Constantly hard.

I get up, get three minis dressed and fed, then I drive them to breakfast club, and make the 45 minute drive to college. I spend 5 hours taking in information about biochemistry, doing assessments and taking presentations, then I drive 45 minutes home, stop at the shop to get something for dinner, pick up the girls from their grandparents, drive home. Then I fix dinner, do laundry and take them to their individual hobby groups. I pick them back up and bath them and then spend around an hour blow drying three heads of blonde hair. I tuck them into bed, head downstairs to do dishes and then settle down to do writing for clients, homework and essays. I'll take a bath and then fall into bed around midnight. One good thing is that I usually sleep pretty well!

But even when those little babies are away from me and with their daddy, my role as main caregiver doesn't stop in that I have to still keep house, do laundry, reply to play date requests, rsvp to parties and pay for extra curricular activities.

However, in trying my best to do all of these things, something has to give. My house has muddles, my car is a mess and my ironing pile could rival Mount Everest. So no, working mums aren't brilliant, perfect or anything in between,they are just motivated by fierce love to survive against the odds so that the littles in their care can flourish and have someone to look up to. In a world where role models in the media starve themselves, party hard and bend to fit the mould, a mama as a role model needs to be two things: loving and dependable.

So if you happen to see my parked car and wonder why there are Diet Coke cans, Cheerios and kid paraphinalia strewn all over the interior, it might be because some mornings are harder than others. Sometimes my little ladies eat breakfast en route, and sometimes mama needs extra caffeine to kick start the day. Someday I'll get it valeted, but until then, that 'mess' just proves we are still surviving!

So long Quackee Duck

Last Easter, I decided it would be a fun idea to get the girls pet ducks, which by the way, was no mean feat. I drove a 60mile round trip in the hopes of finding one from one of the farms close by, but none could be found. there were chickens a plenty, but no ducklings. eventually I found a lady who was looking to rehome her ducks who were 'just at the point of lay'. This seemed perfect- no incubators or mothering, just three gorgeous ducks- 1 of which was an Aylesbury pure breed (Think of the gossiping ducks from Disney's Aristocats!). When they got to the farm I quickly realised that the lady may have told a tall tale or two, since the 'ducklings' were massive!

Needless to say, the ducks have not laid a single egg since they got here, so I think it's safe to assume that they are mature ducks. It was therefore only right to give them mature names- Queen Priscilla, Lady Quack a lot and Quackee Duck.

The little ladies became instantly smitten and chose a duck each. All summer we had a blast watching them interact, try to escape and follow us around, and quickly referred to their outings as 'duck tales'.

Last week, after college, I thought I'd give them a bit of splash time in the puddles on the drive - a favourite of theirs. Only to find when I opened up their door, that only the two white ducks came out to play. It was getting pretty dark, so I assumed that the black and green drake would follow shortly, but after the floodlights came on, I still couldn't see him.

After careful inspection of the duck house, I discovered him lifeless.Cue: a grown woman stood in the middle of the gardens in the pouring rain, wearing a dress and wellies crying over a duck. I'm still fairly new to this rural living lark, I had no clue what to do with a dead duck. nor what I should tell the littlest lady about the whereabouts of 'her' drake.

A quick SOS call to my dad confirmed we should bury him.

I got myself collected and went to break the news to the girls.

Littlest lady got pretty upset and so big girl took her upstairs to play and take her mind off it. Sisters are a gift! However, ten minutes later, she came downstairs sniffling and climbed on my lap to ask me this very important question...

"Mammy, is my du-du-duck in Hereford?"

(You should know that this was an insanely cute moment and I did such a great job of holding in my amusement at this sad time.)

"Um, no baby, he's not in Hereford. He's in Heaven."

"When is he coming back?"

"He's not babe, he's gone to Heaven for good."

"Is he eating a happy meal there? "

"Um, I don't really know what they eat in Heaven babe, but probably not..."

"C said you get a Mcdonald's in Heaven...?"

At this point, big girl appeared with her hands on her hips and said with a flick of her hair,

"Um yeah you do, you get a drive thru on the way, what else are you going to munch on the journey?!"

Seriously, these kidlets are my joy.