Even Mummy Cries

This is an S3 post - I received these books for review purposes

For full details please see my disclosure policy

I saw a meme once that said "My only goal as a mother is to raise children that don't have to recover from their childhood" and it really resonated with me as I am in the continual process of recovering from mine.

I wish trauma wasn't part of my background, but knowing its far reaching effects first hand has guided my parenting choices for the better, in a "do almost every thing the opposite" kinda way. I don't think I'm at the point of being thankful for being fucked up, but I might get there one day. 

When I had my breakdown earlier this year I was conscious of not scaring (and scarring) the kids, but also letting them know what was happening. They're not stupid. Kids can tell something is up no matter how hard you try to hide it and it just makes everything uncomfortable; an elephant in the room that everyone is deathly afraid to mention. 

I let them see me cry a few times because what message am I sending them if I say its OK for them to cry but not me? We sheltered them from the big, ugly stuff, but I let them know that yeah, mum's sad right now.

I needed them to hear that it was nothing they did that made me sad, and that I was taking some medicine to help my brain the same way that Tricks takes medicine to help his lungs. They were allowed to ask me anything and I would answer as honestly (and age-appropriately) as possible. Tricky had some questions, but Bobbin is too young right now and was just happy with cuddles and tickles.

One of the resources I've used recently is the book Even Mummy Cries by Naomi Hunter (available through Empowering Resources). 

It is a great starting point for an important conversation. It alludes to mental illness, but never uses the specific words, so it could be helpful with a range of mental diagnoses (although Dr Glow is suspecting the mum in the book is bipolar). When it showed the Mum sleeping a lot, Tricks was all "that's what you did!". He was able to recognise the behaviours of the Mother and see himself in the children and I think it helped him to know that it wasn't just his mum acting all strange.

The book, with its beautiful illustrations by Karen Erasmus, will let you ease in to talking about big feelings and how they influence our lives, whether you experience mental illness or not. They'll be learning acceptance without even knowing it. It's the literary version of smuggling veggies in to spag bol. 

With these frequent, small discussions about mental illness I hope my kids grow up knowing it's nothing to be ashamed of, scared of, or hidden away. That they understand their Mum's mental illness, and that of others, is just as real as diabetes or broken bones. Basically I don't want them to grow up to be assholes who carry on the stigma. 

I believe that being open and honest with kids is important, so we have read the other books from Empowering Resources too, A Secret Safe To Tell a gentle story that covers body safety, and You're Different, Jemima that encourages kids to celebrate their differences. But Even Mummy Cries is the one that seems like it was written for us, so I have a soft spot for it. 

How do you approach the big conversations with your kids?

"Mum, what does motherfucker mean?"

I try reeeaaaalllly hard not to swear in front of my kids. It does happen though, because I'm human. A very sweary, quickly frustrated human who says fuck a lot. But I try really, really hard. 

When talking to friends with any kiddies within earshot I will drop out the swear sounds but still mouth the words or spell it out, but at home I say things like fuuu...dge and other such completely un-fucking-satisfying words.

After 7pm, when my babes are (usually) asleep, all the suppressed curses come bubbling to the surface. Every bloody second fucking word is a shitty swear. See? It's as if my body has a natural quota of swearing that must be completed by the end of the day or I'll turn in to a pumpkin or something.  

I grew up with my Dad making up huge sentences of just swear words when he was angry, but after getting a smack for saying fuck when I was three, I didn't swear again in front of my parents until I was an adult. Now they are subject to my foul mouth as much as anyone else because I figure they taught me, they gotta hear it. 

I used to swear a bit in front of Tricky when he was little, and because he was speech delayed and wouldn't say boo, it went on for quite a while. One day he piped up from the back seat with "bitch" and it put an end to the 24/7 trash talk pretty quickly.

Bobbin, on the other hand, is a parrot. She has been talking our ears off for months; we lost count of her words somewhere around the hundred mark. She will repeat everything she hears. EVERYTHING. Though not always 100% correct, so when she grabs your hand and pulls you to floor and says "sit"... well, yeah. She's constantly telling people to shit and I'm hovering around saying "SHE MEANS SIT!" 

Tricks is very in to words now; how they're spelled and what letters make what sound, and is always quick to ask what different words mean if he hasn't heard them before. It's led to some interesting conversations, "Mum, what does motherfucker mean?", being the one that has stuck in my mind the most (and never got an answer other than the ol' it's not a nice thing to say cop out), but other than that, he's not generally a swearer. Plus he is a bit of a tattle tale when he hears other people swear, and tells me or takes it upon himself to tell them off. "Nanna, that's not a nice word!". 

When you combine these two with a mother who was sleep deprived from looking after sick kiddies all night, the following happens:

Me: *dropping carton of milk * "Fuuuuuck!"

Bobbin: "Fuck!" 

Tricky: "Mum, Bobbin said fuck!!! Bobbin, fuck isn't a nice word, you shouldn't say fuck."

Great. We've all dropped the F bomb in the space of three seconds. 

We have adopted a variant of @emmasbrain's rules of swearing with him. Our rule is he can swear in our car, singing along to songs if it just us there. It's worked pretty well and I try to have songs without swear words whenever possible, but he is really in to anything Macklemore ("I rock that motherfucker") and his favourite song is Uptown Funk right now ("I'm too hot, hot damn!"). Though damn isn't really a swear word, it still sounds a bit wrong coming out of his mouth, so I count it as one now.  

I put the call out on Facebook for sweary stories and laughed my ass off last night reading them all. Here are some of my faves:

So my kids are not the only ones who swear sometimes. PHEW. And 60% of my readers are called Emma. Wait, what?

Tell me your sweary stories!

Make a personalized Christmas card, they said...

It'll be fun, they said.

It'll be cute, they said.

You can even do it yourself, they said.

Yeah, right.

See, "they" forgot to mention a few things:

• one year olds don't take direction very well
• four year olds get bored when the one year old is mucking around
• baubles can and will be used as projectiles
• someone will cry (it might be you)
• props will be knocked over and broken
• you will bribe them to stay still
• at least one of them will have closed eyes in about a quarter of the photos you take
• their young ears may be subject to a few muttered swear words
• they'll do something cute but because you're just using your phone, it will be blurry
• when one is looking adorable the other will be mid-sneeze or have a finger up their nose
• out of 4,382 photos, only three will look somewhat acceptable
• you will need a stiff drink after

Cameo from our Colzart Duxzart Christmas Duck.

Merry Christmas, gorgeous people of the Internet. Those are my three somewhat acceptable photos. You're welcome.

Note to self: start saving for a photographer for next year's card.

Can we talk about genitals for a minute?

There are a whole lot of words you can call your junk. Instead of listing the ones from my own personal Dicktionary, I asked on my Facebook page late last night and you lot helped me create something pretty from words like foof-fa and schlong. See, if you follow me on facey we talk about dicks. You should totally put that on your to do list. Following me on Facebook I mean, not talking about dicks. Though you could do both, I'm not stopping you.

So here we have it. Genital word art FTW.

Genital Euphemisms BOOYAH!

But I want to talk about the words we use for gentials around our kids - and as I type this I'm already scared of the awful search results this post will bring. And straight from the get go I am going to say I don't care what your family does; I don't think there is a right and wrong with parenting, just what works for your family, which is possibly different to my family. I don't think I'm better than you, that you're better than me, whatever. As long as you don't give your kids crack and have them wallowing in their own filth, then you're pretty tops in my books.

Anywho, Casa de Glow has a "real names" policy. It's not a formal policy in that we don't have a document stating the correct pronunciation of body parts is required at all times, but it's just what we do. Although, now that I think about it, I'd like to create that document and hang in the entrance just to see how awkward I can make people feel. I'll do it in Comic Sans just to make people really uncomfortable.

Tricky has a penis. OMG SHE SAID PENIS. We call it a penis. OMG SHE SAID IT AGAIN. He calls it a penis. OMG CAPSLOCK IS BECOMING REDUNDANT. Bobbin has a vulva. She can't say it yet.

MG and I chose to use the correct terms in age appropriate ways for a number of reasons; the abuse prevention aspect, empowerment, self-esteem and what not. I was not brought up this way (we were a house of doodles and wee wees) and since a large chunk of my parenting strategy is to not make my kids end up like me, I tend to turn everything I was taught on its head and go from there.

Calling a spade a spade, or a vulva a vulva and a penis a penis as the case may be, seems to be pretty uncommon amongst my circles and it has led to many an embarrassing situation - for them. The words have about as much effect on me as other body parts like elbow, wrist and leg (but not foot, that makes me squirm).

In the checkout line recently I told Tricks that we'd just pay for our groceries then I'd take him to the toilet, to which he replied "It's OK, Mum, I don't have to go. My penis changed its mind". We got a mixture of giggles, red faces, death stares and looks of abject horror. For the record, I giggled because those things sure do get a mind of their own young.

Would we have had a better reception if he had said bladder? Urethra? Don't be shy about the penis, y'all, it's just a word.

I remember my mum coming to me wide eyed after hearing Tricks say it for the first time, checking to see no one was within earshot then whispering "He told me he needed to tap his peeeenis after he went to the toilet!". I'm sure she would have been less taken aback if he'd dropped an F bomb. When they hear him say vulva there may be a coronary event. I'm not even certain they know what a vulva is, to be honest.

Speaking of which, he doesn't actually say vulva properly... most of the time he says Volvo. As a car aficionado I can't blame him, but it's bloody hard to keep my mouth shut when the jokes about it being "a bit boxy" are just dying to come out.

My only concern with teaching my kids anatomical names for their body parts is that when others say willy or fanny or Mr Foofy or whatever that they'll be confused. But I figure there are so many different names going around already and they all kinda know what is going on. Either that or they'll hear me call someone a dick or a cockhead and figure it out.

So I'm curious. What do you call genitals? Was it a decision or it just happened?

I'm a (slightly silly, vlog making) Claus for a Cause

I have gone fun run crazy it would seem. Yes even I, the girl who doesn’t exercise, can be active when it’s for charity. If you've watched the video you'd already know that I'm one of the Blog Ambassadors for the Variety Santa Fun Run! If you haven't, you really should watch it now if for no other reason than to piss yourself laughing at me. It's OK, I'll wait...

The Variety Santa Fun Run is being held almost nationwide (sorry, Tassie) on Sunday 25th of November and this year I'll be dressing up (along with Map Guy and Tricky) and heading to Freo to be a Claus for a Cause. You can go here to register and receive your Santa Suit!!

If dressing up as the big guy doesn’t float your boat but you’d still like to contribute, you can sponsor me here. And really, I think I deserve to be sponsored after prancing around Perth in my suit to show you just how fashionable it is, don't you? And the dancing bit? That's at least worth a $20, surely?

Images used with permission from Variety

Last year there were 1200 West Aussie Santas that raised $40,000 for local children who are sick, disadvantaged or have special needs. Your dollars will do so much for the kids in your state, so here's an idea of exactly what your money can do:

♥ $75 can send a child with special needs to the annual Variety Kids Christmas Party

♥ $200 can help a child who is non-verbal to communicate with iPad assistive software

♥ $1,000 can give fun and freedom to a child living with disability with their own customised tricycle

♥ $3,500 can provide an electric bed and pressure mattress to give a child with special needs a good night’s sleep

♥ $5,000 can help a child living with physical disability with a customised standing frame

I would love it if you would join me or sponsor me today.

Will you be a Claus for a Cause? Would you wear your suit to the shops?

How to make a kid's kitchen out of cardboard boxes

I'm of the firm belief that kids do not need expensive toys in order to have fun or learn.

The vast majority of Tricky's toys are second hand - they've been passed down from friends, found for a bargain price at an op shop or baby market, or picked up from the side of the road at bulk rubbish collection. Yes, I find my child's toys on the side of the road, call child services.

We do it partly to reduce the amount of new plastic that comes in to our house (and therefore the tonnes of non recyclable plastic shrink wrap packaging and twistie ties that end up in landfill), to keep our costs low on our single income budget and to encourage Tricky's imagination.

So last week, with that in mind, I decided to get my craft on and channel the guys on Play School and get creative with some boxes, some tape and a Sharpie. Just call me Noni Hazelhurst.

 

Grab any boxes you have, stick them together and get drawing - it's that easy. I used some bowls to get the shape of the hotplates, a ruler for the straight lines and a sandwich to distract Tricky while I did it. There's no right or wrong and it doesn't have to be perfect - I've left 'bench space' for him to use but you could draw in a sink. If you do it indoors make sure it's in a well ventilated area or you'll end up with a massive Sharpie induced headache after colouring in the hot plates!

I must say, I'm kinda happy with how it turned out. Actually who am I kidding? I freakin' love it and when people come over now I drag them towards it singing "Come look at the kitchen I made for Tricky!!!"

Kids don't need the most expensive, realistic looking toys with sound effects... how are they ever meant to develop their imaginations if we do it all for them? Plus how many times have you given your child a toy and they've played with it for a few minutes then turned the box it came in into a car, an aeroplane, a cave or a house?

Tricky thinks it rocks and has been cooking for me ever since using some plastic fruit and veg, a chopping board, 'knife' and a little saucepan. Each time he runs to his cardboard kitchen and does the same, then holds up his 'dish' sniffs it and declares "Mmm yum!". I melt every time!

Go away, Mama, I'm cooking you a special dinner

Do you have second hand or home made toys for your kids?

The Ugly Truth

I've had a lot of friends have babies recently. And a lot of friends of friends. Through the power of Facebook you can see those babies in all their newborn glory within a few minutes of popping out.

The comments below the pics are always along the lines of "Congratulations she's beautiful!" "He's adorable!" and "OMG soooo cute!".

The thing about these comments is that the person has had time to filter what they really think before saying something. That luxury doesn't exist when you go to visit them at the hospital or at their home. So I have been known to prepare myself with some good lines, just in case, ya know?

Newborns tend to not be the most attractive creatures. Sometimes it has to do with their mode of delivery (be it via the escape shoot or the emergency hatch), and sometimes because Mother Nature can be a bitch with a dark sense of humour.

Every mother and father think their child is the most wonderful, beautiful, gorgeous creature to ever scream it's lungs out. It's hard wired. A lot of the time the extended family and friends think it too. Sometimes our perception of the parents influences our view of the child. A case of either rose coloured or shit-stained glasses.

Before Tricks was born I wondered if he'd be fabbo or fuggo. I even blogged my thoughts, in one of my early loooong paragraph posts with no pictures and actual research behind it. A friend remembered it when Tricky was born and wrote "Congrats, you didn't get a fuggo". Best.Compliment.Ever.

To make it fair, here's one of Tricky's more fuggo photos from when he was a newborn. I think he looks like a cross eyed Shar Pei - you know the dogs that don't fit their skin? Yeah, I just called my son a dog. I used to call him my Shar Pei-by until he grew in to those folds on his forehead. Be sure to write that on my Mother of the Year nomination, won't you?

One day old Shar Pei-by

As usual I put it out to Twitter and the suggestions included:
A TV catchphrase - "Breathtaking" - @Alexricia (quoting Seinfeld)
Pointing out the cute - "How cute are her little toes?!" - @MeganBlandford
Sticking to the facts - "She's so alert!" - @KerriSackville
Blatant lying to save face - "Cuuuuuuttttteeee" - @x0xJessikah
Size matters - "She's so big!" - @Glowless (yeah, that's me)
Genetic Questions - "Oh my gosh *pause* who does she look like?" @VaughnsMum

What do you do when faced with a less than gorgeous bub? 

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Glowless rocked the Aussie Bloggers Conference thanks to

HealthyChart and Baby Goes Retro and Simply Colors

Quite a Spectacle

Tonight I got something caught in my contact lenses and ended up with tears streaming out of one, bright red eye. It looked like half my face was either terribly upset or stoned. So the contacts were whipped out (kinda hard when it hurts to open your eyes) and replaced by my glasses.

I don't often where my glasses, even though I love them to bits. Maybe I should wear them more since they're so awesome.

Imagine them with clear lenses, OK?

I totally love that chunky, plakky frames are in fashion. My eyes are so bad that my lenses look like coke bottle bottoms, so some of the dainty wire rims just can't handle the weight. But these babies? These are chuck-a-licious.

Yup, that there is leopard print on the arms. But as far as I'm aware, no animals were harmed in their production so you can call of the PETA intervention.

My whole family wears glasses/contacts. Poor eyesight is just one of the many genetic gifts I was blessed with along with a dose of crazy.

Aunty Penny has worn glasses from age two. So when I reached age three, even though I hadn't been showing signs of poor vision yet, it was decided that I should get tested for the same eye muscle weakness that affects the family... but there was a slight problem.

I flat out refused to open my eyes for the test.

Not actually me, but might as well be

My Mum describes it as one of the most embarrassing moments of her life, but when it's not your kid, it's kinda funny, right?. Karma will get me for laughing at this.

What I found out only recently was that because I stood there, eyes screwed shut, refusing the test, they had to do it another way. My poor Mother had to take me across the city on two buses to Fremantle Hospital where I was anesthetized!

Yep, a three year old knocked out, put under, drugged up for a freakin' eye test!

Aaaaaand what was the result of said eye test? My eyes were fine. I didn't need glasses then. All that effort for nothing (sorry, Mama!).

I didn't get my first pair of glasses until I was 11. I hated them. Actually hate is not strong enough. I loathed them. Detested them. I ordered a pair of brown plastic frames that were hideous but were the nicest ones in the column I was allowed to choose from - none of the in-fashion wire rims were in our budget. But instead of the ugly brown ones, they sent two pairs of the ugly pink ones Aunty Penny chose...

We had matching glasses. Vomit. I am forever scarred.

Do you wear contacts or glasses? Love 'em or hate 'em?

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Glowless rocked the Aussie Bloggers Conference thanks to
HealthyChart and Baby Goes Retro and Simply Colors

Cute as a... um... monkey?

At a party the other night a friend was telling me about the ugliest baby he'd ever seen. So ugly was this baby that a mere description was not enough, he grabbed his phone and logged on to Facebook to share the horror. A few pictures later and we agreed that yes, this baby was not going to be in an Anne Geddes calendar any time soon... not that the parents know that. Oh no, they're blissfully unaware of the quiet whisperings of “looks like an old man” and “are you sure its human?” So naturally my next thought was “What if Tricky is ugly? Will I even know?”

I've been told the trick to know if your baby isn't calendar-cute is by the response of those seeing him for the first time. If they coo and mention his dimples, his eyes and general cuteness, then its likely they think your spawn is acceptable. If however, they instead focus on other features, chances are they think your kid is ugly: “He's so big!”, “Look how much hair”, “Such small hands” and the like are almost guaranteed to mean you've scored a fuggo. But that in itself isn't a great predictor because I know when I see a baby for the first time the first thing I think is always “Its sooo tiny! How can this be out of the womb yet?”

I know I'm getting way ahead of myself, seeing that Tricky isn't even born yet, but I'm pretty sure even if people do skirt around the cuteness factor and try to make lame comments to cover their awkwardness it won't matter – I'm unlikely to notice, it will just go over my head and I'll continue to be smitten... at least I hope so.

Research published in June last year on the PloS ONE website (an open access scientific journal – hey I never said I wasn't a nerd) suggests that whilst its been known for a long time that attractive adults are often more advantaged in life (from getting better jobs, higher pay and generally more opportunities), it apparently all starts in the cot. Pretty babies are loved more. This was only based on the results of 27 volunteers so its not exactly written in stone, but the results indicated that babies who were considered 'more attractive' were looked at more and from this they determined they were therefore loved more. What this research didn't consider was that the people looking at these babies were not their parents – I cannot imagine loving Tricky any less if he happens to come out with a cleft lip or birth marks all over him. He'll still be my little baby and therefore perfect in my eyes.

I've only had one friend tell me she didn't think her baby was cute. She was certain that when her daughter was born she must have had some genetic abnormality because she didn't look “quite right”. But what is right? Depending on how they come out they can look pretty alien! Squished heads, covered in cheesy vernix and blood, squinty eyes, even bruising from a traumatic birth mean they're not the most attractive things in the world - for the record my friend's daughter is now seven and looks like she should be in a catalogue she's that gorgeous! Babies need a few days (if not weeks) to get a bit cute in my opinion – but come and ask me on the day Tricky is born and I'll probably tell you he was instantly gorgeous.

The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth

As a little girl I remember my Uncle Russell coming over from Queensland one Christmas. Because we didn't get to see him often I hung around and just wanted to be near him, this exotic person from the other side of the country. I noticed that his fingernail on his right pinky finger was long and asked him why. Without a moment of hesitation he explained to me (with helpful gestures) that it helped him clean his ears. Excellent. Question answered. Move along, nothing to see here. I did wonder why he only had it on his right hand – surely it would be easier to clean his left ear with his left hand? But nevertheless I believed him, why wouldn't I? It was only in my adult life that I learnt that it is much more likely his lone long fingernail was actually a 'cocaine scoop', but who tells a primary school student that? “Well honey, that's so I can get high on crack.”

As kids we live in a fantasy land of lovely illusions - we're protected from all the nasty stuff (and sometimes the important stuff) by our parents. Whether or not we follow in their footsteps and tell the same little fibs to our own children is very much dependant on our own experiences of those lies. Some families will have the same stories passed down for generations about how the police can actually tell if you have brushed your teeth or just ran the toothbrush under the tap, because the lie doesn't hurt anyone and helps life run a little bit smoother.

I cried when I found out that Father Christmas and the Easter Bunny weren't real. I remember the day so vividly (though I'm not sure how old I was); it was Easter and along with a chocolate egg I got a little card saying “Enjoy your chocolate. I like carrots. Love the Easter Bunny”... in my mother's handwriting. I was devastated and looked up at my mum as big fat tears started to well in my eyes and asked despairingly, “Does this mean Father Christmas isn't real too?” I'm sure I got over it quick enough (there was chocolate there to distract me, after all) and enjoyed the rest of the day, but its got me thinking about the lies we tell our kids, and more importantly which ones I'll be able to get away with when the time comes for me to explain the unexplainable to Tricky.

Father Christmas and the Easter Bunny are more than likely going to be fixtures in my home, I would rather lie to Tricky about their existence than rob him of the joys of those few years. Although when he is five and screaming to sit on yet another Santa's lap at a shopping centre I may regret this decision. But what about the other things we lie to our kids about? Big things that they're not ready to understand yet. Is it OK to lie about the death of a beloved pet to one of your children but tell the truth to the other, based on their ages and level of understanding? And what about the awful things in life that they just don't need to know about yet? I'm not advocating hushing up everything and letting the poor suckers learn about sex from television and YouTube, but the harsher realities of life where there is no explanation for what happened other than sometimes bad things happen to good people. Where do I draw the line? I don't want Tricky to grow up full of fear but at the same time I don't want him to be naïve.

Luckily I won't have to worry about this for quite a few years yet, and other than trying to make sure Tricky doesn't learn the truth about Christmas or Easter on the actual day, I'm not sure which fibs I'll tell. But to help me when the time comes, what lies have you told your kids?