I was struck by lightning

Howahhh. What? 

Yeah, I was struck... by the Lightning Process...

And I can't keep quiet about it a minute longer. Every single day I read posts on Facebook about people suffering from chronic illnesses or conditions (like ME, chronic fatigue, migraines, depression, anxiety, food allergies, other allergies etc.), and I know of something that can help them. It would just be incredibly selfish of me not to share my amazing journey.

But first, what in the world is the Lightning Process? It's an amazing training programme whereby you learn how to rewire your brain and to train your brain to tell your body what to do so that you can get better when you are stuck in your life, or stuck in your health.

For those of you know me or who have been following me for a while, you will know that I suffered from post natal depression after the birth of both my children, that anxiety was a big issue, and that my self esteem and body image had never been amazing. 

When my second child was a few months old, I bumped into Sarah. I hadn't seen her in quite awhile and the last time I had seen her, she was suffering from chronic fatigue and multiple food intolerances. That day, she was full of energy and eating the same as me. So I asked her what had happened, and she just answered, "I did the Lightning Process and now I'm fine and I can eat whatever I want". Well, I wanted to know her secret and I wanted to do the same thing. 

At the time, it turned out the only Lightning Process trainer was in Auckland, and the training programme was over $1,000 (it still is by the way). I felt really deflated, but Sarah told me that she was training to become a recognised trainer and that she would be in touch when she was fully qualified. She did! But I couldn't afford it, or maybe I wasn't desperate enough.

You know, 

Sound familiar?

Earlier this year however, I had had ENOUGH. I was on anti-depressants every other day but I was tense, pretty anxious, highly strung, without a sense of humour, and generally tired of faking it. I was angry and disappointed with myself for not enjoying motherhood. I was also very, very tired of sneezing all day every day and reacting to every little pollen and allergen in the air. I wanted to be able to visit friends with cats if I so wished. I wanted to look in the mirror and see a beautiful woman. And I wanted to know what to do with my life.

I was driving one day and I thought, 

Ann, you're just existing. You are waiting for each day to pass so you can get to the next one, and then the next one, until the day you die.

That day was my turning point.

I emailed Sarah Field who is the Lightning Process trainer at Monarch Life, ordered Phil Parker's Introduction to the Lightning Process, and signed up after I'd read it and had a chat with Sarah. On the 1st of August, I was sitting in her training room with 6 other desperate people, and for 3 days I drank in every word and learned how to train my brain to tell my body what to do.

After day 1, I experienced BUBBLES OF JOY! (I hadn't experienced that in over 7 years)

After day 2, I went clothes shopping and didn't have one single negative thought about myself. (I had never experienced that)

After day 3, I was actually looking forward and excited at the prospect of going on holiday to Fiji with my family. (I had never looked forward to spending several days in a row with my kids with no respite. To that day I was dreading that holiday and was wondering how I would get through it)

Today, almost 2 months later, I cannot tell you the number of times my husband has just stared at me unbelieving. I have blown him away. We had an amazing holiday in Fiji. I am not stressed about these school holidays and I haven't planned every minute in advance. I use my calm voice so much more than before. I enjoy being with my kids a lot of the time. My allergies have all but disappeared, and on the rare occasions when I do have symptoms, I do the Lightning Process steps, and they go away. My self confidence has grown in leaps and bounds. I am not afraid of the future and have confidence in my abilities. I experience joy and happiness. And my daughter gave me 2 amazing gifts. She said to me one day shortly after I did the training: "Mum, you actually laughed today!". And on another occasion she said: "Mum, you don't get angry anymore" (I do get angry, but I am able to control it now). I do now burst out laughing. I do giggle. 

There is so much more I could say, but what I really wanted to do today was share how the Lightning Process training course has changed my life for the better. I am off anti depressants (and so much better than when I was on them). I am mostly off asthma and allergy medication. But most importantly,

If you find that

- you've lost your sense of humour, or

- you're not living a life you love,

then the Lightning Process training can change your life too. Please get in touch with me if you would like to know more or if you have any questions.

You can find testimonies on how the Lightning Process has changed lives here.

Kia Kaha dear readers. Be Strong! 

And do leave me a comment. I love to hear from you.

Caution Note: do not stop medication without talking to your GP as well as your Lightning Process trainer.

For those who may be wondering: the Lightning Process did not and does not clash with my Christian beliefs. If anything, my faith is even stronger than it was.

Clamp my tubes please! Or why I got sterilized.

My daughter is about to turn 7. My son is 3.5. I love them.

Two weeks ago, I got sterilized. Tubes clamped. No more babies please! Or maybe I should say, No more flippin' babies, please. You get the idea. I wanted something definite. 

For E.V.E.R.

No more babies!

I was as sure as I'll ever be and had been since the moment my second child was born. A few months after his birth, as I was still convinced of this and terrorised of having sex (not great for the relationship with my husband), I visited the doctor at my local Family Planning Clinic and asked to be referred for sterilization. I ticked all the boxes and my referral was accepted. 

Now this bit is kind of hazy to me. Remember, I was in the depth of Post Natal Depression and my brain was more than foggy. I saw the gynaecologist, who somehow talked me out of it and I walked out my appointment with a Mirena IUD. I was in shock and I wasn't sure what had happened.

Time passed, and I was still scared (read terrified) of having sex. I just couldn't stop myself from worrying that maybe the IUD had moved, or come out without me knowing. All very irrational, I know. Moreover, I am convinced that what hormones are contained in the Mirena IUD were not helping me get rid of this bloody depression.

So when my son turned 3, I went back to see the doctor, ended up in a mess of tears and hysterics, begged for another referral, which was miraculously accepted.

I went to the appointment with the specialist like a warrior ready to do battle. I was pumped and fuming. I went in, told them in no uncertain terms why I was there, and was told rather nicely that they would grant my wish and sterilize me this time.

This time?, I asked. Apparently, the specialist I saw the first time had taken it upon himself to decide for me and had thought that I might change my mind and want another child later on. I could have got angry. I didn't. I just thought:

Yes! No more babies! Sex with no fear of getting pregnant!

30 minutes before the operation.
Relaxed and at peace.

Two weeks later I was lying on the operation table, then on my way home, drugged up and very sore from the keyhole surgery. Good thing I didn't know before hand how painful the recovery would be, or how slow (don't let any surgeons tell you that keyhole surgery is nothing. It IS something).

Lying in bed over the next few days, I had a lot of time to think. A lot of friends told me how brave I had been. How strong. I wasn't sure I understood why. Deciding to get sterilized was one of the easiest decisions of my life. I never, and I mean NEVER, want to put myself, my husband or my kids through the effects of Post Natal Depression and Anxiety again.

I am completely at peace about my decision. Entirely confident about what I've done. I'm so looking forward to having sex and feeling free to enjoy it fully. But I'm also sad because I have to...

... accept that child bearing is not good for me. And having two beautiful children already, I shall make sure I never bear a child again. For me, the strength does not lie in the decision to get sterilised but in the acceptance of my limitations and the discrepancy between my young woman dreams and my realities of motherhood.

I love this sculpture.
The mother looks totally at peace with her two children.

So why didn't my husband just get the snip, you might wonder. Well, I wondered too. For a while. But then we decided, together, that since I could get funding for my operation, we might as well save the snip money for a holiday or something nice. I don't really care who is sterilized, as long as one of us is.

This is my story, my perceptions, my decision. In no way do I want to influence, judge or criticize anyone else's journey. I just love to share with you and I hope that I can encourage you in one way or another.

Kia Kaha! Be Strong!

Please leave me a comment. I love to hear from you :-).

Love is not Love

This morning started rather badly. As have most mornings in the past week. We entered this latest monster stage last Thursday.

Both kids have entered said monster stage.

Normally, it's just one at a time. But no. Not this time. I'm blaming the end of the school year. I always have to blame something.

Master J wakes up between 6.15am and 6.30am. He opens his bedroom door and starts pottering around rather noisily. I stumble out of bed (my dearly beloved blissfully asleep), put him back in his bed and silently curse his Momo Monkey clock, which stopped working a month ago. And then I swear silently because we can't afford to get him a new one because of the recent huge car bills, and because we need 2 new tyres, and because life is just flippin' expensive.

So I stumble back to bed wired up and thinking about how I could earn a few extra dollars ever week But then I start panicking because how on earth could I fit anything else in without losing the plot?

Then I usually hear Miss L get up and go to the bathroom, shortly followed by Master J who  never wants to miss out on any toilet fun unless he's the one having to go. The bickering starts.

I stumble out of bed again. Master J goes back to his room with the threat of going down the "ladder of consequences" if he gets up again.

Miss L goes back to bed. A few minutes later, one of two things could happen:

1) Master J goes to the bathroom and I jump out of bed and run to get there before he's taken his stinky poo-y (how does one even spell that?) nappy off and spreads the stuff everywhere.

2) Miss L comes into our room declaring that her brother has pooed  and that his nappy is about to overflow. So I stumble out of bed again, a little faster this time.

By this stage, dearly beloved has usually emitted a few grunts and has very occasionally got up himself.

Dirty nappy incident averted, I look at the time. Is it worth going back to bed? Usually the attraction of my hubby's warm body and strong arms is too strong and I snuggle up for a very few minutes of bliss and tenderness.

7.15am. Miss L's Momo Monkey clock opens his eyes. Both kids come running to be the first to jump on me and give me a cuddle. Kind of sweet, but mostly irritating as inevitably one comes second and starts whining and screaming.

The hubby and I get up. Miss L, who has been getting dressed by herself for months, now whines for help. My patience breaks down very quickly with whining. It winds me up at the speed of lightning. So despite my best efforts, my tone changes. Miss L picks up on it. She starts whining and telling me that I'm mean. I try to help her get dressed despite my mounting irritation. She finds every possible way to slow us down. But the time she's dressed, we are both close to tears.

In the meantime, Master J has been crying and shouting "me sad" for who knows what reason. Dearly beloved is nowhere to be seen. I usually manage to calm him down by putting a Spiderman clip on my phone. As soon as he is settled, Miss L starts whining because her hair isn't done, or because she wants to watch Spiderman too and her brother won't let her, or because her sock is on sideways. You get the idea.

My dear beloved starts making breakfast and asks the kids what they'd like. "Wice kwispies", says Master J. "Oats, blueberries, milk and glucose", says Miss L, "but I put the glucose myself after you've put the milk". If we get the order wrong, all hell breaks loose.

We give the children the 1 minute transition warning. Spiderman will have to go during breakfast. The minute passes. The mobile is turned off. The crying, whining and "me saaaaaaad" starts. And goes on. And on. And on.

It usually takes me 15 to 20 minutes to calm him down with bribery, threats, taking him on my knees, reading a story, cuddles, or whatever works, for goodness' sake! 

Finally, usually at about 8.25am, 2 hours after being first woken up, things settle down. They put their shoes on, get in the car, and we go to school and kindy (on a kindy day). 

Calm. Quiet. Sweet silence.

On the days when Master J and I hang out, we usually have a great time. He's fun and even tempered and generally helps me forget the hideous start by about 10am.

But I hit a wall this morning.

I told both kids that I was tired of being treated like a slave and being disrespected. I will now stubbornly ignore them if they are whining or if they are disrespectful. My life is going to be hell. I have no illusions. And I hope it doesn't take too long for them to change their attitudes.

It strikes me that God is probably often fed up with me just as I am with my kids. He must wonder why on earth I'm never happy with what I have and why I keep making the same mistakes over and over again. Why I ask him for things more than I thank him for what he's already given to me. Why I don't listen when he speaks to me. But just like I love my children with all of my being, he loves me. And he forgives. And he forgets.

This is my favourite Shakespear quote.
It means a lot to me.

Kia Kaha! Be strong!

My man had PND

My first child, a girl, was a few weeks old. I cried all day. I was a mess. My husband didn't know what was happening to me. He looked at me with despair in his eyes, with sadness, with a sense of powerlessness that made me cry even more. He got angry and yelled at my Post Natal Depression. I felt like he was yelling at me. I hated my PND. I hated myself all the more for putting my husband through the pain of witnessing my distress. 

With counselling and medication, I got through it. My husband was relieved to have his wife back. Our daughter was 2.5 years old.

We didn't want her to be an only child. I got pregnant and gave birth to a gorgeous strong boy. The birth was hideous. The first two weeks were okay. My husband got up with me at night when I was feeding. I thought, "it's going to be okay".

The third week I started crying. Every time I breastfed and the milk came down, an intense and overpowering sense of despair would overcome me. A friend, who was a La Leche League volunteer at the time, recognized the signs of D-MER, or Dysphoric Milk Ejection Reflex, which is caused by a "sudden drop in the feel-good hormone dopamine, which pre-empts the release of breast milk. This leads to strong negative emotions and lasts for as long as milk let-down continues - usually  between 30 to 90 seconds". It was aweful and with every single milk let-down, I wanted to die.

But I could also feel the claws of Post Natal Depression latching on to my head, my heart, my senses. My desire to do anything was disappearing, my sense of self-worth was withering, my interest in my kids was dismal to say the least.

As I went downhill, so did my husband.

He was angry. He yelled. He slammed doors. He didn't want to have anything to do with the kids. He was impatient. His jaw was constantly clenched. He accused me of being the one who wanted children. He said he didn't want children.

I cried even more. I was desperate to get better because I couldn't bear to see my husband like that, and yet I could not.

The fourth week, my parents arrived. My Mum took over the cooking and looking after my daughter. My Dad took over looking after my son. Rocking him. Burping him. Getting him to sleep. Over and over again. He was doing what I had dreamed my husband would do, but was incapable of doing. 

At the time, I was so disappointed in my husband. Disappointed that he wasn't living up to my expectations. That he wasn't ready to step-up and be the Dad I had imagined him to be. Couldn't he see that I couldn't do anything and that it was his job to fill in where I couldn't? Why was he letting my parents do everything? Why did he have to work such long hours when I so desperately needed him close to me?

The fifth week, I was having panic attacks and crying all day. I wanted to die. I didn't care how, but I just didn't want to exist for another second. So I asked my Mum to take me to the hospital. I left my Dad with my baby. I knew he had formula and bottles that we had bought a few days earlier as a back-up plan. But really, at that point, I didn't care.

I got help that day. The CATT (Crisis Assessment and Treatment Team) team took over. They put me on anti-anxiety medication and anti-depressants, both of which meant I had to stop breast-feeding. After my parents left, friends took over and were there for me.

But my husband suffered in silence. 
He didn't talk. 
He exploded occasionally. 
He was angry.
He still clenched his jaw. 
He hated the lack of excitement in our lives. 
He felt helpless and hopeless. 
He felt powerless. 
I felt like he resented me, when in fact he resented my PND and its implications in our lives: he felt like he had lost the woman he married. He would yell and say "I've got bloody PND too, so give me a break!". And so, several times, I encouraged him to go see our doctor to talk about what he was going through.

But he never did.

For quite a long time, I was resentful of that. I mean, why should I get help and get treated for the benefit of our family, if he wasn't going to do the same? I looked for support groups online for men with PND, but couldn't find any (this was 3 years ago now).

So I gave up. I let him deal with it on his own. I was there for him when he wanted to talk. And always reminded him that doctors were there to help. But his fear of being put onto medication held him back. I strongly believe however, that had there been more of an awareness of PND in men, he would have reached out. He wouldn't have felt so alone.

The first two years of our son's life were pretty hideous, both of us navigating the roller-coaster of depression, all the while running a business and raising two gorgeous kids. I'm sure that our marriage survived because through it all we continued to:

• go out on a date most weeks, even if we just went for a walk or out for a drink or a movie. We didn't always talk much. We quite often argued. But we always respected our two golden rules: no talk of work and no talk of the kids;
• ask for forgiveness and forgive each other every night for what we had done and/or said to hurt the other;
• give each other child-free space every weekend;
• communicate, communicate, communicate.

Remember these four tips!

Three years after the birth of our son, things are a lot easier. I'm still taking meds, but am starting to consider coming off them. My husband is back to normal. And the kids drive us crazy with love and crazy with frustration, depending on the moments.

I hope this post has encouraged you in some way. It's hard for Mums with PND to talk about this stuff, and it's even harder for our men. The more we talk about PND in fathers though, the more they will feel able and confident to reach out for help.

If you know of support groups for men with PND, please share them with us.

See more on PND in Dads here.

Kia Kaha! Be Strong!

Confessions of a Highly Sensitive Person

I am so EFFing angry.

Almost a year ago, a young girl who lived with us and helped us with the kids left abruptly with no warning. She broke my son's heart. She broke my trust. She broke me.

And the effect her actions had on me, and still have on me, makes me angry. Do you get what I'm trying to say? The fact that I was affected by her behaviour makes me angry, more so than what she did. Why do I feel things so deeply, so completely and so excruciatingly? 

I am so EFFing sensitive. 

I have this tendency to take things too much at heart and to feel, oh to feel everything with exacerbated emotions. I often think of my inner thought life as a thin piece of glass. It doesn't take much to break it. And broken glass can never be fixed perfectly ever again, however hard you may try. 

I am like a reconstituted piece of glass. A MOSAIC.

Oh so happy. Abidjan, Ivory Coast, August 2015.

But you know what? I am so EFFing thankful!

I am a precious mosaic. Yes, I've lost count of how many times I've been broken, but every time I put myself back together, a new mosaic emerges, sometimes pretty dull, dark or ugly, and sometimes magnificent and colourful. Fragile though. Oh so fragile.

That's okay. That is who I am. Yeah, I often feel angry about my inability to build a wall around me, but I'm also so thankful to be a Highly Sensitive Person. Yep, there is an official name for it. It's a cool thing to be, most of the time. If you:

• are easily overwhelmed by such things as bright lights, strong smells, coarse fabrics, or sirens nearby,
• get rattled when you have a lot to do in a short amount of time,
• make a point of avoiding violent movies and TV shows,
• need to withdraw during busy days, into bed or a darkened room or some other place where you can have privacy and relief from the situation,
• make it a high priority to arrange your life to avoid upsetting or overwhelming situations,
• notice or enjoy delicate or fine scents, tastes, sounds, or works of art,
• have a rich and complex inner life,
• were seen as sensitive or shy by your parents and teachers when you were a child*,

then there's a good chance you are one too. And that is cool! Or maybe your child is, or your partner. I know my daughter is very probably a HSP. 

Here's the deal. I experience everything that surrounds me with more sensitivity, I'm more empathetic, I feel joy and excitement to the depth of my being. And I love my friends and family with a faithfulness of heart that is often overwhelming.

Spend enough time putting yourself out there in the world -

your sensitivity is not something to be feared.” 
― Elaine N. Aron, The Highly Sensitive Person

So, just for you, here are 11 survival tips I've put together if you too are a pretty special HSP. I hope they help you in some way, and I'd love to hear from you if you have some to share too. We're all in this together!

*Questions asked by Elaine N. Aron, Ph.D., in The Highly Sensitive Person.

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Today I am thankful!

I had a good day today. We all had a good day today.

I don't know why or how, but the planets and the stars aligned for me today.

I was relaxed. I was cool. Mr 3 played nicely by himself several times. We cruised. He almost didn't whine. He almost didn't cry. He said please and thank you. He got into his car seat when asked. 

At 3 o'clock, the dreaded school pick up time and "what am I going to do with them for 2 hours?" time, I was calm! I couldn't believe it.

Nothing beats sunshine and Vitamin D

The sun was shining so we went to the park and had ice cream. We hung out for one hour and I didn't get bored (I normally find playgrounds the most boring place on earth, please tell me I'm not the only one???). My kids' smiles and excited shouts were like warm waves of love washing over me.

Back home, they played nicely (?!) and my son helped me chop the vegetables for the fish pie.

All day, I just kept asking myself: why? how? I have no idea. Maybe it's the PND lifting a little more. Maybe it's the fact that I've been allergy free for almost a week thanks to the new meds, maybe it was the sunshine. Maybe it was all three. Maybe it was none of them. 

Today was a good day. It was a moment in eternity. A ray of sunshine in a sky which has been tainted by fogginess and greyness. A drop in an ocean of emotions, feelings, and anxieties.

Today, I am thankful. I want to encourage you who are going through harder times, that there will be days like this one. They are worth waiting for, and when they come along, savour every little second of the day. Engrave each moment into your heart and mind. And smile!

Kia kaha! Be strong!

"Ahhhhhh-tchoo!" Confessions of an Allergic Mum

"Ahhhhhh-tchooo!" 
Really loud. Fills the room. 
"Atchoo, atchoo, atchoo!". Snuffle, snuffle, blows nose.

Seriously, hayfever is not funny. I've had it on and off forever. But the past 2 years have been terrible. No respite. As if having two young children wasn't tiring enough. 

"Ahhhhhh-tchoooooooo!". Pause. Blows nose. "Arghhhhh".

I'm seriously over it. Hay fever doesn't sound like a serious condition. It's not. But it can be debilitating at times. And oh so tiring.

This is what I've tried:

"Atchoo! Atchoo!"

So, nose drops now give me nose bleeds. 
Anti-histamine tablets don't work any more.
Steroids are miraculous but I can't have them more than 2 or 3 times a year. And they are baaaaaad for you.
Acupuncture helped my allergies a little, but especially strengthened my immune system and energy levels.
Vicks Vaporizer. Smells amazing, and I do seem to do better on the days when I've used it the previous night.
Avoiding milk as much as I can, but I can't give up cheese and yoghurt and butter and cream!!
Tempted to chop my head off, but.........

I mean, try cooking a meal. I have to stop every two minutes or so to sneeze or blow my nose. Then wash my hands. Then keep going. Then stop again, wash hands. Keep going. Drives me nuts!

"Ahhhhhh-tchooooooo!". 

Some days I get up and I feel like I can't do this one more day. The smiling, the being patient, the educating, the cooking, the cleaning, the policing, the entertaining, the looking good, the caring, the running around, the shopping, the teaching, the hugging, the kissing, the nose wiping, the being reasonable and rational, when all I really want to do is lock myself up in a room, curl up with a book and rest. Oh blissful rest!

But do you know what keeps me going? My faith - as always.

I'm seeing a super duper German allergy specialist this week. Dr Robert Winkler. I have very high expectations and hopes. Actually, he better have some answers and solutions for me otherwise I might actually strangle him (just kidding!).

So if you have any tips that have worked for you, please please please share the looooooove!

In the meantime, Kia Kaha! Be Strong!

Bloggers love comments. So do leave me a note. I will always take the time to answer. Thank you!

In this series, you can also read:

Confessions of an Anxious Mum

Confessions of a Sleep-Deprived Mum

Confessions of an Envious Mum

And if you'd like to follow me on Facebook, please click here. Thank you!

What the F(ish)?

I do my groceries once a week. Have done for years now (see why here). It saves money and time, and since I hate doing it, why do it more often?

So on Wednesday my little boy and I went off to our local supermarket for our weekly shop. He's 3. He likes helping. It's pretty sweet, but can also get kinda annoying, especially if I'm in a hurry. 

So I try not to be in a hurry.

He helps pick out the fruit and vegetables. He helps stick the labels on the plastic bags. He's beaming. I try to kiss him but he dodges my attempts with swift precision and practise.

He's not too interested in the meat. We go passed the fish. There's whole fish, there's fish heads, there's fish fillets and there's seafood. I keep going. We get to the dairy. He says "Stop Mamma". And points back to the fish. Okay, I get it. We go back. "Die?" he asks. "Yes, the fish are dead". He points to the fillets. "Ça non fish", he tells me in his cute Frenglish (aka mixture of French and English). He's adamant. So I explain that the fillets are the whole fish, but cut up and ready to eat. No answer.

We move on to the dairy. I put some butter and cheese in my trolley. "Stop Mamma", he says again. And points back to the fish. At this point, I physically feel the choice I have in front of me. I can either tell him that we need to move on now, that we've seen the fish, and "let's go and get some ham". Or, I can turn the trolley around and go back.

I go back. We do the same thing again. Say the same things again. Silence. We move on.

I add the Greek yoghurt and the milk to the trolley. "Stop Mamma". I look at him. At his gorgeous green-brown eyes looking at me so earnestly. I feel laughter bubbling up.

I go back. He points at the fish fillets. "Me mam-mam ça?" he asks. I smile and make sure I got his meaning, "Would you like Mummy to get you some fish for your lunch?". "Yep", he answers, very satisfied. So I get him a fillet of Tarakihi, our favourite New Zealand fish.

We finish our groceries and go home. For lunch, I pan-fry his fish fillet. He very quickly polishes it off.

He's happy. I'm happy.

I have to record these precious moments. They come and go so quickly. I fee like if I write them down then they won't be able to escape into the infinity of the past. Thanks for reading me today. Please tell me your stories!

Kia kaha! Be Strong!

Confessions of an Envious Mum

If you like school holidays, I envy you.

If you like school holidays, I don't understand you.

If you like school holidays, I'd gladly swap with you.

But alas, the latter isn't possible. So I better leave all my lack of understanding and wishful thinking aside, and get on with reality. Which is, I DON'T LIKE SCHOOL HOLIDAYS. There, I've said it. In fact, I don't like weekends either. Every Friday I hear my husband say, "yay! it's the weekend!". My heart just plummets and inside I think "shit, it's the weekend". I know it's very un-PC to be admitting this, but it's the truth. Weekends and school holidays, all our routines and little habits go out the window, and my introverted-people-loving-self (I know this may not make sense) is left with two kids under 6 who squabble squabble squabble, need me most of the time, and suck all energy out of me.

Please understand. I LOVE MY KIDS! I really do. I WANTED KIDS. I really did. But I just don't like being with them for more than a few hours at a time without a break. Yeah yeah, I know, one day I'll look back with nostalgia, bla bla bla. Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll relish the "kids are older" stage a lot more than I can relish the "my kids are little and needy" stage. Who knows?

In the meantime, if you like the school holidays, I envy you. A lot. I don't know why, but despite having things organized, I found these winter holidays particularly hard. Into the first week, I asked some of you for some tips on a Mummy Facebook page and I got some good ideas:

Okay, so if you're like me, you look at the lists above and freak out thinking, "eeeeek, I can't do all that". Believe me, it's not about doing all that. It's about having ideas ready so that you can pick and choose depending on:

a) your mood

b) your kid(s)' mood(s)

c) everyone's energy levels

d) your budget.

Another great idea is to

So with all this information under my belt, I went about making lists and picking ideas from it. The kids still squabbled. They still needed attention. But at least I didn't feel like a blank page in desperate need of ideas. We did have some fun, and there were some quiet moments:

Fun in the snow (sides), and teaching my daughter how to make short crust pastry (centre)

Encouraging Daddy on the football field, drawing,
playing with Master J's new wooden parking, reading books

Also, for your own sanity, I strongly encourage you to take some time for yourself, even if it's just 15 minutes at a time! I had a few occasions to escape over the past two weeks, which were very precious moments and were made possible thanks to a few angels in my life:

A walk on my own in the sun, coffee and soup in a cafe, admiring nature

So there you have them, my lessons learned over the winter holidays 2015. Of course, if you are the kind of Mum who loves the school holidays, you probably don't need all these ideas. You come up with them naturally, or you don't need a plan. You just enjoy hanging out with your kids for two weeks. I am in awe of you. But I am also in awe of Mums like me, who find it hard, but who get through it.

Kia kaha! Be strong!

Bloggers love comments. So if you have any ideas to add to my lists, please do share them. The more the better for the next holidays! Thank you!

In this series, you can also read:

Confessions of an Anxious Mum

Confessions of a Sleep-Deprived Mum

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Confessions of an Anxious Mum

I've just had a pretty crappy day. In my head. With the kids.

I can just feel it sometimes, before I even get out of bed. Today's going to be hard.

And then I stop myself in my tracks and berate myself for having those thoughts and tell myself I should be positive. And then I change my mind and think "No, it's okay. Accept your thoughts for what they are". Just thoughts. 

Thoughts are just thoughts until I act on them.

I can always dream, right?

More often than not, these morning intuitions are pretty accurate. Sure enough, this morning started bright and early with Master Joakim who couldn't find his car at 5.15am. Followed by Miss Letitia at about 5.45am whose duvet was all in a tangle and who was freezing. Then I lay in bed, unable to sleep. The more time passed, the more I debated actually just getting up and doing something fruitful that would get me ahead of the game today. But my tired body won and I finally went back to sleep mere minutes before the alarm went off.

As soon as the kids were up, they started bickering, and whining, and screaming like someone was torturing them when in fact their sock wouldn't fit just so. I finally got Miss L to school (on time!), and everything quietened down. It's funny how you take one number out of the equation, and everything changes. The balance shifts.

I breathed. 

My son and I did the groceries. We had a coffee and a fluffy to reward ourselves. That's our little Wednesday routine. We went home, put away the shopping. I was about to start making lunch when my son took my hand and pulled me towards his cars and the racing track,

I paused.

I had a choice. Either tell him once again that I was busy, or stop and play with my darling wee boy.

I stopped. 

We played for 15 beautiful minutes. I looked at my boy's smiles, I heard his giggles. My eyes wanted to eat him up and my ears were tingling with love. Waves of restoring love washed over me. All the hard moments are worth it.

After school pick up, the bickering, the fighting, and the shouting resumed. I ploughed on, that frown between my eyebrows, checking the clock every few minutes and wishing my husband would come home early. He did. Then he went for a run. My heart dived and sunk. I wanted to drop everything, take the car keys, and drive off. But then my heart came rushing back up for air. My head gave it a stern talking too. 

So much goes on between my heart and my head every day. This on-going and never-ending dialogue of feelings and thoughts, of should haves and did nots, of wanting to cry and wanting to laugh. But at the centre of it all is God, and He holds me together, always. He never lets me go.

When I put my son to bed, he held my head close to his, cheek against cheek, while I sung to him. Then I put my daughter to bed. She's started this thing where she tells me "I love you" over and over before she leaves for school or before bed, because she wants to be sure it's the last thing I hear from her before we're apart. I forgot the whining and the screaming, the bickering and the never-ending demands. 

Oh the pure sweet excruciating love bursting out of my chest in these moments. 

My first child is 6. My second child is 3 next week. I still suffer from Post-Natal Depression and Anxiety. Life goes on though. It's like a river, and where I'm at just now is pretty choppy and twisty, but hey, it's a lot better than the rapids and sharp bends I was struggling through a few years ago! And even though my sweet hubby may not see it every day, I know that I'm a better person today because of everything I've been through. I can love better, I can empathize better, I can understand better, and I can be there better.

I don't know where you're at in your parenting journey. But whatever you're experiencing, you're not alone. Kia Kaha! Be Strong!