You can do more than you think you can.

It's only Saturday night here, but I've had a rather enlightening weekend so far. Or rather, an enlightening Friday and Saturday, which has been quite wonderful in spite of my expectations of difficulties galore.

I'm relearning a lesson I've “known” at some time in the past. Or heard again and again, and occasionally put into practice, but not consistently enough to actually change my long-term habits. I'm talking about the power of a positive attitude.

Something I have really noticed about myself in recent years (probably since having kids), is that I am actually quite a pessimistic person. I did not used to think of myself as such, but I am realising more and more that what I used to call realism is often negative expectations. Example – my darling needed to go away for two days for work. I know, only two days, really not that big of a deal. But in my little world, it felt like a big deal. By Friday, I am usually just holding out for Saturday, for a brief reprieve from the usual routine and sole responsibility of caring for the kids. Just to have a little breather and share those tasks with my dear one. Somehow, through repeating this weekly pattern over and again, I have come to believe that I cannot manage without my hubby, especially on a weekend. Or that I can manage but it will be fraught with frustration, exhaustion and downcast spirits.

As I write this, it is only an hour or two until my darling is due to return. The kids are in bed, so in essence, I have survived the trial. And the funny thing is, we've had the best couple days that we have had in a while! The kids were more fun, played more happily together, whinged less and actually ate their dinner both nights (without any tantrums). This is quite extraordinary. Enough to make me stop and reflect, certainly. As I reflect, I can't help but recognise that the difference is not so much in my children's behaviour as it is in my own.

Because I knew I was the only one available, I didn't put off unpleasant tasks – I just did them to get them out of the way. Because I knew I would have less energy in the afternoon, I prepared dinner earlier in the day. Because I knew that the kids would be needing more input from me, I prepared in advance a “What Can I Do Box” (thanks Becca for that wonderful suggestion!!), so each time my sweet but oh-so-needing-stimulation daughter asked “Mummy, what can I do, what can I dooooooooooooo?” we could go and get something from the special box. The stuff in there is not special per se, it contains a variety of activities that she already does on a fairly regular basis, but it just helps her see the options before her and make the decision for herself rather than the usual:

Her: Mummy what can I do what can I dooooooo?

Me: How about play-dough?

Her: No, I don't want to.

Me: Ummm...drawing?

Her: No, I already did that.

Me: Puzzles?

Her: No.

Me: Collage?

Her: No. I can't decide, you decide for me.

Me: Ok, I decide colouring.

Her: Noooo, I don't want to do that!

Does anyone else get stuck in these frustrating conversations? Usually I am focused on something else at the time, a household task or trying to write an email or whatever. Going together to the “What can I do box” helps us to break the cycle of frustration.

But back to the reflection on how I was different these last couple days. I was focused, yes; I was organised, yes; but more than that – I was positive. So often in the last few years, I have found myself getting caught up in the “I can't” thought trap. I've talked about some of that before – you know, “I'm so tired, I can't get by without a chocolate fix!” Or my favourite, “I just can't deal with this right now!” Ummm...toddler boy has just pooped in the bath AGAIN and I am saying I can't deal with this right now? How is that helpful? I know that I am actually going to HAVE to deal with it, as I can't fob it off onto anyone else. Why not bypass that unhelpful negativity and just go straight into action mode? Perhaps even with a smile and a game. Playing hard-done-by does not do anybody any favours.

Of course, I know all of this in theory, but this negative thinking habit just sneaks up on me. I really want to kick the habit and replace it with a more positive and helpful way of thinking...I try to teach my kids that any chore can be made into a game by how you choose to face it, now I just need to practise that more myself.

If childbirth taught me anything, it's that I can persist in a difficult task through much more pain and exhaustion than I ever thought possible. And what helped me most when the “I can't...” thoughts threatened to derail my focus was my darling chanting in my ear “You CAN do this, you can DO this!”

Oh, and then there's this old song from my childhood that just popped into my head. “I can do all things, all things, all things! I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Philippians 4:13!” Thanks DonutMan! It is true - with Christ as my strength, I can face the challenges of each day - and perhaps even smile through it all. :-)

I Survived A Choc-Free Easter

Is this year flying by, or what?! Easter has been and gone already! Wow. 

Me at Christmas

I have something to share with you today, in a different vein than my usual posts. I survived a chocolate-free Easter. My first ever. Yes, it is possible!! "But why would you want to?" I hear you ask. Good question! One I shall endeavour to give my personal answer to below...

A while back, I shared a photo of the dress I wore on my first date with my hubby, and told you of my journey to a healthier lifestyle, and how I hope by the end of this year to fit into this dress that I have not worn for almost 8 years. What I didn't tell you was that this journey is so much more than a "get fit, eat healthy" journey. This is a journey to freedom. Freedom from what? Freedom from compulsive, emotionally-driven eating. 

There. I said it. It is hard to admit it even to myself, but I have developed an unhealthy relationship to food. Especially chocolate. I have shared in the past about my difficulty in coming to terms with certain details about my son's birth, and adjusting to being a Mum to two kids. Well, one way that I dealt with some of the day-to-day stress of those adjustments was to eat.  "I just need an energy boost to get me through the day," I would tell myself, while breaking off a row of chocolate and shoving it into my mouth, out of sight of the kids. Ahhh...what sweet comfort chocolate gives. For about five minutes. Then I would want more. I would try to make the block last a week, but too often, would consume it in a day. Not once, not twice, but over and over. Week after week. 

At first I didn't seem to see any weight gain, but as soon as I stopped breastfeeding my son, I piled on the weight. But I couldn't stop eating chocolate. If I kept myself from buying chocolate, I would scrounge around in my pantry until I could find something to substitute. Condensed milk and cocoa, or with peanut butter - not the same but it would do. Or I'd go for a carb fix of a different type - corn chips. Lots and lots of yummy, crunchy corn chips. 

I feel so ashamed admitting this, but allowing food to have power over me was something that I never thought would happen to ME. Realising I couldn't stop was not enough to make me do something about it. It took photos from a family do just before Christmas to make me see just how much my body had changed, and just how unhappy I was to go on living enslaved to food. One last hurrah at Christmas, then I determined to make some changes. Twenty kilograms (roughly 44 pounds) in one year, that was my goal. Preferably in six months, if I could. Well, three months have passed and I am only 500g away from being half-way to that goal! Yes, that truly is something to celebrate, but how shall I celebrate it? I used to eat chocolate to celebrate!

Losing weight was not my only goal. A bigger goal was to reclaim the freedom to eat chocolate with restraint. From the start, I knew that the only way I could get to this point was to forgo chocolate altogether - abstain from chocolate entirely, for a period of time. Until my 30th birthday in June. 

Which of course, meant a chocolate-free Easter. 

Do you know, I honestly thought I would feel hard-done-by. That I would find it difficult not to have a little pity party about being surrounded by chocolate but not able to eat any. But I can joyfully tell you this is not the case. 

Me today

I FEEL FREE!! I have had the best Easter ever, in some ways, as I have not had any guilt, self-hatred, sugar lows, and to top it all off, I felt like my heart was so much more free to focus on the sacrifice Jesus made for me that first Easter. And, here I am today, with my son asleep, my daughter at her grandparents' place, the house to myself, with a couple bowls of Easter eggs the kids were given, along with two of my favourite Lindt chocolate bunnies...and I know with absolute certainty that I am not going to touch any of it. That thought makes me smile. 

Now, don't get me wrong - I have had many moments of feeling weak. On those "bad" days when everything seemed to be going wrong, and all I wanted to do was dive off the wagon into a bowl full of chocolate (yes, I actually fantasized about that on more than one occasion!). But that just showed me all the more how chocolate had been a substitute for what my soul was truly craving. It wasn't a quick-fix I needed, it was Eternal Strength. It wasn't a sugar high that I needed, which would send me crashing down to a lower low afterwards, it was a moment to rest in the Everlasting Arms. And I am learning that, in less time than it takes to unwrap a block of chocolate, break off a row and consume all traces of that row before children burst into the room, I can actually turn my heart to God and ask Him to provide the strength, perspective, refreshing that I need. The effects last longer than chocolate, it doesn't cost anything (except my pride), and there is no self-hatred or guilt afterwards!!! EPIC WIN!!! 

Now, to get to the point where I can allow myself just one piece of chocolate, savour and enjoy it, but stop at that.

Hello Friends

For the first couple years after my daughter (my first child) was born, I was...lonely. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed her company immensely; I loved being a stay-at-home Mum, but I was lonely for girl friends. I had some beautiful girlfriends from pre-Eliza days - but some lived out of town, and others did not have kids yet. Working full-time, they were not available when I longed for hang out time; and when they were ready to hang out, I was too dang exhausted most of the time. My poor hubby can attest to this. Every so often, I would get all weepy about it. It was something I would hold before God regularly.

Image from here

I have recently realised just how much this situation has changed. Ever so gradually, my prayers were answered. My sisters and I started being more intentional about regular phone dates. This has been such a source of encouragement to me. I have developed some lovely friendships with other mums in my mothers' group. I also started meeting regularly with a close friend for prayer. Other friends from church have had little ones of their own, and we now have a fortnightly catch-up with our kids, where we can share our hearts' burdens and pray together. A couple of my friends from uni have remained good friends, and my friendships with them have grown closer over the years too, as we have gone through some difficult times together. I have grown closer with my sister-in-law. And besides all of these wonderful blessings, I have had the pleasure of meeting some lovely people across the world through Etsy. I have discovered one particular heart sister through Etsy, for whom I thank God every day.

Being a Mum at home does not need to be isolating. What I have learned through each of the friendships I mentioned above is: I AM NOT ALONE. So many of us women struggle with similar issues - body image, pressures from work, guilt, exhaustion, identity or worth issues, juggling work and kids, adjusting to the changes in relationship with partner that accompany having kids. Sometimes we can feel so alone, as if "I am the only person in the world who feels this way". Which can often lead to, "I must be dysfunctional/ unworthy/ inadequate/ not good enough". NOT TRUE!!

Image from here

I believe that we all struggle with feelings of inadequacy from time to time. It is part of being human. As is our desire to hide these feelings! We all hide behind different kinds of masks - this need is part of our drive for self-preservation. Masks can be very healthy and appropriate...but at times, they can actually be rather destructive or at the very least, counter-productive. We can invest so much energy hiding our struggles so that we can appear to have it all together - then fall apart in private, longing for someone to reach out to us.

Sometimes it takes one simple, honest admission of weakness to a friend to let her know that, in fact, SHE is not alone. Perhaps she looks like she has it all together - and perhaps she thinks just the same about you! Let's be brave, hold hands and speak honestly from our hearts about our struggles. We can shoulder the burdens together, and be stronger for it!

Hard Task Master

You know it's been a hard day at work when your boss gives you this tongue lashing:

You did a really poor job today! You did not take care of your clients properly, you either tried to control them or you neglected them, and if they wouldn't do things your way, you ignored them. Where has your care and compassion gone? Where is your nurturing, caring persona? And what has happened to your personal grooming? What on earth are you wearing? You look like a fat slob! And would it kill you to at least run a comb through your hair? You smell like you haven't showered for days! Also, you spent too much time on the internet while you were on duty. You were rude and impatient to your clients. Your work space looks like a giant bush turkey's nest. In fact, there is no evidence of you getting a single thing done today at all!! And did I mention that you stink?

Who would take that kind of crap from their boss? Oh hang on. Me. From me. I am such a hard task-master to myself!! What I need to hear from me goes a little more like this:

Candy, you seem unhappy with your work today. Just cast your mind over the day for a moment. Think about how you spent your time.

You played hide and seek. Three separate games.

You read eight books. While juggling two wriggly kids on your lap.

You had kids tackle hug you repeatedly.

You worked out – while supervising two kids and dealing with their attempts to steal your work-out equipment.

You prepared five meals AND CLEANED UP THE DISASTER AREA AFTER EACH MEAL.

You resisted eating chocolate brownie, smarties and corn chips, even though they were all readily available in your house.

You vacuumed the whole house, cleaned most of the house (while two clever kiddies uncleaned after you).

You cleaned up four wee puddles, and changed six nappies, and cleaned up poo off the floor and out of undies.

You did two loads of washing, and folded and put away four loads of washing, while supervising your children's playtime.

You brokered peace multiple times between warring kids, once involving a sand fight that required an extensive clean-up operation!

You started your work day abruptly at 5:12am, after being on call all night (and having to answer that call at least twice). You had no child-free time, no “break”. Your work day finished at 7:12pm, but not really because you then had to do more cleaning and prepare for the next day. Oh, and you are going to be on call all night too. 

I'm reminding you of this so that you can be more understanding and patient with yourself - not so that you can find your worth in the fact that you've done a reasonably good job under somewhat difficult circumstances.

 

Sure, you yelled more than you feel comfortable with. You lost your temper after the third wee puddle from the 3.5 year old who CAN control her bladder but prefers to play. You did escape online a multiple times when you needed a time out. You could have done things differently. You could have made different choices about how to handle certain situations. But today is past, and tomorrow is a fresh day. God's mercy is new every morning.

So stop being so hard on yourself and focus on tuning in to Him who loves you. Let Him love you. Take your frustrations to Him and breathe in His patience. Draw on His strength, His compassion, His love to supply the strength, compassion and love you need for your children. Beating yourself up just makes for an emotionally bruised and battered start to the next day. Rest in Him and receive His forgiveness for mistakes made. Apologise to your kids for the times you yelled at them and ask their forgiveness too. And be kind to yourself.

I far too often focus on the negatives. I'm sure I'm not the only one. Do you ever mentally beat yourself up? Well don't, it's not helpful! Remember, your worth is not based in how much you get done in a day, or what your house looks like, or how content your children are! You have unmeasurable worth because God lovingly created you and counted you precious enough to die for.

A Sentimental Favourite

I just LOVE this dress. I just found it again recently, after a long absence in my sister's closet. It never actually fit her in quite the right way, so I don't think she wore it much. However, when I passed it on to her, I asked her to give it back when she was done. You see, it's got special sentimental significance to me...

I wore this vintage dress on my first date with hubby, almost eight years ago. I'm ignoring the fact that it wasn't a planned date as such, and more of a "I'm going to be baking to make supper for church today and yes that's fine if you invite yourself over to help". It was the first time we hung out together one-on-one and hit it off. And he took me out for lunch, so it kinda was a date. It's the date we use as our anniversary, and it's almost eight years since that day!! 

Yep, eight years, two kids and two dress sizes since that day. I am currently on a quest to greater health - physical, emotional and spiritual health - and one of my goals is to be able to fit in some of my favourite clothes again. This dress would definitely qualify as one of my favourites, but it's so much tinier than I currently am that it seems impossible.

So today I pulled the dress out, ironed it and hung it in my room as a daily visual reminder! Here's hoping that it helps to motivate me when I'm feeling tempted to indulge in sweet treats or corn chips!!

Embroidered Dutch Houses

Recently, my hubby and I had a little kid-free overnight getaway. The cute little cottage we stayed in had this great crockery set with gorgeous illustrations on them.

They inspired me to sketch a little design to embroider. I of course chose red linen initially, then the lovely Jane of Planet Joy asked if I would do one for her on a blue fabric. I am rather happy with how that one turned out too. What do you think? Which do you prefer?

(Available on Etsy or at the upcoming BiDM this weekend or BiTM next Friday)

Embroidery as Art Therapy

In a recent post of my ponderings, I mentioned that my son's first birthday was a stimulus for reflection on the past year. It was true...and longer lasting than I anticipated. I have not been able to escape the need to reflect and process events from twelve months ago.

I say "events" because I do not see my labour and birthing experience as a single event. There was a series of events that finally culminated in Theo's birth. A series of events that touched and changed me in a number of ways, events that still evoke strong emotions in me that make it difficult for me to talk or think about that time.

I honestly do not fully understand why this is so difficult for me to talk about. My guess is that an outsider would look at the two stories of the births of my two children and expect that I would have had a harder time coping or coming to terms with my first child's birth. I was hoping and praying for vaginal delivery with no pain relief, using active labour techniques, attended just by my midwife and hubby. I got an emergency C-section after a long, hard back-ache labour; baby needed oxygen; when I was first allowed to see her, they held her up over my head just as I started throwing up with the effects of the anesthetic; it was a while until I actually got to hold her...

As compared to my second birth...do you know, I can't yet bring myself to sum it up like I did for my daughter's? It's hard to explain, so I usually don't bother trying. But I really feel I need to. Here. Now....So here is my attempt. [PLEASE NOTE: I did try to cut this story down, but I just don't feel right about that, so I don't expect anyone to actually read the full account, it's long. I just had to get it out]. On 28th October last year, I was woken in the night by contractions, around midnight. I thought they were probably just warm-up contractions, and tried to go back to sleep. However, they started getting closer together and lasted longer, until they were 3 minutes apart, lasting almost a minute, and starting to get painful. I had woken hubby when I thought they were for real, we couldn't help but get excited and start to plan how we were going to get his parents to babysit our daughter. I mean, my emotions were fully engaged in "Our baby is coming today!" mode. To the point that when I had a text from a dear friend that she had given birth, I thought, "Hurray, we'll have babies on the same day!"

Then the contractions slowed down and stopped. *sigh* This went on for over a week, mostly during the night, sometimes lasting only a few hours, sometimes much longer. I was not getting a lot of sleep, I was exhausted, and most of all, I was confused. My emotions were all over the place. I was trying not to be excited about having that baby because he could still be weeks away, but I wanted to be prepared. At the end of a week of this, I was an emotional wreck. I had been in to the hospital a couple times for monitoring, and each time, the contractions would slow down and stop when I was hooked up to monitors.

Nine days after I first thought I would be having bub, my waters broke in the middle of the night. I noticed it and went back to sleep. I called the hospital the next morning, and they confirmed what  I suspected. Because I was attempting a VBAC (vaginal birth after caesarian), I would need to come in to the hospital for close monitoring, and would probably not be allowed to leave until after bub was born. So I spent the next few days in hospital, walking up and down stairs, trying to encourage baby to come without exhausting myself too much. I don't sleep well in hospitals though, and by this stage I was already physically and emotionally worn down. 

My doctor supported my choice of attempting induction before a caesarian, for which I am grateful, and I was told the date they would induce me (due to risk of infection if left longer, I was induced within 72 hours of my waters breaking).

I was feeling quite positive and well and truly ready to have this baby by the time Tuesday rolled around. My hubby and I had practiced active labour techniques together, and we were READY to put them to use! And we did! As soon as I was started on the syntocinin drip, I began to have strong contractions, which very quickly started coming two minutes apart and lasting a minute, and increased in intensity almost straight away. My hubby and I were such a great team during those hours (roughly eight or nine hours), and I'm really proud of how well we managed without any pain relief. I needed him for every single contraction - poor man would take a bite or two of (my) lunch in between and I'd grab his arm for the next one. The contractions were relentless, but I was focused, determined, and equipped. 

I was so focused, I didn't really start wondering why the baby wasn't coming out. I have a hazy recollection of various attendants consulting each other quietly, then doing yet another internal. Eventually, they told me to start pushing. I did this very carefully, under strict guidance. I pushed and I pushed. They told me I was pushing beautifully, and that my pushing was helping baby move down the birth canal, but that after each push, he would slip back up again. That was rather disheartening, but the midwife kept encouraging me that I could do it. 

It turns out, I couldn't. At least, not before the consultants decided that they were going to have to use suction to help baby come out. So they informed me that they were giving me an episiotomy. "Do I have to?" I groaned. "Yes, for your baby, we have to." A deep disappointment washed over me, but determined to meet this baby, I braced myself for the procedure.

The next few moments are very confusing and hazy in my memory. I remember feeling so confused, with people all shouting at me. There must have been 8 or 10 people in the room by this point. I didn't know which voice to listen to. The pain of crowning, but the joy of touching baby's head...then the immense, unspeakable relief and joy when they handed my baby boy over onto my chest. He lay there and whimpered and my heart ached because I felt that I knew exactly how he felt. He voiced my extreme exhaustion, my disappointment with the difficult process, my satisfaction that it was over, and the pain that I was acutely aware of as a result of the process. My focus on just being with him and knowing what he was feeling, and enjoying the result of my labours helped to mask the awful task of being stitched up. Masked it, that is, until they took him off me to clean and wrap him. Eeek. I had him back before too long (though it felt like an age), and finally the birth suite emptied of attendants, and we were left in peace to recover.

I took a long time to recover. I had anticipated (and been educated) that a VBAC would be easier to recover from than a caesarian. This was not my experience at all. I had a lot of pain in my bruising and my stitches (I tore in several places, as well as the episiotomy scar), for eight weeks after the birth. It took that long before I could stand for more than five minutes at a time. I was simply not prepared for it to take so long to feel better. Once I started feeling a little better physically, the flashbacks started.

Now, my son's birth was by no means a horrific birth. There are many stories that are much more terrifying and agonising. But for some reason, I had flashbacks to various moments of the birth for many months afterwards. As in, re-experiencing those moments, the pain, the intense emotions. Can you believe I am ashamed to admit it? Because, somehow, I believe that I am not a strong woman if I have a difficult time with birthing a child. Where did that come from? I am happy to say that the pain flashbacks seem to have passed now. However, I still have surges of strong emotions from time to time (for example, when hearing about someone else having a baby, or while writing this post). As a psychologist, I have a strong desire to understand my emotions, but I also know that sometimes it is important just to sit with them, and let them BE, no matter how confusing, intense or even unpleasant. And now, after years of encouraging people to do just that, I know personally just how hard that can be.

Through all of the reflecting lately, I came to the conclusion that I needed to do something that could help me to anchor my memory of the birth to the precious and joyous moments, rather than the disappointing and difficult moments. I have Kristen from HeyPaul Studios to thank for her #hastystitch challenge as well as her recent post about the potentially therapuetic nature of embroidery - these were other timely factors that prompted me to come up with a creative way of expressing my joy at meeting Theo, which could also be a way to process the strong, conflicting emotions at the same time.  So I decided to sketch the moments I wanted to anchor to, and stitch the sketch onto fabric.

I have to say, the process of stitching this was unlike any other stitching I have done. I felt driven to complete it, and did so within a few days. I had strong emotions very close to the surface for those few days, even when I wasn't stitching. And now that it is done, I have a strong sense of satisfaction, though it is not perfect, I can live with it and be proud of it. Much like my birth story, come to think of it...

On Working Towards A Balanced Life

Generally speaking, I like to throw myself into whatever I am doing, and do a good job of it. "It's not worth doing if it's not worth doing right" or whatever. It seemed to be easier when I was working full-time, before kids. I threw myself into my job, while at work, and threw myself into maintaining my relationships with my hubby, my church community, friends and family. I would get overwhelmed from time to time (like the time I realised I had over-committed myself at church and had to back out of teaching kids' church and leading Missions Team and focus just on leading a home group). But it seemed a little more manageable. Maybe it's just hindsight, and I don't remember it as I actually experienced it. But I recall hubby and I having a goal-setting and review session every few months, mapping out all the areas of our lives and evaluating how we were doing with keeping our priorities in check. Sure, there was always plenty of stuff to work on and make changes to, but we managed to have these sessions fairly regularly. Since having kids? Well, ha ha...

Having children has changed our lives in a massive way. They are a wonderful change, but a huge change. I don't think that there is any way to be prepared for the enormity of that change. There is suddenly so much more to juggle. How can one tiny person bring so much change? For me (and, as I understand it, for many other women too), having my first baby ushered in an identity crisis that shook up all I had ever known as 'me' and turned it inside out. Now, I consider myself to be a fairly psychologically-minded person, quite self-aware even. I knew becoming a mummy would introduce a new element to my concept of self, and would take some time to process. I knew having a baby would change how my hubby and I relate to each other. I did expect a transitional period, of course. I just did not expect it to last years. 

I did a lot of soul-searching, as I tried to figure out who I was now that I was a mum. My sense of self changed in so many ways - my body image, my fashion choices, my sense of competence (or lack there of), my relationship with God...as I worked through these changes, I found that I tended to throw myself into one aspect of my new role at home after another. At first, it was housework - keeping a "good house". I worked hard at setting up new housework routines (which had to change each time Miss E reached a new stage of development and mobility), ironing my hubby's work clothes, packing his lunch, because that's what a "good house wife" should do. Then, developing an exercise routine - I walked an hour a day for a good many months. Then, I discovered gardening, and threw myself into that (to the detriment of aforementioned housework routines). During my first trimester of my second pregnancy, I grew far too exhausted for gardening, and so I rediscovered my love of making things, and starting putting a lot of time and energy into it. But each time I started focusing on something new, I had to give up something else. 

I can't count how many times I've said to hubby, "How do other women do it, I just can't seem to do it!" Sure, I can manage to dress nicely each day and put my make-up on and have the children clean and nicely dressed - as long as I don't try to keep the house clean. Or, I can maintain the garden and make nice meals, as long as it doesn't matter if I am in daggy old home clothes all day every day. Or, I can exercise and take care of my body, as long as I worry about cleaning the house...I just can't do it all. So I had better be clear about my priorities.

I got to a point where I felt relatively content with my balance of priorities...and then, my life (and my identity, and my marriage) was shaken up again with the arrival of another beautiful little person. In case you have never heard, the birth of a second child can be just as life-changing as the birth of a first child. This has certainly been the case for us. 

If you've been reading for a while, you will have witnessed some of my struggle with priorities over the last few months. My son's first birthday is fast approaching, a fact that is forcing me to stop and reflect on the last twelve months. While I could sit here and notice all the ways that I have failed in my attempts to live a balanced life, I am not going to do that...

I am not going to focus on my short-comings, but look forward to the future and laugh with excitement at the possibilities. I am not going to hate myself for the times I have failed my children and my hubby, but surrender them to God and draw the strength from Him to face one day at a time. To truly be in this present moment with my children. To breathe in all the sweetness they exude, and not take their failings personally. To hold them close, tickle and cuddle them, laugh with them and JUST BE WITH THEM.

There is no rule for a balanced life. There is no perfect formula. There is just one day at a time.

Country Town Op-shopping!

Thrifted fabric remnant with gorgeous kitchen print

As those who follow me on Facebook would know, my kidlets and I had the best part of a week at my parents' place last week. They live in a country town in the same state, a mere two hour drive full of beautiful scenery, but somehow we just don't get down there enough.

I grew up in this town, and while I was eager to get away by my late teens, it is a wonderful place to go back to. One thing it really has going for it is its op shops. I developed a love for them in my teen years, and love to go back and sift through the treasures waiting to be found and given a new life.

The bonus for me now is that I have very willing babysitters in town (my parents) who encourage me to go op-shopping, shoo me out the door even, so they can have some time with the kids without a pesky parent around (they love me, but hey, we all know parents cramp grandparents' style, right?).

So who was I to disobey?

I had some wonderful finds, mostly vintage bed linen, as well as a handful of handmade vintage aprons and some hand embroidered bits and bobs. I hope to photograph the aprons soon (they need a good pressing first), but here are some of the other finds.

A tea tablecloth and two different citrus coloured single sheets

Gorgeous flannelette cot sheet

Floral curtain and sheet

Gorgeous sheet with a print of an illustration of a pair of little girls, and a set of floral sheets

An embroidered handkerchief pocket

An embroidered tea tablecloth

A sweet hand painted dip bowl, still in its gift box

I have plans for the floral sheets...I have some 1950s dress patterns in my size that I have been wanting to try out, but don't trust my sewing skills enough to buy expensive fabric, so a set of double bed sheets with a lovely print for $3 is a really wonderful blessing.

Now to find the time to sew...

Decisions, Decisions...

 WARNING: This post is full of lots of words and not many pictures and you are not obliged to read it. It was an important post for me to write and get it off my chest but I don't actually expect you to stick it through to the end. But you can if you want.

Takabisha Roller coaster - Composite Image by Alex Brogan via Wikipedia

 
Oh my. It feels like our household is on a roller coaster ride lately. If you are wondering why I haven't posted so regularly in recent times, it is because...well...I'm struggling to stay on top of things lately. Come on, if I'm going to be real here I must confess I have always struggled to stay on top of housework. And all the more so since having my bubba boy back in November. He will be ten months old on Thursday, and unfortunately for him, those ten months have been some of the hardest of my life. Not his fault by any means, just that we have had a whole lot of ups and downs in his short life.

In our little pocket of the world a rather strange phenomenon is occurring right now - a huge number (what's the latest they are reporting - 15,000 to 20,000?) of people who work in state government departments are going to be losing their jobs in the next month or two. Obviously, this is affecting so many individuals and families in a huge way. And while I neither my husband or I work for the government, we are affected also - because my hubby lost his job in the private sector about a month ago. This makes looking for work rather tricky at present, as so many others are madly competing for the very few jobs in his field that are being advertised. He has been looking far beyond the field he spent so many years training and studying in, and even there, there are just not many jobs about at the moment. 

So the logical decision is that I go back to my "real job" while he is with the kids, right? Hmmm. This is what I have been praying about and agonising over for weeks, months. It seems to be a fairly straight-forward decision. Not enough money coming in, I can earn a decent amount in less than full-time hours, so I go back to it. Unfortunately, there are so many more factors involved. For example, the rather difficult labour and birth process I went through with my bubba boy took its toll both physically and emotionally. In ways that are not socially appropriate to talk about, except in birth trauma support groups and psychologists' rooms. I've been doing my best to let the healing process take place, but as a psychologist, I know how important it is that I don't return to work before I am emotionally ready.

I feel rather embarrassed typing this, as I have the nasty little "Shoulds" whispering in my ear - "You SHOULD be over that by now", "You SHOULD do the right thing and earn money to support your family", "You SHOULD just push through it and get on with the job". Well, you know what? I've been in survival mode for so long now that even though I feel like I am just beginning to get on top of that emotional stuff, I don't think it would be fair on my kids and my hubby if I go back to work just now. Poor little Theo has only really known me in survival mode. And I can almost guarantee that if I go back now, survival mode will continue...

One of the most important things I learned from my parents while I was growing up was that what seems to be the most financially sensible thing to do is not always the right thing for the family unit. Of course, it's a very personal decision, but I know they never regretted my Mum being at home with us kids even though it meant going without a lot of physical things and living within a very tight budget. And I didn't regret it as a kid either. It was what was right for our family, and that is a part of who I am. I am in no way suggesting that Mums who work outside the home are doing the wrong thing for their family - it's about being true to yourself and your own family's values, and for many people, that does involve working outside the home. But I've finally realised that for me and my family, for right now, the right thing is for me to be at home.

That doesn't mean I won't be working though. In fact, I feel like I have been released to do more with Candykins Crafts, and move it from being a hobby to being a legitimate small business. And that, my friends, is exciting!

A Quilted Box Full of Lace

A quick trip to the local op-shop while I was out having my turn to vote in the state election...a dangerous thing! A volunteer found me ensconced in the craft section debating over whether or not to buy something or other, and asked if I knew they have trolleys. I told her I always tell myself I won't need one, as I am just stopping in for one or two things, and always end up loaded up. 

I managed to drag myself away with just one armful of things. This cute quilted box below, with about twenty lace remnants, and a handmade doona cover with amazingly bold and bright jungle print. My sisters - it reminds me very much of our wall-hanging on our bedroom wall when we were kids. You know, the one we used to make up stories about, and imagine we were in.

I'm not sure I know exactly what I'm going to do with all the lace. I think I was thinking with my bower bird brain, my "Oooh, it's pretty!" brain. I justified it with, "I have a daughter, one of these days I'll get around to making pretty little dresses for her, and I'll use it then."

Time will tell, right?

In the mean time, any suggestions from you crafty lot?

A Few Thoughts About Sewing Machines

I love my sewing machine. I really do. It is not fancy. It is not new. But I love it all the more for those reasons, I think. I am an old-fashioned gal, really. And sentimental to boot! 

I got this sewing machine for my birthday when I was in late high-school, my sixteenth or seventeenth birthday, I am not sure which. It was not new then, either. In fact, I went with my Mum to check it out from an ad we saw in the local newspaper, and we ended up buying it. It was about twenty years old then, if I remember correctly, and a sweet elderly lady was selling it because she had to give up sewing due to Parkinson's disease setting in. She threw in a bunch of old buttons, zippers, some Singer sewing scissors and pinking shears, and a few other odds and ends. It was so exciting to go home and sort through it all.

I used it regularly at that stage for a year or two, then it went on holidays for a few years while I finished uni and went into the full time workforce. I put it back into action once my hubby and I moved into our own home, to help me hem curtains and set up home. It gets used regularly now and has not failed me yet! 

Sure, it only does fairly basic stitches, but that's all I need. I enjoy hand embroidery, so I don't use the machine for that. I happen to be one of those old-fashioned people who prefers my old non-computerised sewing machine to a newer, computerised one. My sister is the same - in fact, hers is much older, a Singer she inherited from her grandmother-in-law. It doesn't even do zig-zag! But she loves it. 

Maybe it is because I am a creature of habit and not particularly fond of change. Or because I am sentimental. As much as I like some aspects of technology (ummm...hello, I'm blogging, right?), I find some technology just seems to over-complicate life. That reminds me of the start of "The Gods Must Be Crazy" movie, when the narrator talks about how in the "civilised" world, people made machines to simplify life and ended up complicating things far more...

Or maybe I'm just plain intimidated by fancy machines with one thousand and one functions. Hmmm. Probably.

What sewing machine do you use? Do you like ones with lots of bells and whistles, or a simpler machine with basic functions?

Please leave a comment below to weigh in. Thanks :)

Quiet Book - Part VIII

 With only three days (including today) left of February, I am in a hurry to complete this Quiet Book project. This is the last page in the book, as in, it will go at the end of the book. I still have two other pages to complete, as well as the cover and binding it all together. It is going to be a rather thick book!

I remember having some threading/"sewing" activities when I was a kid - I LOVED them. Eliza is especially keen to do this one, because it is sewing like Mummy does. 

The butterfly is cut out of 100% wool felt, as it is stronger and a better quality felt. I just used an unused shoe lace left over from my crazy laces phase as the "thread" and "needle". Even though there is not much to this page, it took a rather long time, as I used blanket stitch to strengthen all of the holes (which were just punched out with a hole punch), as well as the outside edge. The butterfly is just attached to the page via the green machine stitching, the wings are free-floating.

I had chosen some tiny blue buttons for eyes, but now I'm not sure whether or not to add them...any thoughts?

Balloon Dreaming

Here is the next brooch in my new brooch series. A teeny, tiny little hot air balloon. This one is inspired by some reminiscing on my part...

We are coming up to the seventh anniversary of hubby and my first ever date. Except that it was not actually a planned date as such. But is just too clumsy to say 'the seventh anniversary of the first time that we spent a day together because we were put on church supper team together and I decided to bake and told him I would be baking and he invited himself along to help out and we hit it off'. That's a bit of a mouthful. Anyway, 6th March will mark the seven years. That's kind of amazing to me. 

Close-up of the balloon brooch

In June, when we had been dating just a few months, my hubby (then boyfriend) set the bar for gift-giving rather high. He teased me for a while beforehand that he was just going to get me a box of thumbtacks, so I should not expect much. Well, when the day arrived, there was my beautifully-wrapped box of thumbtacks...along with a gift certificate for a hot air balloon ride for two, plus gourmet buffet breakfast at the Sofitel afterwards (and several other delightful treasures). While that is an extraordinary gift in itself, what really blew me away was this: he did not intend that he should be the one to accompany me in the hot air balloon.

Now before you start thinking that takes away from the romance of it all, hear me out. He had heard me mention once that I had really treasured my one-on-one time with my Dad as a kid, especially because I am one of five kids, so it was fairly rare. He stored that piece of information away, and decided that he would give me the gift of a super special once-in-a-lifetime experience, to share with my Dad. He also noted that my Dad is mad keen on flying and all things related, and thought he would love the experience too. How precious is that? Just another way I knew I had found a keeper. :)

Ever since then, whenever I see a hot air balloon, I fondly recall my lovely hot air balloon ride with my Dad, and thank God for my sweet, thoughtful husband who never ceases to surprise me with his ability to notice the details and follow through by actually doing something to show he cares (and not just for me, either). 

Dad is the furthest guy helping hold the balloon up while they fill it with hot air.

On of the many shots from the air that I can no longer remember where exactly it was...but it looks cool!

Sunrise over Brisbane city, as seen from the balloon

Love you, babe. xox

P.S. - I thought he would never be able to top that birthday present - but he did! The next year, his birthday gift to me was an engagement ring and proposal :) Is he sweet or what?!

Vintage Style Aprons

Aprons. They're all the go at the moment, have you noticed? We often used aprons when I was growing up. Saturday mornings meant baking time, which meant apron time. Fun! I loved putting on my apron like Mummy, and whipping up a chocolate simplicity cake (leaving plenty of mixture in the bowl to lick out of course!). My two and a half year old also loves to don her new apron (thanks, Sneha!) and 'help' me bake (was I that much trouble, Mum?).

Well a couple years ago, I decided to make myself an apron. I found some gorgeous Michael Miller fabric with a vintage kitchen motif, from Oz Material Girls which I thought was perfect for my apron. I bought the pattern from Etsy as a pdf download from Tenth Muse Studios (sorry but it appears she is no longer selling). The end result is above, middle and right pics (it is a reversible apron).

Around that time, I also made a simple half-apron (above left) from a rectangle of vintage red gingham fabric that I was given by my grandmother, with some home-made bias binding for the trimmings from some white fabric she gave me. It's very simple. Maybe I will do a tutorial for that one sometime soon.

With the small amount of leftover Michael Miller fabric, I covered an art canvas and attached a bit of ribbon with some mini-pegs for a matching recipe-holder. This is now a fixture in my kitchen that I use regularly, especially when I am baking.

I recently found some vintage magazines at an op-shop, with some great sewing patterns and gift ideas. There were some cute aprons in one, as pictured below.

Perhaps I will give these a try next. I think the embroidery and applique looks sweet. But perhaps not so practical for wearing while baking or gardening, as you would have to hand-wash to protect the embroidery. kind of defeats the purpose of an apron... Do you like to use aprons, or don't see the point?