Author: Veronica

  • We need to tell more stories.

    This morning Hobart Mums’ Network asked what we resolved to do this year. I thought about it briefly, and flippantly replied:

    Write more, daydream more, take notes for everything, smile lots, laugh, embrace irreverence, be silly often, tell stories every day, love well, live well.

    As flippant as I felt, looking back on my comment this is exactly what I plan to do this year.

    Christmas Night, when everyone had gone home, Evelyn was asleep, and the light was disappearing from the horizon, Nathan lit the bonfire. We sat there, watching the paper and wood burn, and my brother and I began telling stories.

    Amy and Isaac curled up on the grass next to us, blankets around their shoulders, while Nathan listened. We sat there, and I recounted moments from my childhood for them. My brother added things I’d forgotten – although how I’d forgotten sliding down the dry grassy hill on a body board, I don’t know.

    My children laughed, and snuggled, and begged for more.

    There is power in telling stories to my children, especially stories from my childhood. Snippets they take into themselves, building connections between us as they imagine me as a child, hiding from my parents in an old cupboard, or sliding down a hill on my stomach.

    This year, I resolve to tell more stories. Write more, and write often. To laugh. To embrace irreverance, and to not take myself seriously.

    We can learn a lot from how our children approach life, and this year, I plan to emulate them.

    Of course, bits of adulthood continue to sneak in around the edges, with a credit card disaster fresh in my memory, and a discovery that no matter how stable it feels like we are, it only takes a minor disaster to set off my financial disaster alarm bells.

    But it’s all okay. It’s a New Year, all fresh and shiny, with the bubble wrap still caught around the edges.

    I plan to take advantage of every second.

    Of course, I’m also quitting sugar for January as part of a sponsored campaign that I’ll talk about in detail a little later in the month, so “taking advantage” may also equal “curling up in a ball with tea and a book”. Clearly I am insane as the house is still full of chocolates from Xmas. Twitch. Twitch.

    You can read about my credit card disaster on Money Circle. It wasn’t the highlight of my Christmas period, that’s for sure.

  • Death, and similarities.

    The hardest thing about my grandmother dying, if you ignore the loss of our matriarchal support system, is that I can see her in my children and she is not here to see herself in them.

    Evelyn Kathleen was named after both Nathan’s grandmother (Evelyn) and my grandmothers (Lyn and Kathleen), and I can see them in her. Especially my grandmother Lyn.

    Death is a multi-layered thing. There is grief and grieving, loss and missing. It changes, warps and moves, and sometimes I am still struck low by just how much I miss her.

    Our Christmas was low key. Original plans fell out of the window when all three children fell sick just before the big day, so we cancelled and stayed home. It was a good decision, albeit a hard one to have to make. The children spent a lot of time doing nothing, and being unwell.

    Evelyn’s eyes are finally settling on the colour they will be. A piercing blue green, I see my grandmother in them. Same colour, same curls. And maybe, you think I am looking extra hard, because she died too soon and missed this third great-grandchild of hers. Maybe you’re right.

    But then I see photos of Nan as a baby, and I know I’m not wrong.

    I miss her, a lot.

    Christmas is hard when your family is missing giant parts of itself.

    I asked Mum today if she would hunt up the photos of Nan as a baby and send them to me so I could share them.

    Evelyn

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    We think the final photo is our Aunty Joan holding Nan. My grandmother, Kathleen is on the right in the second photo. Joan was her sister.

  • Food, glorious food, there’s nothing quite like it, something something.

    When you’ve got a child who won’t eat, everyone is full of advice and admonitions that it’s all normal. Which it is, in 99% of cases. Toddlers are insane creatures who want to live on tina wafers and air, with the occasional cracker or chicken nugget thrown in.

    But Evelyn’s issues aren’t like that.

    After a huge amount of success with our new therapies, we were working on getting her to eat enough at each meal. Slowly, the amounts were increasing from one teaspoon through to 100g, through to 150g, four times a day. Sure, mealtimes required more planning, a certain amount of structure and we had things we did that worked – but she was eating. Albeit, only smooth purees, but who cares? Anything can be blended.

    But a week ago, Evelyn had a pain reaction during swallowing. All our work making food a safe fun thing, and our high chair a safe place went out the window. Evelyn doesn’t trust food. All my promises of “this won’t hurt” doesn’t mean a thing when neither of us believe it.

    We don’t know why sometimes swallowing hurts. If we knew, maybe we could fix it.

    So. Evelyn hasn’t been eating anything. Our medical team know about it, and they’re as upset at the big refusals as I am. Or maybe not as much as I am, because they don’t live with her. But they know, and they’re working on a plan.

    It’s hard to not worry about her, and harder still not to obsess over everything she puts in her mouth.

    Spoon food makes her gag violently at the moment, and spit it out frantically.

    It’s hard, and I don’t know where we go from here. Current advice is to not push food, not to make a big deal out of it, and hopefully she’ll cut out the spoon refusal within the next week or so.

    Until then, she’s eaten half a mouthful of watermelon today, and chewed on a variety of things that she didn’t deign to swallow.

    How dare we expect her to nourish herself.

  • Pocket Money and Fevers

    It’s Christmas Eve and we just cancelled all our Christmas plans because all three children have varying degrees of fever. Evelyn is the most unwell, but Isaac is a close second, despite his declarations of “I FEEL FINE!”

    Yeah, I’ve taken your temperature kiddo. Don’t lie to me.

    Amy who has been sick the longest, is also the closest to better, but she also hasn’t really been out of bed for three days. For my high energy girl, this is a big deal.

    In any case, we’ll have a low key Christmas here, with salad and ham and presents.

    In other news, Pocket Money!

    What do you do?

    Recently Nathan and I decided that our children needed to be helping out more. So (when they’re well) we’re making them wash and dry the dishes – Amy washes, Isaac dries, and fold their own laundry. It seems pretty age appropriate to me, but I’m interested in your thoughts.

    You can read my entire article at Money Circle, with all my reasoning.

  • The curious case of the disappearing nose

    Because Evelyn doesn’t talk, we use a mix of gestures, badly mangled sign language and miscommunication.

    This morning, we were working on body parts.

    “Eve, where’s your tummy?”

    She pulls up her tshirt and points.

    “Where’s your feet?”

    She lifts them up and wiggles them at me.

    “Where are your hands?”

    She waves them in my face.

    “Where is your nose?”

    Evelyn looks stricken. She turns around, looking around the room frantically.

    Then, wide-eyed, she lifts her hands up and does our universal sign for “OH NO!” (Both hands placed on her head dramatically)

    “Is your nose lost?” I ask.

    She widens her eyes even further, and signs “OH NO!” again.

    Evelyn has lost her nose. I suspect her Uncle David has it.

    Evelyn 16.5 months