Sleepless Nights

Author: Veronica

  • I am in garden heaven, and we had a surprise visitor.

    Yesterday morning, whilst on the phone to my mother, council contractors were clearing the road verge free of tree limbs, as well as trimming trees too close to the power lines.

    “I really should go and ask what they’re doing with the chips, shouldn’t I?” I wavered, not really feeling up to talking to complete strangers at 8.55am.

    “Yes, yes you should,” my mother replied. “Hang up. Go and ask.”

    Wearing Evelyn as protective armor, I walked to the corner of my paddock where the men were standing, and asked what they were doing with the woodchips.

    Nathan and I had been discussing getting some pinebark for a while, to help complete the small yard, as well as mulch for my fruit trees. Free woodchips delivered would just be perfect.

    Two hours later, this showed up.

    Woodchips

    “Sorry it’s not a full load, mate.” He apologised as he tipped the chips out for us.

    That pile is nearly as tall as I am.

    Today we spread chips out over part of the small yard, mulching the things we want to save and suffocating the rest.

    I was going to do a before and after shot, but I forgot to take a before shot. Just think that the centre part was all dead, and the plants were being strangled by waist high grass.

    garden 003

    We still have A LOT of woodchips left. It’s kind of awesome.

    Half way through spreading out the chips, we had a visitor.

    044

    We had to stop work to admire her.

    Of course this means I haven’t written a single thing for NaNoWriMo today. But that’s okay. I can write tonight.

    Today am am revelling in a clean fresh garden start, tomato seedlings planted, a greenhouse garden bed fixed, and woodchip mulch that I got for free.

  • Flying by the seat of my pants

    And by “flying” I mean “falling with style”.

    NaNoWriMo is nearly here and I’m freaking out. FREAKING OUT.

    I had a plan. It was a great plan – and then I scrapped it in favour of something I thought I actually had a hope of finishing. So I worked on plan #2, with Nathan quizzing me on motivations and evil and plot twists. At which point I scrapped it in favour of something I could actually publish under my pen name.

    So I took to my third idea, which is a mere germ, and I ignored it. I’ve written it down, but I haven’t got a character, a plot, any subplot, or ideas.

    I AM FLYING BLIND AND I HATE IT.

    But I’ve got three more days, right? Three days. That’s like FOREVER. Except it isn’t and I’m terrified.

    Upside: It’s nearly November and I’m going to have to start whether I’m ready or not.

    Downside: It’s nearly November and I’m going to have to start whether I’m ready or not.

    Unrelated, a story about chickens:

    I have eight baby chickens at the moment, to three mothers. Three chicks belong to one hen, and the other two hens have a sisterwives agreement and they’re sharing their nest and five babies equally. That’s the setup. This is information you need to know.

    The sisterhens have been scratching around near the house, showing the babies the tastiest grubs to be found under my fruit trees.

    Also around my house are the cats.

    Earlier today I was minding my own business when the hens started freaking out. Suddenly, Alfred flew across the yard at full speed, one of the mothers hot on his heels, clucking angrily, fluffed up like a beachball. The other mother stayed close to the babies, protecting them from all evil.

    Only they hadn’t actually checked on where the babies were, and when the mothers finished fluffing at Alfred, they called their babies directly into the netting surrounding our jumping castle.

    Cue freakouts. The mothers were freaking out, two babies were trapped in netting, and Alfred was trying to figure out if he could work this to his advantage.

    I ran outside to rescue the babies, because I AM NICE.

    The mother hens didn’t see it this way, and they fluffed up and tried to attack my face. I freaked out, they freaked out, and Nathan laughed at all of us. When asked to help protect me, he stood there, thought about it and replied “Nope, it’s too funny to ruin. Although I could go get the video camera…” Bastard.

    So there I am, trying to rescue two very frightened chickens from collapsing netting while not one, but two mothers try to attack my face.

    Jumping into the deflated castle, I managed to lift the netting and create a shield to protect myself from the raging balls of fluffy fury while I rescued the babies. And by rescued, I mean “swiftly caught and then threw at their mothers, trying not to lose my eyes in the process.”

    Everyone survived. I needed a cup of tea to recover though.

    From my Facebook Page:

    Alley the cat caught herself a starling and ate it. Confidence boosted, she thought that the next thing to catch and eat should be a chicken.

    The chickens disagreed. Alley will not be catching chickens any time soon.

     

  • Venturing into the great outside

    I’ve been hibernating since Evelyn was born. I know this, and accept it. It’s easier to stay home when you have a baby who requires naps and a certain amount of normality. But somewhere in the middle of hibernating, I stopped going anywhere except for necessary things. Hospital appointments. The supermarket. School.

    Which is fine, it really is. I’ve been working a lot, and writing a lot, and that is all much easier when I’m at home.

    But I’d underestimated how much sanity can be restored simply by leaving the house.

    Evelyn had a neurology appointment yesterday afternoon. It was a Student Free Day, so Amy was home from school, and the original plan had been to have Frogpondsrock watch my children while Nathan and I headed to the appointment.

    By 11am I was ready to eat my children. Just up and eat them. NOM. The two big ones woke Evelyn from her nap five minutes after she fell asleep, someone destroyed something and there was more screeching than I thought humanly possible.

    I ran away. Convinced Mum to come and get me, and we left Nathan at home with the two big children, while I escaped to Kmart of all places. You know you’ve been hibernating for too long when Kmart feels like a luxury freedom resort. I didn’t even buy anything amazing. School shirts for Isaac to start Kindergarten with, a new belt after the dog chewed mine to pieces, a present for a birthday party we’re invited to, a helmet that actually fits Isaac.

    Then Evelyn and I shared a hot chocolate and a toasted sandwich, and I realised that I hadn’t been anywhere for almost 18 months that didn’t involve pressure, or stress, or screeching banshee children.

    It was nice, you know. Evelyn is (mostly) lovely to take out in public, and I can’t keep hiding at home. That’s the problem with working from home too, it’s easier to just stay home, because going out means you’re playing catch up on things you should have done at lunchtime, at midnight.

    Neurology was happy with Evelyn, by the way. She has a theory that babies with severe sleep myoclonus (the twitching that aren’t seizures) are wired differently. Wired higher. She promised me that Evelyn is going to give me hell as she gets older.

    I look forward to it.

  • So much normality in one little bundle.

    Evelyn is sick. Not in a special snowflake “oh god my baby is SICK” way, but in a normal “every baby gets a bad cold” kind of way. Despite the snot and the two hours of inconsolable screaming last night, it all feels very normal. Eve is sick, and she’s acting like a sick baby and I am tired, and bored from walking around the house patting her on the back while she wails.

    I’m even typing this from bed, while she drapes her small sad self across my tummy, snuffling and grumbling about the indignity of a spring cold.

    Things have happened, things I haven’t written about because, turns out, having three children is a bit of work, and toddlers are more intense than I remember.

    Evelyn learned to walk. Like, properly walk. She totters around the house all day, throwing herself at any furniture  available to catch her unbalanced form. She’ll drop down to a crawl for a few metres, before deciding that height beats speed any day, and clambering back to her feet. She’s wobbly, and her right knee needs strengthening, but she’s off and walking.

    She says thank you (dug’nen) when you hand her things. It’s one of her few functional words and is probably one of the cutest things she’s done since the last cute thing she did.

    We saw the geneticist and left with a diagnosis of Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. This was expected. It might be causing her feeding issues, it might not. We’re told to stick with pediasure and see how she does. As long as she doesn’t lose weight, we’re all good.

    Life continues. I’m writing fiction, waiting for November and NaNoWriMo to start, growing a garden and just being.

    It’s all very nice, and normal, and pleasant. Except for the snot. The snot and wailing isn’t pleasant.

  • The juxtaposition of my crisis, to their crisis.

    Advertorial

    This morning Evelyn brought me a head band. I put it on her, and she waited, patiently, while I told her how pretty she was. We repeated this three times, before she crawled off happily, head band holding back her curls.

    This morning, I helped Amy dress for school, packed her lunch, brushed her hair. I kissed her goodbye and sent her off to learn things without a second thought. Tonight she’ll catch the school bus, and we’ll walk home along the road, with no fear for our safety.

    This morning, I made Isaac breakfast, clucked over his black eyes from a bike accident, patted his head and helped him build a house in Minecraft.

    There are no bombs here, no insurgents, and the only fighting is about who sits at which place at the table. Or who gets dinner first. Or who wants that toy.

    My children are happy, healthy and safe. Our fridge is full of food, and we aren’t scared for our lives.

    My crisis this morning was spilling the milk. My crisis last week was running out of tea. Of needing to pay the power bill. Of a child falling off his bike.

    It’s not the same everywhere.

    In Syria, children are displaced. Families are torn apart by violence.

    From UNICEF:

    The conflict, now in its third year, has seen Syria’s economy collapse. Stores are closed and food is scarce. Access to healthcare is incredibly limited: more than a third of all hospitals have closed.

    Children are innocent victims of war. An entire generation of Syrian children is at risk, growing up traumatised. They need shelter, clean water, medicine, food and education.MORE THAN NUMBERS -THE SHOCKING STATISTICS2 million: the number of Syrians who have fled their country and sought refuge in neighbouring countries (Jordan, Lebanon, Iraq, Egypt and Turkey) and North Africa.
    4 million: the number of children that need humanitarian assistance.MORE THAN A WISH LIST – A SURVIVAL LIST
    UNICEF needs your help to provide:
    Food.
    Clean toilets.
    Medicine.
    Schooling.
    Safe places and shelter.
    Trauma counselling

    I’ve been watching the news, holding my babies close, thanking my lucky stars that I was born in Australia. Because that’s all that separates my situation from the situation of a Syrian family. Luck. I was lucky to be born here. A fluke of conception, a fluke of luck, and I am sitting here in a warm house, with an internet connection and privilege, watching families across the world suffer on the TV.

    Boat arrivals are increasing in Australia, propelled by global violence, and our government pretends that it isn’t happening. A cone of silence surrounding the reasons that families put themselves onto a boat and flee here, to our Lucky country; and we pretend that we don’t know why.

    I’d flee too.

    The crisis in Syria isn’t set to end any time soon, as much as we’d all like it to. The Syrian children – who are exactly like our children, except for circumstance of birth, are growing up in a war torn country, where violence is normal, and death is common.

    I can’t fix the violence, from my living room. I can’t change the world, and signing a petition, as much as it makes me feel good inside, does very little to help Syrian families on the ground.

    Unicef are on the ground in Syria, helping families, providing aid. You can donate to Unicef charity to help a family in need. As little as $50 can help buy clothes, blankets and other family essentials for a family forced to flee.

    SyriaImage: Sana/Handout/European Pressphoto Agency via NYTimes.