Real Mothering Hurts

Dogs teach children lessons a parent never could.

he hates to admit it, but he loves his mumma taking photos

It can be hard not to feel dejected at times, beaten within an inch of my life by the constantness that is motherhood. I sit here failing to grasp just how I could articulate what it is to be a mother. For all its beauty and for all it’s overwhelming purpose and simplicities, motherhood, leaves you with pangs of defeat, moments where no attempt no matter how great could ever abate those feeling of disenchantment one simple moment can bring you.

I spoke with one of my friends just the other day. We spoke of how as parents we unite, yet as mothers we can at times feel so alone, so isolated. What do you mean? You might ask. Well what I make reference to is that part of mothering that ceases to take pause, the constantness. That part where it is always mum as option A, dad as option B.

I sat at home the other day, writing, trying my best to get in the ‘zone’ and I suppose truly, it was a fail on my part to even assume that was possible, to get into to any form of zone with little feet parading around the house. What wore me thin more than anything else though, was that although their father sat almost less than 3 meters from me, with them whilst they watched some afternoon cartoons, it was me they proceeded to come up to an ask, for permission, for help, to inquire, to dob. I found myself in states of complete disenfranchise. How could mothering be such a menial task! How could everything I love, everything that fills me with that heart wrenching love, also take me to some of my darkest parts of myself? I sat that disillusioned with the revelation that this is the mothering that is not talked about. This is not what they tell you about in parenting classes, or on those heartfelt blogs about the authentic, totally enamoring gift of parenting. And truly I love my children, that is not to be questioned, what I question instead is the ability to love myself, and to love it on my own terms, to be able to be anything other than mum all of the time. To have those moments which solely are mine, to have moments where dad is chosen first, if not purely out of proximity.

I am one of the lucky ones, I have an amazing husband and brilliantly engaged father – he is cooking AND doing the dishes as I type here fervourously. So why do they choose me, why do I have the constantness?

Why because I am mum, and that is what we do without question of condition.

It will abate with time, I know… I hope. And in the shadows of that loss, years from now, I know I’ll draw a tear as I find reverie in the times when they needed me so fiercely.

Yet until then, I want you to know, that this is the part of mothering they don’t tell you about. This is the part that hurts, the part where you feel lost and tired, the parts where you can’t wait for bedtime, where you feel disillusioned and lied to. They are transient but they are real. Mothering is real and it is ok to feel defeated because tomorrow you will rise to the occasion once more, you will stand strong and roar your mothering roar to the face of the wind as it dares to call your bluff. Because your love is fierce, your love is strong and it will stand unwavering against those dark moments despite what you think you feel, despite feeling as though you have been crushed by the constantness of mothering. Because that is what we do, we are mothers and our love is never broken, it is only hidden beneath surface, always ready to break free.

23\52 | Simplistically us.

he lay like this for a few minutes, savoring life? who knows

his life is complete so long as a ball is in hand, dirt staining his skin with childhood memories.

I took a hiatus these last few weeks from social networking and I found myself feeling guilt ridden, more so for not complying with my commitment of blogging each week. Then I thought, WHY?

As a mum of two young boys, and fulltime worker, I think I manage my life well. Sure there are moments with greater clarity than others, however, on a whole I feel as though my intentions are merited. I enjoy the and look for pleasure in life’s meritocracies, which in essence means that I am an actively grateful person.

so i got to thinking... 

When did we decide that we can only be grateful for triumphs that are outside of normalcy? When did we decide that it was ok to judge simplicity as average, and measure success in the complexity and difficulty of an ascertained achievement? Our lives have been corrupted by social media, and not in a good way. We seek to achieve in comparison to others, we measure success through our online relationship to what we are perceiving. Pinterest for example, i love it, it inspires me, but it also has the potential to remind me how mediocre (at best) i am as a person, as a wife and as a mother... if i let it!

I think as mere human beings we need to take the time to acknowledge our simplicities. We strive so hard for superiority and greatness, that often times, we negate the beauty that lies in that which passes us by, that which we did not strive for.

I walked out of work yesterday and the smell of winter was on the air, I don’t quite know how to describe it, other than it was crisp and fresh, I could feel the beat of a winter air on my face as the wind blew over the river below and cascaded up an over the ridge towards me. For a brief moment I was mindful, I was present. I closed my eyes lightly and let go and gave my thoughts away. There was so much appreciation in that moment for so many things, more simplistically of them was the ability to be mediocre. To head home to my family, ‘mundane’ as that might appear, to drive my average car to my average (though totally adorable house), to my average family, where we will fight over what is for dinner (something not very pinterest worthy im sure), settle arguments with chocolate, not always get the kids bathed before bedtime, and dare say get them to school late more times that I should. I found myself aptly grateful for the simplicity of normality, and it’s context in my life.

So I have decided to shake off the onus feeling of not engaging in what I have strived to complete – said blog. Instead I revel in the appeased feeling of appreciation for taking a few weeks out to be simplistic and mediocre. It was beautiful, I suggest it!

xxxx

Family roots

My boys love their family. This week, today in fact, my boys (mason more so)  played their last footy game with uncle Sean for a while. Uncle Sean is venturing off to the Navy and has a year of study and training ahead. It was a big decision that he has worked hard for. 

Bitter sweet to see this manly display of respect, love and adoration of my sons and their uncle, of my husband and his brother. Sean has a wife and daughter, who my boys adore greatly, and for the sorrow i know my boys may feel at not seeing him for that while, i know that pain will be ten fold for his small gorgeous family. 

Family roots

We will be here, supporting your family while you build a better life for them. Everyone is proud of you mate! You've got this ;)

19\52 | Mothers Day

part amphibious - he would play in here all day.

It's that time of year... when the summer tan starts to fade and the winter winds approach.

It's mothers day today. My children beamed into the room this morning after hubby ensured a small sleep in. They were ecstatic for a whole 5 minutes then preceded to carry on with their own little lives. I didn't mind. I was celebrating mothers day on the back of some nasty food poisoning, and so to be left alone was not a huge issue for me, in fact i welcomed the reprieve.

I laid in bed, drifting in and out of slumber, to the familiar sounds of my life, squeals, screams and giggles. Thumps to the walls and thrumming of little feet as they run through the house. 

Mothers day. A day to celebrate and acknowledge the hard work and sacrifices made and endured. Also a day to reflect and be grateful for the normality my life holds. 

Grateful for two little boys.

Grateful for their health.

Grateful for a supportive husband.

Grateful for financial security.

Grateful for family support.

Grateful for normality.

There are mums out there today making hard sacrifices for their families, mothers nursing empty blankets as they console themselves in the memories of a life lost. Mothers at work to earn money to put a roof over their child's head and a warm meal in their belly. Mothers who have no one but their own self to rely on. Mothers in hospital wards nursing sick children. Mothers fighting ugly custody disputes.

We come in all shapes and sizes, we try hard, we hurt, we strive and we make make sacrifices for the love a child, that simply, pure love.

So to all my mums out there,  i hope your day is special, and i hope you know how amazing you are!

Happy Mothers Day!

Linking in with Jodie and the 52 Project and the girls over at The Whole Hearted Journal

18\52 | Chillin wit the boys

He is always looking for a way to find his own little space in the world.

He loves the bunnies, and i love how much he loves them... all on his own!

This week we found balance, we had coffee in the familiar hum of our local grind. we took venture to new places and found new and exciting places to explore. We came home and snuggled on the couch and made sure someone enjoyed his fav team on the box.

17\52 | The difference a year makes

Mason - always the adventurer  

  Jettah - always the lover

This week i found my self looking back - looking at how far they have come. I admire them so much and i appreciate the way they allow me to see such vibrancy in the world. Mason with his vivacious lust for life and Jettah with his poised ability to see the beautiful in everything. They ground me and push me to new heights all at the same time. 

I hope one day they are able to read back on these moments and know how much i love them. How much they help me be the best i can be. I watch them grow and my heart aches, it aches for the hoe of time standing still, just long enough to fully breathe their scent, to trace the lines in their dimpled smiles and the shape their hands in mine. But time does not. It never will. It pounds ahead daring us to pick up speed and run along with it, in a dreamy haste to move forward and upward. 

Oh the difference a year makes. 

I wonder what lies ahead... i wonder what next year will bring.

Linking in with Jodie and the 52 project and the girls over at The Whole Hearted Journal

16/52 | Watch them grow

 

 

There are parts of motherhood that escape me. It's as if I have popped my head down, to rest for just a fraction of time. Yet, there is no rest for mothers and so when I raise my head, time has lapsed and there they are, my boys grown.

 

This was one of those weeks.

 

Watching Mason grow, everyday, is not hard. He is the eldest and I suppose there is a thrill that comes with watching them meet milestones, of uncovering new depths in their own little selves. The first time they sit, the first time they walk, the first word, the first stick figure, we celebrate the firsts for them, we reach for them and relish them as mothers do.

 

With the second, we ache. We hold on to them, because we know!

 

As mothers we know just how vicious the resting and the reaching can be for them as children, we know that they are not forever. That the dimples on their bottoms fade, their want for the breast, their reach for our hand.... it all fades. We rest less, we celebrate less, we mourn.

 

It is no less beautiful, it is no less a marvel to see our little miniature humans thrive the way we so hope they would!... Simply we know and respect what time takes from mothers.

 

When my eldest left for school last year, for his very first year - in uniform too big for him, in a  bag that hid him from the world filled mostly food and hope. I wasn't sad. I didn't cry like I thought I would. Because he was my first, he was my big boy... I was proud and I forgot about the rest, I forgot about time. I was simply proud of his aging and his moving forward.

 

This week however, my big boy lost a tooth. 

 

For the very first time, I took pause, I ached and I acknowledged that no attempt from me, no matter how big, will ever hold him back for me, will ever allow me to  keep them just so, with their tininess nuzzled in my neck. They will always grow, they will always reach. And as their mother truly, it is what I know and want for them.

 

But this week as the toothfairy made her round, she paused, she breathed in his sticky scent of dirt and sweetness and wiped the tear from my cheek.

 

He will grow, despite me, and I will love him every day for it!

 

 

Linking in with Jodie for the 52 Project and the mums over at The Whole Hearted Journal