Oh, Hi There.

Hello, world. It's been awhile.

I've finally made the conscious decision to come out of hibernation and get back into life. It's actually more of a hassle than it sounds, but surely it's worth it. While in lock-down, I've been missing my friends. I've missed writing and crocheting. I've missed planning, dreaming and scheming.

Ash has settled into a vague routine, Boo is as compliant as a fiery four year old can be, and I'm generally caffeinated enough to function effectively. I think it's time to get out of my metaphorical pajamas, and put on a flowing hippy dress to dance around the campfire of an active and fulfilling life in.

So, bring on playgroup and coffee dates, blogging and projects, crocheting and craft, (...perhaps a tiny bit of study) - and above all, extreme housewifery.
Hey, I need to make what I do sound exciting somehow.

Take care, and I hope to catch up with you sooon!

Introducing: Pacman!

Why, hello there.

So I seemingly fell off the face of the Earth during the last couple of months or so. I had every intention to blog, continue projects and catch up with people. However, being heavily pregnant and therefore one mega moody whale of a woman, I let a lot of things slide - first to go was any interactions with the outside world.

But! We are here now, and there is someone I'd like you to meet.

PACMAN.

Who will be known as "Ash" from now on.

Side note: I don't believe I ever told you why he had the nickname of 'Pacman' in the first place. One night at the dinner table, Boo was interrogating Benji and I over details of how the whole baby thing works. One gem she said was "is it in your tummy floating around and eating all of the foods?" and he has been Pacman ever since.

First of all, let me just say: yes. Child birth really is THAT painful. I don't know how I managed to forget that. Don't let me fool myself into believing otherwise again, internet, no matter how cute my kid is.

Ash is just two weeks old now and we're all adjusting well. This past fortnight has been one incredible, beautiful, emotional blur full of lessons and blessings.  We have had such amazing support through this transition time, and I can't express my appreciation enough. I would just like to take a second to say a very special thank you to my parents for having Boo both before and after Ash came about, and to the lovely people from church who have been so kind and generous to drop meals around. Absolutely blown away by how thoughtful people are.

Boo is doing really well, and enjoys being a big sister (...most of the time). One darling thing she does is sings "Hey Diddle Diddle" when the baby cries. Apparently her voice is magic or something and will soothe him. It worked once. However, the more Ash is around and cries, the tireder and more exasperated the song sounds. She really is beautiful with him though. 

This guy has been amazing. One proud father and an absolute natural. Benji has spent the past two weeks at home with Boo, Ash and I, and honestly, I could not have asked for a more helpful, supportive partner. I could gush on about this guy for hours, but I will just leave it with this: I am so unbelievably lucky, and thankful, to have such a wonderful, loving husband.

As for me: I'm exhausted! However, surviving each day as it comes and finding blessings among the chaos. Being a mother-of-two is time consuming and mentally draining, and I've been a little concerned about how I'm going to manage when Benji returns to work this week. Yet, I do love life at the moment, and am starting to view each day simply as a challenge to get on top of. 

I'm going to leave this here as it is far too early and I am under-caffeinated. I'm hoping to post more often in the future - just in case you were starting to miss photos of crochet items and cake!

Have a beautiful day xx

Adulting (Don't Do It)

Once upon a time (read: when I was sixteen), I was so eager to grow up. I wanted to be trusted to make my own decisions, to go where I wanted and do what I wanted without being accountable to anyone. I wanted to get out of my hometown and live on my own. To have a successful career, to travel, to meet new people and try new things and just be whatever I wanted.
The whole idea of being an adult simply oozed freedom.

Well. How wrong was I.

Here I am, seven years later, avoiding all of the things I still have to do today and writing a blog post over a bowl of soup. Boo is having her 'rest time', watching "Despicable Me" so that will give me another forty-five minutes or so of clear (read: child-free) brain time. I have placement things to do, housewife things to do, and project things to do; each time I cross one off my list, another seems to write itself just underneath.

I could, in fact, do nothing. I could drink tea and crochet hats until the cows come home (so to speak. No, husband, I do not mean you). But there are consequences.

See, that is where life gets you. As a youth, you don't really get the idea that one day there will be consequences that actually exist in the real world. Not like 'if you don't clean your room I'm going to do it for you (which means going through your stuff)'. Or 'doing badly in this exam means you'll get a bad score for uni offers (which, despite what we keep telling you, will not in fact ruin the rest of your life)'.

Oh no. In the adult world, there are actual consequences. Like, if you don't pay your rent, you will not have accommodation. Or, if you don't actively work towards getting a career by studying or applying for jobs, you won't actually get one. Or, if you don't do the dishes or the laundry, you and your family will be naked and hungry.

Being an adult is not this carefree, latte-sipping, traveling-pants-wearing, dream-job-having, free-spirit living in a perfect world I'd imagined. No. It's an exhausted, cranky, stretched-too-thin creature who is driven by fear of being naked and hungry.

The moral of this ramble, dear friends, is this: don't start being an adult - because once you do, there is no stopping. Just don't do it.

Failure [a reflection]

I have no problem with learning from mistakes - as someone just out of adolescence, I have a full and thorough understanding of how to avoid making the same one twice.

But failure - that's another story.

Last week I had one of those heart-shattering experiences. One that makes you doubt what you're doing, why you're doing it, and whether you're actually cut out for it. I'm not going to go into the details, but it was for placement and my first real attempt at executing something I had planned on my own.

On paper,my plans looked great. Well thought out and carefully planned.

In practice, I bombed out spectacularly.

Prior to this, I had been living in a safe little cocoon, one where I knew my strengths and weaknesses, my skills and abilities - and never strayed from them. I plan until things all work out beautifully hypothetically, and then I plan some more, just in case. Over the past twelve months I have been doing a lot of personal development in this area, through my study, placements and during the Wodonga City Council's Youth Leadership Program. I had learnt to trust my gut, felt my own ideas had credit, and was just starting to ease myself out of my comfort zone.

On that day last week, I wanted to shut myself away in study and housewife land where it was safe and never, ever venture out again. 

I was mad at myself for putting myself out there, to just fall flat on my face. I was upset that I didn't perform at the standard I had expected myself too. I was anxious at the idea of having to return and try again. I feared all of that hard work I had put in over the past twelve months had been unraveled and wasted. 

It's been almost a week, and I've had a lot of time to reflect. 

I'm actually now thankful for the experience. I have already learnt to tackle this thing I plan from a different angle, and to have contingencies. Sure, I'm beyond anxious about returning again soon, but I'm building resilience by doing so.  

And really, if that's how bad failure (in this context, I'm sure there's a lot worse out there) feels, then hey, I can handle it.

I started thinking about the people I admire and what they have achieved. I'm sure they had many set-backs and I doubt they were perfect on their first day.

Someone at Leadership last year actually said to me "don't be afraid of failure". I'm really thankful for that simple piece of advice, a seed really, that was planted back then.

So this experience has turned into something that symbolises other parts of my life. Time to put myself back out there, I have a lot more to give.

Hello, Reality.

Most of the time, it is all too easy to keep on The Face. You know the one - The Mother Face.
The face that says "Hi, I'm a parent and I handle everything super well and everything is wonderful and I'm amazing at life".

Today is not one of those days.

I woke up this morning with big storm clouds swirling around in my head. I can't remember the last time I got a decent nights sleep - pretty sure I was awake every two hours last night. My house is a disaster zone, I haven't been on top of housework all week. I have a to-do list a mile long, and half the things on that list are half-planned and confusing. I have two assessments to start. I feel like I'm not spending enough time engaging with Boo. I haven't been looking after myself well lately.

Life is starting to spiral out of control and I am struggling to get it together.

I'm stressed, tense, anxious and starting to show my warning signs of a relapse into depression.

I am far from functioning well.

So why am I posting this?

I'm not after sympathy. I'm not even really whinging and moaning about life. And I'm certainly not after any kind of help. In fact, I already have a management plan ready to go.

A lot of the time I feel there is so much pressure on mothers to appear to function perfectly.To be the best mother. The best housekeeper. To work or study or both, and to thrive. To have a social life. To balance it all perfectly. And so that's what we show the world.

Who does all this pressure come from? Good Question. Probably everywhere - other mums, media, etc etc etc. But mostly - I think it comes from ourselves.

No one really wants to admit that they struggle being a parent; apparently it implies that we fail. But that also means that we're carrying a lot of the internal struggle alone. What point is there in that, when the vast majority of us go through the same things?

It's so easy to filter ourselves - both in person and online. I believe in being honest and real with people. It is so important to acknowledge that we have our bad days too. We can't be perfect all of the time. Even half of the time. Or any of the time. And we should support each other to realise that and give ourselves a break.

Today, I suck at life. And that's okay.

What Am I Doing?

I'm frustrated.

And not the kind of frustrated you can punch out at the gym, or resolve at the bottom of a pile of cookies.

It's the miserable, never-ending, irritating frustration that comes with yet another wave of unsettlement; summed up in the question "what even am I doing?"

I think it all the time. I even say it to my husband, sometimes exchanging the "I" for "we". Which must be baffling for him at the times I don't especially feel like giving him any context.

The obvious answers are obvious. I'm doing my housewifey duty by doing housewifey things. I'm studying. I'm raising Boo and baking another time-consuming creature to love full-time.

Clearly, the question is confusingly rhetorical.

The real answer is: not enough.

I feel like I have lost a little part of me this year, and that I have so much more to give. Last year I had opportunities of leadership and volunteering. I had ideas and projects that I never explored or made a start on. I had passion, motivation, inspiration.

Where did that go?

I decided this year that I would read/watch/look at something that inspired me every day. I slacked off on that after day one. Time to start soul-searching again. Perhaps I will explore this with you here, sharing something each day that inspires me. Just for a week.

So. I would love to hear from you. What inspires you? What's your passion? You're more than welcome to comment and share.

I would usually like to have something meaningful in here to wrap things up with. Something profound or whatever to tie it all together nicely.

 But I have absolutely nothing.

So instead, here's a video of Billie Joe Armstrong with his dog.

Why Disastrous

Disastrous: 1. Causing a lot of damage or harm.
                2. Very unsuccessful.

Now, before we jump to conclusions: no. This blog is not going to be an ever-lasting tirade announcing my short comings and failures. 

Actually, I find the term "disastrous" almost endearing when relating it to my life.

I am constantly attempting to "start over" or, really, tackle life from a different angle. I want to be more organised. More connected to people, form better relationships. I want to be the perfect wife, parent, student, daughter, sister, friend. 
Crazily enough, it never works out.

I finally came to the realisation that I am never, ever going to meet my own expectations of myself. That really, every day is one disastrous attempt after another to reach those unrealistic goals. 

And so, I'm happy to relate myself and my life to being disastrous. Nothing ever really works out as I planned, and that's what makes it wonderful. 

In fact, I'm fairly certain my attempt at blogging itself is going to be disastrous. Doesn't that tie things up nicely.