Oops
Posted on: June 19, 2011
Okay, so it’s been weeks since my last post. I still haven’t figured out how to actually have a life of my own going on (ie. work and a new hobby), as well as a blog. I guess I’ll get the balance right eventually, but for now blogging might be a bit sporadic. So might housework. Oh alright, housework has always been rather sporadic around here, so I guess that won’t really change. But I’ll grab any excuse I can.
I’m loving teaching again. Working with children with special needs is challenging, yet very inspiring and surprisingly fun. I’m yet to have a bad day, and while I’m sure I’ll get one eventually, I look forward to my next day at school more and more each week. I’m still not sure whether it’s something I could do long-term, but I’m keen to keep at it for now and see what happens. I’m also totally loving getting paid again, and feeling like there is more to ‘me’ than being ‘Mum’. Or ‘Muuuuuuuuuum!’, as I am frequently referred to lately.
Rowing is also going well. Every week, I look forward to Saturday and another chance to do some bloody hard work! I’m learning more and more each time I go out on the water. Most of all, I’m learning that rowing is a sport that takes years to master – I’ll be a novice for quite some time, so I should stop expecting to get it right one day soon. I can only work on getting one thing right at a time, and maybe in a year or two, it will start to come together! As with most sports, there is the technical element (which is difficult enough), but there’s also the mental game you play with yourself: you can whinge to yourself about all of the little things that are annoying you as you row along – it’s too cold, it’s too windy, this seat is uncomfortable, the boat’s on a funny lean, I’m sure my oar isn’t working properly, these shoes are too big, etc. or you can just accept all of it and get on with the job. Because there will always be something that’s not quite right. Also, as with any sport, there will be good days and bad days. Last week, I decided I actually hated rowing. All because my coach put me in a single on the choppiest, most turbulent water I have ever seen, (apart from at the beach, obviously). It was all I could do to stay in the bloody boat. I was shit scared and miserable the entire time. I tried to row properly, but every time I got into some sort of rhythm, one oar would go one way, the other oar would go the other way, and I had no choice but to have a little freak-out before starting all over again. Correct technique went out the window, and my goal for the day became simply to get home dry. I know I shouldn’t have been, but I was very disheartened afterwards and spent the whole week wondering whether rowing was really going to be my thing afterall. However, last Saturday, in much calmer conditions, I was put in a double and it wasn’t long before I was in love with rowing again. Not only that, I noticed that I was balancing the boat really well and managing to keep my oars off the water a little better than a couple of weeks ago. When I mentioned how happy I was to my coach, his reply was, “Why do you think I stuck you in that single last week? I knew you’d be heaps better this week if you survived it.” Gee, thanks for the heads up, Neil. But I do get his point, and maybe next time he does something like that to me again (which I don’t doubt he will – he’s a little sadistic that way), well, maybe I won’t curse his name for the entire 6km. Maybe.
On the home front, the kids are still sick. It’s been over a month – just one bug after another with pretty much no break in between. This makes for miserable, crabby , sleep-deprived kids and miserable, crabby sleep-deprived Mummy. But at least I seem to have been spared actually getting the bugs (touch wood). Very mild cold symptoms is all, so I’m extremely grateful for that. There’s nothing worse than looking after others when all you want is to be looked after yourself. Or at the very least, left alone to suffer in peace! Fortunately, the kids have, for the most part, been well enough to attend preschool and daycare, so their sickness hasn’t interfered with my ability to go to work. There were two days that Tom took off for me, but that’s all. So far. But I’m completely over the whingy-whiney-ness that my kids also catch with their various bugs. Please just get well now, guys!
Tiernan, who is now attending preschool on Wednesdays (since January), and Family Day Care on Fridays (since about three weeks ago), has suddenly developed some sort of separation anxiety, and he becomes upset and whingy- whiney whenever I try to leave him somewhere. He even cries. This is very out of character for him – he has always loved Family Day Care (he has returned to the same carer he was with for two and a half years before starting preschool). It’s not so unusual for him to get upset about preschool, though. He went through a rough patch there – for a couple of months earlier this year, he consistently told me he didn’t like preschool, that he had no friends and didn’t like that there were so many rules there. We had a meeting with his teacher, which seemed to help and eventually he settled, and even started looking forward to Wednesdays again. So it’s very disappointing that we are now back at square one. I’m not sure whether it’s because he’s unwell, or whether it’s because he’s having trouble adjusting to being in care two days a week? Or perhaps we are learning that Tiernan finds major change difficult to cope with… I don’t know. Anyway, I’ve decided to leave things as they are for now and see whether he gets used to it in a few more weeks. I hope so. I hate having to physically prise him off me and listen to him cry as I walk away – it breaks my heart every time. I’m used to having him run off with barely a ‘goodbye.’ So I hope this is short-lived.
Neave took her first steps, and then three days later, got her first tooth! At fourteen months, she officially gets the title of ‘slowest teether’ in our house. But not by much – Molly was 13 months when she got her first tooth! She also wins ‘quickest walker’, as Tiernan was 15 months when he took his first steps, while Molly was 16 months. Not that we’re counting, or anything.
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