JUST a Stay at Home Mum

For years now, I’ve bought into the idea that it’s somehow a bad thing to be just a stay-at-home mother. Since O was very small, I’ve piled myself up with extra activities, convinced by the childless and the naysayers that I wasn’t doing enough if I just enjoyed being a Mummy to my child. I gave in to social stigma, ignoring warnings from doctors and family, convinced that I was a superwoman with the power to do it all.

I tried to be her. Turns out I was going the wrong way about it.

When O was tiny, I worked at a local business doing payroll and administrative tasks, before finding I wasn’t handling the pressure of having to be dressed like a human and out of the house three times a week. Then, I took on a Certificate in Business Administration, because I was told it would be valuable. I involved myself in small jobs here and there, telling myself that it would be good for O to have a mummy who was making something of herself. All the time, I was neglecting O, who was relegated to daycare, and sending my body and mind into a turmoil of exhaustion and depression and feeling awful for being ‘not enough’.

I have to interject here that I love, and always have loved, my daughter. She has never gone without anything, and has always been my gorgeous baby. Neglect probably isn't the best word, but it fits.

Just after O turned one, my boyfriend at the time convinced me to start a photography business. He told me he would help me with setup costs, and that I needed to do something more than being ‘just a mum’. I began this business in 2010, working hard to produce images my clients would love. It worked reasonably well for me, I loved the work. But all the time my house was turning into a disaster, and I was getting more and more tired and overwhelmed. I lived alone with a small child, just mobile enough to create a disaster zone and the split focus of mothering, housekeeping and work was sinking me further into the pit. But still I slogged on.

When I moved in with said boyfriend, the pressure to succeed got greater. He figured he had started his own business at 21, why couldn’t I manage? It was hard not living up to his expectations, so I pushed harder. I was with O as much as I could be, and when I wasn’t I was working or cleaning the house, constantly falling down on one count or the other, because it was just too much. At the same time, I was completing a certificate in adult training and education, teaching photography and computer skills classes three times a week and increasingly becoming the shoulder that friends leaned on when things got tough. I did all of this with a smile on my face. At the time, if I complained of exhaustion or misery, boyfriend would admonish me and I finally stopped complaining, my dissatisfaction instead eating at me. He didn’t clean or cook, that was all up to me, as was parenting of O. After all, why should he do anything? I was living in his house (paying an exorbitant amount of ‘board’ as well as food and bills) and he had helped me start my business, so I should show my gratitude by looking after him. And O wasn’t his, she was my responsibility. I told myself all of this, knowing that was the prevailing attitude in my house.

In late 2011, convinced that my dissatisfaction was due to a hole in my life, I took on a university degree. I’ve always wanted to be a counsellor and began studying Social Work full-time, adding further pressure to each day. Pretty simultaneously, I came to the realisation that I wasn’t happy where I was. In fact, I’d been backed against a wall for months, pushing myself to the limit to satisfy someone I didn’t particularly like much anymore, and probably hadn’t in a very long time. Someone who seemed to derive power from my tears, exhaustion and misery. During my first semester break, I made the decision to leave, and on Boxing Day 2011, O and I moved in with some close friends who had a spare room in their share house situation.

Just after leaving. Happiest we'd both been in a LONG time!

Since then, I have met and married (in rapid succession) my soul mate, B. Every day, he reinforces with me that I’m pushing too hard, that my responsibility is to look after myself, my child, my family and my home. I’ve pulled back from my business a lot in the past year, and at the end of March I’ll be closing operations entirely for an indefinite period. I’ve finally been diagnosed with the Chronic Fatigue Syndrome that I’ve undoubtedly had for several years now. I’ve been through several small jobs, but have left them all when my limit has been reached. I’m appreciating my daughter more with each day that I allow myself to be her mum and to feel the joy of that privileged position. Today, I applied for leave from university. I plan to use my credits to fast-track a TAFE certificate in Counselling in my own time. I never wanted to be a Social Worker, and I’m learning to accept ‘good enough’.

This guy... he saved me.

I still push myself a little too hard most days, but I’m learning. These days, I listen to the people who tell me how important my role as a mother is, rather than worrying about being just a mum. I laugh with my kids. I enjoy my husband (mostly). I commit to my friends, but I’m learning to say ‘no’ when I just can’t cope or when their issues are impacting on me and my family too much. I’m not running away from my life anymore, I’m accepting that the role I can’t escape is my most important.

Yes, I’m just a stay-at-home mum. But you know what? I couldn’t be happier.

How could this ever not be enough?

It's Tuesday, guys. Therefore, I Blog on Tuesdays with Essentially Jess

A Steely KinderMum Resolve

It’s a bit of a culture shock when you first become a LunchMummy, I think. By LunchMummy, I mean a mother whose child(ren) attend a kindergarten or school that require the sending of a packed lunch for every day of attendance.  It’s a new concept to me, despite occasionally being responsible for L’s lunches, and I’m learning as I go how important it is.

Since she was very small, O has attended a private daycare centre who supplied a lunch and two snacks a day, plus breakfast if your child was in the centre before 8am. This meant that, on most days, I could roll out of bed, take her straight to care and know that she was pretty much fed until dinnertime. Sometimes, I would do breakfast for her at home, but it depended on what time she’d arrive in the morning. I never, ever understood how lucky I was!

When O progressed to Kindergarten 3 weeks ago, I suffered a bit of a shock the first morning. I’m not used to preparing lunchboxes at all, and I really wasn’t inclined to. Add to that my exhaustion and you’ll deduce that poor O’s lunches for the first few weeks were pretty boring. Her kinder were very adamant at our orientation in November that foods had to be healthy, Healthy, HEALTHY. No sweet biscuits, no cakes, no chips, no crap. The lunch talk began to feel like a lecture, and I may have shed a tear or two as in my mind I realised that the expectations of these ladies were almost SETTING ME UP to fail as a Kinder Mum. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love O. I love preparing food, and making sure she gets the best possible start in life. However, no matter how hard I try, I truly, truly suck at organisation and preparation. Shopping lists and I go together like eggs and dynamite, and I’ve been known to visit the supermarket 8 times in a 7-day week to get ingredients together for various meals. When I do decide to be a domestic goddess and do a big grocery shop, exhaustion or disinclination hit, and I end up wasting a weeks’ worth of fruit, vegges and money. For me, it’s easier to fly by the seat of my pants.

‘But Tara,’ You’re thinking, ‘I remember you mentioning some pretty crippling OCD’. Why yes, gorgeous and elephant-minded reader, yes you do. However, people seem to have this habit of confusing Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder with organisational skills. They don’t go hand-in-hand as neatly as one might think. The need to have all my DVD’s alphabetised and my comedy, TV series and movie sections separated does not necessarily lend itself to a kitchen full of fresh groceries, an excellent meal plan (though I try) and home-baked snacks on hand for my kiddies at all times. 

O always eats well. Her lunches have always consisted of the vital components (fruit or veg, dairy, a sandwich and a special snack) but the dairy has often been a cheese stick, which I refuse to give up sending as she thinks they’re the business, the sandwich is mostly vegemite on white bread and the snack, more often than not, is one of those bars with a baked outside and fruity-jammy-puree-y filling. She LOVES them. The kinder, however, have made it very clear to me that they’re not so keen. In fact, they’re not so keen on a LOT of things, and most of their arrows seem to be pointing at everything I place in my little girl’s lunchbox.

Yesterday, I decided I’d had enough. One no-so-subtle hint too far pushed me over the edge, and I came home after kinder and cried for an hour and a half, convinced I was a shitty mother who was stunting my child’s intelligence and social growth with my lack of lovingly home-baked snackage. 

This clearly isn’t true, but I’m a less than rational thinker, so I steeled my resolve and put together a shopping list. Meals I could viably stick to making, their degree of difficulty almost nil but their nutritional value and likelihood to get eaten in my house quite high. I added to this a list of snacks that, again, were minimal effort for high reward. When B dragged himself home, spent, from another day dealing with douchebag co-worker, I dragged him straight out again to wander the aisles of the local Woolies for an hour, determined to get what I needed to become the epitome of Kinder Mumishness that I so want to be, just to prove to the thirty-somethings, the educators, everyone who is determined to shove me into the ‘shithouse young mother’ box totally wrong. I shan’t be staying there, thanks very much. One good habit at a time, I’m gonna kick my way out.

I know I’m doing nothing wrong. O eats and adores everything in her lunchbox, and she is the brightest, bubbliest, smartest kid I know. She’s had her finger on the pulse since the day she was born, despite breastfeeding failings, occasional treat lapses and the day I got to dinnertime and realised all she’d eaten was peanut butter from the jar and grated carrot. But it truly is time I got my ass into gear and worked harder at the motherhood thing. It’s time I stopped being a victim of Chronic Fatigue and pushed through to ensure she has everything she could possibly desire. And if, in the process, some people get the hell off my back, that’s not so bad either, is it?

So now I want to hear from you guys: What do you send your kiddies to school with? Has anyone, subtly or not so, made you feel like a shithouse parent, despite all the evidence to the contrary? And did you tell them to screw themselves, or work harder to prove them wrong?

It's been a bad day

Yesterday was what we call a ‘bad’ day at my house. This is a day where my mood is somewhere below ‘despair’ and I can’t seem to get a toe-hold. I do my best on these days to keep my head above water, for my little girl if nothing else, but yesterday it was particularly hard.

Unfortunately, I have some pretty severe depression and anxiety, along with a lovely case of OCD. This turns my brain into a melting-pot of hideousness, and some days are so bad that I get antsy. I can’t sit still, but I can’t cope with practicalities like cleaning or homework. I need to run away.

Yesterday, despite severe exhaustion, I needed to get out. I popped in my car and went for a drive for an hour (yes, this is so bad for the environment, but I’ve not driven at all for 3 weeks so it balances). When I got home, B was here for his lunch break, and I felt all my muscles tense up. I was 15-minutes out from kinder pick-up time, I needed that time to calm down so I wasn’t a mess when my girl got home. As soon as I got inside, B started yet another soliloquy on ‘Asshole Co-worker’, a man at work who doesn’t work, smokes while standing right next to my non-smoking husband, lies, acts like an arrogant SOB and generally makes B’s life hellish. 

I understand and have sympathy for B’s upset over Asshole Co-worker. He’s frustrated, and he’s a man with a short fuse. However, I’ve been getting at least 20-30 minutes ranting about this guy after every single work day, and quite often during lunch breaks also. That can add up to an hour a day (or more!) that I spend listening to complaints about this guy. I’m starting to get really, really mad about it and yesterday, when I’d needed the cooldown time, I snapped. I asked B if he had the time to come get O with me, to which he replied ‘no, I have to get back’ before continuing with his rant. I yelled ‘I’VE HAD ENOUGH’ and stormed out. I got into my car and screamed for at least a full minute or two, before going to get my little girl.

Every single day of my life, I work hard to put on a brave, happy face. My family deserve me at my very best, and it’s my responsibility to make situations happen where I can be that best. Yesterday, despite all my best efforts, I wasn’t at that best. That was all on me, because unfortunately some days it just can’t be helped. On these days, I only want for nothing to make it worse. I give O anything she wants on these days, because it keeps her sweet and happy, and I can cope. I don’t argue, because I don’t have enough control over my emotions to pull back. All I want from the rest of my family is minimal conflict. I want to be able to swim under that big, scary, overwhelming wave and surface on the other side. Yesterday, I felt like I’d managed to get under the wave and just as I was trying to get my head up, but B was holding me down.

I’ve been self-managed for many years now. I’ve never thought of myself as a ‘sufferer’ of my mental disorders, they’re just something I have that I deal with. I avoid medication like the plague. It takes away my personality, and I’m not ‘me’. On medication, I don’t joke with my daughter, I’m a less loving partner to my husband, I’m a zombie-lady who operates on autopilot, so I don’t medicate. The upside is total control on the good days and my bouncy, fun personality. The downside is that the lows are much, MUCH lower. Terrifyingly low. 

I ask little of my husband. Love, equality, a little financial security while I can’t work. Mostly, I ask for support. I ask him to help me in keeping my moods even, and I ask that he doesn’t exacerbate things on the bad days. Yesterday was definitely a bad day, and with this having been communicated, it made me hurt that he couldn’t pull back, as I do so often. 

I’m interested to know how this post strikes you. Do you have a mental illness? How does it affect your family life? 

I'm loving the fact that these days, I Blog On Tuesdays with Essentially Jess. Do you?

What's for Dinner? Beef & Beer Casserole

I love cooking so much. It’s one of my very favourite activities. I love amazing-smelling food, and I adore feeding my loved ones – even moreso when they enjoy it! Unfortunately, I don’t get to do it properly as much as I’d like because my fatigue knocks me down halfway through. So I rely on low-effort, high-reward recipes a lot of the time.

I love this recipe. It’s rich, it’s full of goodies and the beef just falls apart. I used to do it in a casserole dish in my over, per the original recipe, but I love my slow-cookers like a recently separated appendage. We have two, because I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of either when B and I moved in together, so if motivation strikes me I can get 2-3 meals done at once.

And yes, I realise it’s early in the year for casseroles, but I was wanting some comfort food!!

The original recipe can be found here, but mine is tweaked as such:

Ingredients
Gravy or Casserole Beef (the recipe says 750g, but I tend to use closer to 1kg)
Any casserole-ish vegetables you can get your hands on, chopped appropriately
(for me, this is generally leek, carrot, cauliflower, zucchini, corn, mushrooms, celery)
2 crushed garlic cloves (or 2tsp minced)
2tbsp plain flour
2 dried bay leaves
3-4 sprigs fresh thyme (or a sprinkle of the dry stuff)
375ml lager beer  (I’ve found James Boag’s Classic really good)
1 ½ Cups beef stock

Note: The original recipe calls for bacon, but I don’t use this as it makes it too rich for my kids, and potatoes, but I serve it on mash so I don’t put spuds in it.

To put it together, first brown off all the beef in a frying pan in batches and let the batches drain on some paper towel. I’ve found if you dry the beef off a bit after cooking, it actually cooks a lot better, and goes tender and fally-aparty. Yes, I know that’s not a thing, but it makes sense to me.

Once your beef is brown and dry and smelling awesome, dump everything in your slow cooker. I tend to put stock powder and boiling water straight in to facilitate my own laziness, but each to their own.

Give everything a quick stir. If you’re in a hurry, give it an hour on high before dropping it down to low. Otherwise, leave it go on low all day until the sauce is thick and the beef is tender. 

This dish is such a favourite in my house, as soon as O sees me bring out the beer she turns into an excited puppy. As I mentioned, it’s best served with mash. I make mine really creamy with lots of butter, and the whole family flips for this dish.

Birthday Party Planning Hell

Every year, I put myself through it. Every year I swear I won’t do it again then sometime around October O starts using it as leverage or I bring it up as bribery and I’m back in Birthday Party Planning Hell.

Me whenever I realise it's time for party planning.
Image Source

This year, O’s realisation that she was due a birthday party came tandem to the start of wedding planning back in September. She heard the word ‘January’ and something in her mind went ‘wait a sec, that sounds familiar...why do I know that word? Wait – BIRTHDAY’ and out of her mouth came ‘Mummy I’m having a birthday party this year.’ No please can I, no I would really like. O tells me what things she will be involved in, because asking leaves room for Mummy to say no. She’s a tiny evil genius.

Don't let the face fool you. She's a tiny dictator.

Though her birthday actually falls on the 20^th, this was 1 week and 1 day after the wedding, so knowing not much recuperation time would present itself, I arranged family celebrations for the actual day, and her party with kinder friends and mothers who are not family and therefore free to judge me and my house of bedlam until the following Sunday, the 27^th. Knowing that this was the day after Australia Day, and the day before the public holiday Monday, I felt OK knowing people would be coming on a Sunday afternoon, and I’d have B to myself all day Saturday to help with cleaning and setup. Genius, Tara. (note: this did not happen. Nor did help with post party cleanup Monday. We watched Fast & Furious movies ALL DAY)

So much better than post-party cleanup.

Of course, as we all know, the bedrest mandate came, and so I haven’t been in any position to do the things one would expect during party prep. Clean, shop, devise games, give a crap. I managed a trip to the discount store Wednesday before to get plates, cups, banners (which weren’t used) and party-bag fixings. I hate putting lollies in a goodie bag, so I bought badges, swirly straws, fairy wands, glittery tattoos and other treats, then tossed in a Chupa Chup each, because I had them anyway (yes, I’m a sugar fiend. Judge not!)

Then I crashed. I spent the next two days lying on the couch, aware that cleaning and planning needed to happen, but secure in the knowledge that our inflatable pool and extensive Disney movie collection would provide the entertainment, so all I needed was a clean house and snacks. Genius moment number two came weeks earlier, when I sent out invitations to a 3.30pm birthday party, ensuring I would need to produce snacks ONLY, not a main meal.

By 2pm Saturday, very little cleaning had happened, and the only prep was a mental list of party snack small kids like (which I could be bothered preparing). Despite O requesting various cakes for the past 4 months – Peppa Pig, Minnie Mouse, Barbie, Tinkerbell and Lightning McQueen, nothing to do with flavours – I knew we didn’t have the funds and I didn’t have the energy to make an epic character cake (storebought or homemade) happen this year. I wanted to, don’t get me wrong, but it wasn’t an option. Despite my tears over this realisation, B took it in his stride and discussed with O how much she’d love a rainbow swirly cake instead. Yes, she agreed, she would like that (score one for parental coercion!) And so we planned a vanilla cake with swirled colours. Despite B’s assertion that he would make the cake, Mummy sensibility realised this was a pipe dream, and added it to my mental list of ‘Shit to do on Party Day’.

Epic cakemix of epicness. Pre-baking.

Surprisingly, I woke up reasonably energised and managed to do everything that had to be done, including creating an EPIC BIRTHDAY CAKE! 2-layer rainbow marble cake with blue semisweet whipped cream in the centre and pink and neon green frosting on the top. A freaking mummy masterpiece never to be surpassed. Not even ashamed to admit that I used the 73c Woolworths Vanilla Cake mixes.

A slice of awesomeness. My amazing cake skillz.
Excuse the crap photo. My exhaustion had kicked in and I was a little shaky with a cameraphone.

The party itself was lovely. 2 of the 6 kinder friends invited came, a decent turnout considering the long weekend. O’s bestest out-of-kindy friend A came also. This was kind of a given, considering her mummy is my best mummy friend, S. I only ended up putting out half the snacks because MummyBrain consumed all my memories of other food, and there were a few small jealousy incidents among girls not used to sharing O (one from kinder, the other not), but it was a great party and O had a blast. 

Now that it’s done, there shall be no more event planning for Mummy for awhile. I’m planning to ignore my own birthday on Friday and see if B manages to make something special of it so I don’t feel hurt at being forgotten. Apart from that, you’ll find me sleeping.

 PLEASE NOTE: Despite not doing a proper cleanup, my house doesn't look like a dump. I just haven't done a few small dishes. I'm not a pig, just tired. And B will do them. Just not right this second.