Goodbye to the last one.

Our little Miss had her “interview” for preschool today, she’s due to start next year. I am sad.

It feels like I’m letting go of all my children, all at once, with her, the last, taking that first step away. Right now I know everything she does, everywhere she goes, who she talks to, who she yells at and who she cuddles.

I have full faith in the preschool she’s going to, they’re about as caring as I think one could get in that environment. I have no qualms that her preschool teachers aim to raise their class just as we try to as parents at home – with the right amount of strictness, inspiration and, most importantly, caring.

And boy, at the moment, I could probably do with the space because are our kids driving me c-razy! The noise… urgh….and she’s the noisiest of them all!  But I usually relish the chaos kid’s cause. So I still don’t want her to go.

I’m frightened of the silent space which will greet me when I come home alone. Getting in the car alone. Doing the food shopping with no one in the trolley seat to giggle with…. even though I might actually get some of the things that are on my list this way.

I’m not so good with ‘me time’, I like to be busy, and a 2 year old certainly fills that need. I will work, but it’s ‘from home’ work, which will be in that empty silent space, by my empty silent self.

I know it’s not ground breaking stuff, every mother’s gone through it, and their life has gone on – nay, they say they even enjoy it! So I will think of all you mums: How you can now go and help in reading groups with your other kids at school, how you can get your hair done in longer than 10 minutes whilst shovelling food into someone trying to climb out of the trolley. I can’t think of anything else, but I’m sure there are tonnes of things I’ll be able to do.

After I’ve cried a bit.

Mothers Day

For me, Mothers Day is bigger than my birthday. It is the only day, reserved entirely for thanking a mother. Tell me, how often does that happen? I don’t care that Hallmark reminds husbands and teenagers for the 5 months preceding – they know it takes that long to sink in.

I thought it might be time to compile my top ten Mothers Day Spoiling Tips. (For whomever would like to inform my husband):

1) In the lead up: Great excitement from my children about what they have made me, or bought all by themselves, with my last spare coffee money, at the school mother’s day stall.

2) On the morning: Open my hand made ashtray and dusty Yardley soap in bed, surrounded by all my amazing little (and one big) beauties (yes, on this morning even my husband and his morning breath qualify as beaut). Cry a lot with gratitude.

3) Surprised by a hand-penned poem from my husband all about how much he appreciates every tiny little stress I undergo, the complete and utter exhaustion, and incredible difficulty involved in the HERCULEAN tasks that are managing our family. Poem MUST note all tasks individually. I mean, does note all tasks individually. Cry again.

4) Go out for breakfast. Never breakfast in bed. Sleeping with sand, crayons, the odd shoe and those missing pieces of Lego left in my bed by “NOT ME” is enough, without adding scratchy toast crumbs.

5) Children sit like little drugged up angels for a luscious, long, lazy breakfast, in a sunny window looking out at the beach, with about five coffee top ups and an entire SMH read cover to cover. Ahhhh…

6) Surprise my mum with something which I really hope conveys how much I love her and appreciate every little task she has undertaken to bring me into, and up in, the world.

7) Celebrate with my sister on her first, and most important Mothers Day, for which her Little Miss 8 Months Old is currently crawling the shops.  Or making an ashtray.

8) Tetsuya comes to our house to cook for our extended family, we all sip champagne, in the sun, complete with a professional foot massage, while the cranky great aunt twice-removed and all cousins sleep, concurrently, for about 6 hours.

9) A little champagne-induced nanna nap.

10) Cry again at how blessed I am to have my beautiful family, even if all this did only happen during my champagne-induced nanna nap dreams.