Cloudbusting moments

When I started this blog I was thinking of my life in the foothills of the Dandenong Ranges, Victoria, Australia. I have since come to realise that life is a series of hills of varying topographical detail; some a barely bumps, others are the hill climb of the Tour de France that the faint-heartened never approximate. I have also come to appreciate the distinct advantage of setting hills in my sights with the aim of seeing life from the other side with a raised heart-rate. My 'comfort-zone' exists to be busted, and I intend to continue venturing far away and beyond my comfort-zones for as long as I have a reason to live. From the foothills of the Dandenongs to the foothills of the Strzelecki Ranges, and still cloudbusting, I hope. It's what I want my kids to do, so I'd better show them a bit about how it's done, and how to push up and over the hills they'd otherwise avoid...

Tuesday 28 September 2010

Babywearing


I love babywearing, and knew I would do it well before Boy-child was born. I don't know just where I got the inspiration from, but I knew babywearing was for me. I had seen pictures of Maya women and children carrying babies on their backs in Guatemalan cloths and wanted that closeness for myself.
Whilst studying Developmental Psychology I happened upon a book by Sharon Heller called 'The Vital Touch', that I found in my local library, and it gave a scientific account of the value of babywearing, of co-sleeping and of touch/massage to babies, and the way it builds vestibular sense as well as neural pathways in the brain that are only stimulated by close holding and touch. Prams put babies outside of normal conversation and human interaction and a heavy reliance on them robs babies of a chance to develop their balance and spatial awareness and, thus, co-ordination. The way a baby sees when in a sling is very multidimensional and they are IN their world, not just spectating it. That really spoke to me and the fact that in a sling, a baby can decide when there's been enough stimulation and visual input by tucking in, turning away and having a kip on mummy's chest. Instinct backed up by evidence, and it was done.
I would ask babywearing parents about their slings. I quickly discounted the more commercial carriers and new that I would be looking outside of major retailers for my carrier, particularly for ease of breastfeeding and also because I didn't like the way babies' spines sat in those. Then I started seeing people wearing Hug-A-Bub carriers and a beautiful friend offered to lend me hers. What a wonderful gift that loan was! I was hooked once I started carrying my firstborn and began investigating the next sling for when he got too big for the soft carrier. A few friends from Booby Club (my local Australian Breastfeeding Association) group were using a carrier called The ErgoBaby Carrier and I decided that its versatility was going to be of great benefit to me. I needed a sturdy carrier that was also soft on my boy's spine, that I could easily breastfeed in, that I could just chuck on in a hurry and safely take him with me to my horse. He was big enough for it at 4.5 months of age without an insert because his head control was pretty well established and he was already crawling - the HAB had reached its end of use. Tom wasn't overly pleased that I'd spent about $140 on a sling, and that's considering that I used my 'first time member' discount voucher at Mothers Direct, the ABA shop...but he got over that soon enough when he realised that he LOVED that Ergo! He could use it easily (he had also been using the HAB, but at that stage we weren't brave enough to try it with a back carry) and carry our boy on his back to get things done. AND, the boy settled so beautifully in it that it quickly became a parenting essential. Forget toys, forget cots, bouncers and all those mummy replacers...the sling was all that would do for our velcro baby, as he eschewed all other measures.
We carried him in New Zealand, we carried him at fire brigade, I carried him in paddocks, I carried him on trains, and, finally, we carried him in Ireland. At about 20 months of age he was well and truly not wanting to be carried anymore. He started walking at 10 months, so we did well to keep him carried for so long. I washed my Ergo, patched it up and put it away...till the next time.
For the next time, our Girl Face, I had made for me a woven cotton sling in lovely stripes. It is a wrap that is firmer for back carries and because it is woven it is a bit cooler in summer. I was given another HAB from a beautiful and kind friend who didn't need hers anymore, so I could interchange my wraps as needed in those first few months.
By the time the Girl was about 3.5 months she was also ready for the Ergo and the other slings went into slow and gradual retirement. By about 4 months, once again, we had an incipient crawler, only this one didn't mind being left to her own devices on the floor...no velcro baby! She's nearly one year old now and spends time in a sling when we're walking to the local shops, at the farm walking up the hills, or near cattle, when I'm with my horse, or unwell. I wear her so much less than I did her brother when we're at home. But babywearing is still an integral part of my parenting and she gets worn by her dad and her grandmother...even her brother has had a go, bless!
Today, Girl Face is fighting a fever and feeling under the weather, so as I type, she is asleep in the beautiful Organic ErgoBaby carrier in seagreen. I have lost track of how much she weighs, but it doesn't matter with the Ergo, because it places her in a way that is evenly distributed and EASY.
Next week is Babywearing Week, where parents and carers everywhere celebrate the merits, the joys and ease of wearing their babies. October 6 - 12 are the dates, so when you wear your baby next week, know that you are part of an ancient and contemporary practice that benefits you and your babies in so many ways, not just the convenience of being handsfree!

Monday 27 September 2010

Brigade Life

Something about fire brigades. Volunteer ones, I guess I'm writing about. Warning: this could get sentimental.
I've been in one for over eight and a half years. I guess if I didn't love it I wouldn't be there anymore. Sometimes it's a challenge and sometimes I start to believe the little voices that tell me it's too hard to have two little kids, be studying and be a firefighter at the same time. Then I tell those voices to shut the hell up and that I can make it work with a bit of creativity, and buckets of flexibility in attitude from my fellow firefighters.
Anyway, days like today I especially appreciate being in my volunteer fire brigade. Not because sometimes you lose people, but because when you do lose someone you realise what you've got in who's left, and it's the departed member who has left that gift, among other mementos of their time with us on earth.
Some say a funeral is an unfortunate time to reconnect with old mates and I tend to disagree. I tend to think it's a great thing to come away from a funeral and feel glad that, at least, of all that's happened, you were able to press 'pause' in normal activity and get together to celebrate someone's life. Life does just get in the way of catching up with people. And sometimes death has to intervene to trip the circuit. (I don't think I'll mind, when my time comes, if people get together for a great chinwag and reconnect. That would mean that at least two people would have been there to see me off - woo hoo!). Today it was great to catch up with people that, without brigade, I would never have made a connection with and that, because of brigade, my life is richer for having known.
The thing with the vol brigade is that you get who you get and you just have to deal with that menagerie of personalities, skills, talents and experiences. You don't get selected the way you do for paid jobs - if you're healthy, of a clean police record, and willing then there's a place for you if you want it. After that, you see how you fit in. And most people do, in my experience. I've met vols from all over the state and none of them are of the same mould. All we have in common is that we want to put back into our communities.
As a vol, you see the same people, at least once a week, week in and week out for years. You see this side of them that they bring from home or from work whilst leaving a lot of themselves at home or at work. You get to know a few people so well that you become part of their private lives. Sometimes you might even stop being part of their private lives, for various reasons, and find that you can still work and joke together just knowing that there is that connection you have from the jobs you've attended together, the training you've done together, the skills and knowledge that's been shared. That can't be changed by a partner who doesn't get along with you, because that partner isn't a vol and doesn't know what you two know; how the other person would withstand physical pressure beyond their own expectations just to make sure you both exit a smoking building safely, how the other person has taught you to tie knots, how the other person has taken time to show you how a pump works or how to thread those damn laces on turnout boots. I would hope that most vols feel the way I do, in that no matter what the interaction of our private lives, that they seek to bring out the best in their fellow brigade members. Yeah, it's optimistic, and that's what I tend towards.
Often, I'll find myself telling someone about a friend, only to realise that I don't know that much about the person beyond brigade life, and wonder to what extent I can actually use the term 'friend'. And then I'll use it, anyway, because whilst I may not know children's names very well (something I intend to work on), or what music they like, because when you spend at least a couple of hours with someone every week, then see them at all sorts of hours in an emergency environment and debrief with that person, or spend extra hours on fundraising with your brigade peeps, then that counts, too, and is yet another way to know someone and have them be important in your life.
Today we attended a funeral of a fellow vol, and as well as being really sad that he left us so suddenly, I was glad for the opportunity he gave us to bring together former members we hadn't seen for a while, and to be together to appreciate the massive contribution of his life he did make to our brigade in his time served. I didn't know him as well as many of the others did, and I liked him a lot. He was non-confrontational even when he was having a confrontation and he offered whatever he could to the brigade, even when work kept him away from training and callouts. I knew he really wanted to get back into brigade life, like old times, so when I was told of his sudden illness it felt like a sideswipe. I think a lot of us were still processing it today, to make sure it was real. I guess it was, because we watched the casket being lowered into the earth after forming a guard of honour for him.
I wasn't sure, when I first joined, what that action would lead to, in terms of all these new people I had to get to know and work with. I had heard of firefighters refer to one another as family, brothers and the like. Somehow, these people enter your consciousness, then your subconscious and strangers form a very odd 'family' indeed, and a very welcome one. My mum used to complain that I had more time for strangers than I did for my own family, when I'd go to training on Wednesdays and Sundays, then fundraising, and callouts. When I first joined they were strangers. In a very short space of time the term 'stranger' couldn't be further from the truth, even if I didn't know what music they'd like played at their funerals. Those same people didn't know my mum, my sister, my favourite colour, and they accepted me for what I was willing to give and what I could dig deep to find in order to give.
In the foreseeable future we'll be moving to a new area and joining a new brigade and the process will begin again, perhaps with some more theorising and musing on my part. I dread to think that I'll feel about people I don't yet know the way I do about our current bunch of fiends (oops, did I forget the 'r'?), because it doesn't seem possible. Yet I hope that does happen, because I don't want to lose that sense of belonging to something way bigger than myself in the process of moving town. I'm ambivalent about my own situation where my childbearing has meant I have spent more time away from brigade than I thought I would have to, but babysitting for two young children on a Wednesday night is hard to come by when you're asking favours of loved ones, and also trying to maximise study opportunities when uni work is due. I'm told that everyone understands, so it's probably time I ease up on beating myself up over that. And the move doesn't mean we can't retain bonds with our current brigade, it just means we're adding to our brigade experiences.
I think I'm in a lucky situation where I was a vol and then introduced Tom to vol life. He knows what I mean, so I don't live with someone who doesn't understand why I would drop everything for 'strangers', or who struggles with that committment. I'm also lucky that I have friends in a few of the partners, so even if they don't always 'get' it, we still get along, and can be part of one another's lives.
No answers, no great revelations, I just needed to get it out.
So, thank you Steve A, for helping me thresh out these thoughts and bringing to my attention how important you have been, and how important all our members are to our lives, both private and 'just brigade'. You gave what you could until there was nothing left to give.

Sunday 26 September 2010

The Palace Arriveth!

The Farm Project now has a dwelling! Ok, so it's a caravan, and to some this may not suit their sensibilities about how one ought to live with a family of two small children, but it's OURS and it's on OUR farm. We have somewhere to stay comfortably on weekends, and, when I have some clear headspace and time, I will fashion it into something liveable and cosy.
Already I've put in some touches to make it more inviting.

Thursday 9 September 2010

The Sick Bay

The pestilence is visiting our household. The previous weekend it was Small Girl and I who had taken to our bed, and said Girl convalesced through the week while I hacked together my research proposal for my subject at uni.
Then Tom took the boy to the farm on Saturday night and us girls were to join them on Sunday for Fathers Day. I got an sms early on Sunday morning to say the boys were coming back early because it was cold and windy. WELL, Tom came back and brought me home a feverish, sadly looking child...not a successfull Fathers Day outcome. I spent it tending to my sickly child's needs, between his various naps. Yes, MY ELDEST had lots of little naps during the day...he was THAT sick.
He spent the next day in bed watching DVD's on my laptop, then transferred to the couch to watch some kids shows, before retiring to bed again. THAT sick, he was.
On Tuesday he spent the morning in bed and then decided it was too sunny to stay in bed feeling sick. He took himself outside, played hard, came back in, lay on the couch, went outside, played hard again and came back in again.
Yesterday, Wednesday, he felt sick again after a feverish night. Again, it had been a sunny day and he couldn't help himself, he just had to go outside and feel the sun on his skin. This time, he took himself off to bed for two long naps. And he went to bed easily that night again, with no fuss.
Today was a similar story, just without the naps, so he fell asleep on the couch while I was away swimming with the girl and was transferred to my bed.
I haven't actually dosed him up on paracetamol this whole time at all. I decided to let his fever do its work. Sure, he was feeling subdued and unwell and sometimes a bit dizzy, and has had a perpetual eyes-at-half-mast kind of appearance about him, but he's not actually saying he's in pain. Talking to a friend about it last week, in relation to the girl having her fever last week, we concluded that sometimes it's ok to let them have a fever and not give them something to make it go away. The body is trying to do something - it's elevating its temperature to kill off the bug that's giving it the irrits - the body is in combat mode. It occurred to me that we live in a society that is afraid of fever and jumps to quell the symptoms of illness, before gauging just how important it is to do that. Yes, some high temperatures carry risk of meningitis and similar complications. I know that can happen. This fever, though, wasn't seeming to be such a critical deal. Hot body, some sweaty outbreaks, fine by morning before another feverish bout occurred the following night.
I took him to the doctor after the third night of it (I'm not a white-coat hater, I just don't feel the need to clog up waiting rooms for every virus we contract). Turns out he has swollen glands but no sign of infection, and a follow up tomorrow should determine where he's at with it all. So, I've done ok.
The doctor did, however, espouse that I dose the boy up on paracetamol and a decongestant, to 'keep him comfortable and back to himself'. Hmmm, there's keeping him comfy, and then there's having him back to his old self. I decided to just get the decongestant to keep breathing comfortable, and to let him feel a bit sick. I made a calculated decision to avoid dosing him up based heavily on what he, himself, had done during that day; that is, to take himself to bed for a nap.
For a kid who never stops, maybe it's ok to let him really feel what it's like to slow down. Not for my convenience (or for undiagnosed Munchausen Syndrome, which I'm pretty sure I don't have...), but for his own self-awareness. If I dose him up so that he doesn't feel that sick, how is he ever to read his body's signs and listen to what his body is telling him? Masking discomfort isn't the best way forward all of the time. Just because we have paracetamol in the house, doesn't mean we have to use it. I do use my essential oils for their medicinal properties before I resort to manufactured medications. The bedroom smells divine, as well as helping to restore healthy order!
As it is, it makes sense to him when I tell him that his body needs rest. If he's on pain relievers, this connection is much harder to make. When I've asked him over the last few days how he's feeling, he's been able to stop what he's doing, have a think and intuit, and then articulate that he's 'feeling bad' and where he feels bad. He's four. Knowing himself and what he needs is a great tool to have and medicating him every time he's got a virus isn't going to do him any long term favours.
A side effect of this illness of his is that our relationship is back on track. Whatever energy it is that guides our lives and nature could well be at work here (I'm not religious, so if you'd like to think of this energy as a God, god, deity, spirit, go ahead; it would work just as well). One of my recent posts points to the near-exasperation I have felt for the first time in four years of motherhood. None of the other stages of motherhood have tested me as much. Up until recent times, motherhood was pretty dreamy and I loved how I came out of the challenges presented to me. My kid is probably more high-octane than most of the other kids we know. He's irrepressible. That's how I prefer to think of him. Words like 'naughty' and 'bad' just don't enter my vocabulary. They have no constructive value.
Anyhow, this spot of sickness has come at just the time we needed to press 'pause' in the way things were going. It's given us a lot more opportunity for cuddles and "I love you's" than we'd ordinarily have - we usually have a lot, it's just that during the week we get caught up with the various activities we have for him that keep him occupied and engaged, and I'll go to bed thinking we didn't spend a particular day with much tactile communication.
This week we have woken up together, with him being in my bed for comfort. We have snuggled in the middle of the night, we have snuggled in the middle of the day with nowhere to rush off to. It's been very good for our relationship to have him home sick and getting back to basics, I suppose.
Whilst outside today, he saw that I was standing with the girl on my back in the carrier. He insisted on procuring for me a folding chair. "Mum, I will get you a chair so you can sit down and stay outside with me", "Thanks, that's very kind of you", "You're welcome, Mum". This is not what 'bad' kids are made of, and if they are, then I'm willing to bear that cross!
So, boy being sick is not such a terrible thing to befall our household. Not when it's taught us both a bit more about ourselves. Me, to take stock of recent times and just hold my precious, intuitive, reactionary, effervescent, joyful first child in his frailer moments, and him, to learn the value of resting his body and listening to it.
Putting himself into bed rest was an unexpected and mature, independent action. I'm glad I didn't order him to bed when he stepped outside. It would only have ended in frustrated argument, anyway. With freedom comes responsibility. He's not doing too badly, is my boy, with his freedoms.

Friday 3 September 2010

Done and done

n'kay, I just signed up for a gym class. Not just any class. Zumba class. It's a teaser promotion where you get 8 classes for a mere nothing (well, just about, I reckon).WeHEY!
It SHOULD be fun, given I love to dance (and lack the opportunities for a really good dance session since...oh, far too long...) and I have a memory of the last time I used to get in a weekly dance sesh and had a size 8 figure, a mere D Cup (I could wear TRIANGLE bikini tops and not look like I was soliciting!) and, oh, 15% body fat, or some such ridiculous stat like that. That is SO gonna happen with these 8 classes, I can feel it! Ahem, yup, shuddup. At least I'll enjoy myself one morning a week after leaving children-folk in capable hands (separate, capable hands - not wanting to burn child-minding bridges just yet).
The other 'done' is my assignment. It's not fantastic, not even sure it addresses the criteria. But my head has been feeling like a ship banging up against a wharf with no buffers attached to it (come on, sailor-types - what ARE those things called? I never did learn their names in all my childhood watching my dad's ship come into port...) with this lurgy that I've had since last week. However, I have headings, I have references, I have INTEREST in the subject matter (and the subject matter says that engagement is a key ingredient to well being, and I'm all for that well being lark), I have a medical certificate for lateness AND...I have reached the word limit, so that works well for me to signify 'completion of task'.
But, wait! It's not 2am yet! What will my well being do with all this extra sleep? Dream about wearing favourite jeans, rocking a six pack and reliving my days of Joy at the Metro (pleeeeeeeeeease, someone remember what I'm referring to and have mercy on my antiquity!), for those were days of sweaty, hot-panted, platform-booted wholesomeness. Can't wait for Zumba!