Tag Archives: motherhood

How to Survive the Morning with 3 kids ON YOUR OWN.

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Most mornings are a nightmare. ‘A MAAAARE’ as my Australasian friends would say. If it’s not hard enough to drag yourself out of bed each and every morning, imagine doing it on your OWN with three smaaaaaall children? No guys really. It’s full-freaking-on.

So a few months back I had this on-going whats-app dialogue with my girlfriends about how UTTERLY IMPOSSIBLE pull-your-hair-out I was finding ‘the mornings’. The hub (bless him) heads to work just after 5am which leaves me with no other option that to drag myself out of bed at the first whimper of any child. (He does return earlier than most and then ‘takes over’ so we can’t resent him too much).

We’ve been through the ringer – moaaaaaaaaaaaning about eveeeeeeeeeerything – from not wanting to put on shoes, to underpants, to rain coats and not wanting to eat breakfast and demanding the breakfast I don’t have in the cupboard. I understand getting out of a warm cuddly bed with your luscious down duvet (lucky kid!) is hard (TRUST ME), but let’s just mentally prepare ourselves to do this for.the.next.18.years.

I hold my breath, I bite my tongue. I scream, I whimper my pleas, I bribe, I convince, I threaten. It’s not great.

I’ve put music on (to lessen the moan), I’ve sent them to school with their pjs UNDER their clothes. I’ve even left them sleeping (so that my dear mother can manage the chaos) and I’ve raced off to work.

Throw in some wet beds, some breastfeeding, some vomiting, some screaming (by all involved – we each have our turn), a toddler whose Lego just.broke, a 5 year old who can’t put on his socks (because they’re about 17 sizes too small), a baby who needs 7 drops of probiotics 30 min before she has food (ha ha ha), and a stubborn 3 year old who boycotted his (now soggy) weetbix for mint vanilla toothpaste as their before-school snack. Shoes and socks, on and off, jackets and beanies, on and off. And then the nappy you never changed, explodes. Poo everywhere.

You name it, I’ve done it. I’m finished.

I hate screamy-mommy, so something needed to give. My options were to a) run away or b) tackle this head on. Obviously a) is not a real option. So somehow, I’ve managed to rise above it all (in glorious fashion) and here’s how I’ve done it:

  1. Get up early. This is the hardest thing you’ll do all morning – but it’ll be worth it. If not for anything other than allowing yourself the time to MAKE THAT COFFEE. Always make more than 1 cup. Have it on the ready. Because 1 is never enough.
  2. Hide your phone. Once you’ve switched your alarm off – hide it. While I’d much rather be chatting to my girlfriends about the upcoming 3rd royal baby, DON’T allow yourself to get distracted. This will be your downfall.
  3. Lunch boxes. No matter how many matchsticks you need to keep your peepers open at night – make those lunch boxes the night before. Kids don’t care about brown oxidized apples.
  4. Dress them at night. When times are tough, I dress my kids in their (play) school clothes the night before. No shame. You gotta do what you gotta do. Hopefully we’ll have this morning thing under control before we hit the school uniform stage. 
  5. Buy them the cereal they want. And I don’t mean cocoa pops/fruit loops. But pick your battles. I can’t handle the constant fight over oats or weetbix – so muesli it is. The cost is worth it. Trust me.
  6. Feed and nappy first. If there is a baby in the household, at first peep, get to them. Breastfeed/bottle feed and then change their nappy. In one swift motion. Don’t hesitate. Then hand them a Hip Organic Rice Cake – that’ll keep them happy and entertained for a good 3 minutes.
  7. Warning, warning, warning. We’re going in 10min, we’re going in 5 min, we’re going in 2 min. Boom. (Parenting 101)
  8. Chorus line: “What day is it today?” “Tuesday!”, “What do we need to remember on Tuesdays?” (Think think think think think: School t-shirt? Dress Up? Fruit for the bowl? Money for something-or-other? Show and Tell? FitKids t-shirt? Extra clothes in school bag? Extra murals? Play date? Grandparents for the afternoon? …( And together we think of the answer.)

And off we go to school. Tra la la. You might have noticed that we do not allow TV or iPad in the mornings. That’s just a no-go. Once we head down that path – we’ll never return.

And most mornings, we’re doing okay. Yes, we forget Show and Tell (often) and yes, there are still glares and talking through gritted teeth and raised voices and the usual parenting coping mechanisms. But we’re getting there… and we’re much, much happier.

Those of you with more than 3 kids – I have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA how you do it. No idea. Nada. You’re super human. You must be.

What do you do to make mornings easier? Pray tell?

2017, let’s slow down shall we?

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Here I lie, in my bed, at 8:16pm. Feeling defeated. As it turns out, I should’ve enforced my idealistic ‘use the breastfeeding pillow each and every time you nurse’ rule because this time round, after baby #3, it won’t kill your wrists (like it did with the boys), it’ll kill your NECK. Sounding familiar to anyone?

My neck. It’s broken. (Not really, it just feels it).

I do things. I’m a doer. I find it hard to not.do. My Apple Watch (thanks Vitality) will tell you I walk over 10 000 steps a day – some days up to 17 000. That’s a LOT. I carry kids, hold kids, throw them onto the bed to change their nappies, lift them on my back because the ”grass is wet” or the “berries are squishy” and they don’t have their shoes on. In and out of baths, up and down bunks, sleeping children, awake children, kicking children, giggling children. They’re in my arms a lot. And as it turns out, 3 has knocked me over onto the bench (otherwise known as the injury booth).


The height of the messy bun directly coincides with the seriousness of sleep deprivation, personal hygiene and couldnt-care-less-ness. I’d say it’s pretty high.


If these is what my kids look like, can you imagine how tired I am? 

And so with the help of the chiro, a neck brace, enforced attention to my posture, homeopathic goodies, neck spasm goodies, a cold pack, transact patches and hubby’s massages… I’m sloooowly on the mend. All this, constantly reminding me that we’re not immortal. Our bodies are human and weak and we can’t just keep on. This is a hard lesson for me to learn. But this lesson is timely in and of itself. Is this not the season for reflection, rest, peace and joy? Enjoy them, SLOW DOWN, and savour the days? Why YES, yes it is.

So 2017, here we are. Let’s take it slow, shall we?

The Small Things

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This one is for Beth, Carrie, Amy & Katie. 

Watching Facebook, I’ve seen a fair few comments about the shallowness (harsh term, I know, or lack of depth) of recent posts. Which, I can understand.

I’ve also found myself feeling sad that very often those Facebook memories that pop up, take you back to a time when we used to write on each other’s walls and almost interact as humans (albeit online). Now it seems we’re simply reposting trending articles and sharing humorous pictures, arb celebrity statements or competition entires (nothing wrong with that – I love winning a good compo).

But something new struck me yesterday morning when my friend Carrie posted an Instagram pic online, and it’s this: how the most beautiful and profound things are often hidden within the little (seemingly normal) things. It’s not so much the artistically enhanced Madonna quote, or the breaking news about the worlds biggest sandpit, it’s the glimpses into people’s lives – and the small, quite regular activities that are real and beautiful and emotion-stirring.

Of my 4 closest Regent-wives-turn-moms who were a huge part of my community in Vancouver (we all had our kids together), Carrie is last one standing and is due to bid Vancouver farewell in the upcoming weeks. The end of an era. And yesterday morning, when this beautiful friend posted a pic of her 6 month old daughter on a picnic blanket in Almond Park with a Grounds For Coffee cinnamon bun, my heart was stirred. It was simple, normal and deeply rich – an experience anyone who has memories of a certain place will understand.

Because when you embrace it fully, I find that life really is made up of very many small moments. And those small things really matter.

Thinking about this on my way into work that morning, I swung past the post office to pick up a parcel. YAY. I love parcels! It was unexpected one, and from my friend Jo in New Zealand. She had sent me a much anticipated book, along with a block (slab) of Whittaker’s chocolate and her 3yr old sons art. Just the writing on the package struck an emotion. Nothing needed to be explained, all the contents were fairly small, normal things but each held an immense amount of meaning, memory and intentionality.

And that’s what counts. As a parent, it’s easy to click into autopilot. School lunches, bath time, brushing teeth, laundry, mismatched socks, squabbling siblings, toys EVERY-WHERE, unending mess, and nothing happening quickly enough. Then you stop, breathe and notice the smiles, the joy, the fun, the innocence in trying to pick up a snail and the winking eyes and loud giggles coming from these little humans. It’s the carefree ears-in-the-wind galloping of our dogs across the beach. It’s the warmth your lounge fireplace provides on a cold night, the getting lost in a good book or conquering of a crossword puzzle.

Sure there are the BIG things we can celebrate – and should celebrate; a new birth or adoption, the buying of your first home, or the finishing of a tough slog-filled degree. They deserve a huuuuge glass of champers. Absolutely. But I think those big ‘achievements’ often overshadow the very events that mean more (and often got us there in the first place), that occur continuously during the 24 hours we are given every day.

More often than not it’s reading the love letters from your then-boyfriend-now-husband or the taste of a $2 box of timbits that can inject one with inner joy. The sight of snow capped mountains or drinks off the back of a bakkie at sunset. It’s the endorphins that took you running around Stanley Park or climbing Table Mountain. It’s the sound of the bus stopping or the subway screeching; the smell of the sea or 7/11 (7/11 has a VERY distinct smell overseas – I think it’s that flavoured bottomless coffee). They’re like moments locked in time, all small and often mundane with deep meaning, memory, and enjoyment.

I think we forget that each and everything we decide to do, or decide not to do, collectively, forms habits, builds (or breaks down) morale, and paves a direction in which our lives then lead. And it’s the small experiences (and the gratefulness of them) that build upon one another and make all the difference.

And so be present during the weekend pancake breakfasts, the planting of herbs, jumping on a trampoline, the dripping of ice cream down a small hand, cuddling under a duvet, and reading of a storybook over and over and over again – make those moments count. Because they’re pointing towards something much bigger than what you imagine.

Don’t live on autopilot.