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Tuesday, 25th August 2015

Oh, my aching heart. Today was my youngest's first school visit day. For all you non Kiwis, in NZ, children start school on their fifth birthday, so for 4 weeks prior to that, they have school visits. My boy will be at school for two hours every Tuesday until he starts on his birthday. "I'm so excited!" he said, as walked through the gates, "But I think I'm feeling a little bit scared!" Nervousness aside, he is ready. I thought I was ready. I have learned this morning, that I am not.

Having been through first days with my now 14 year old daughter and 9 year old son, you'd think I'd be a pro at this. I started having kids before my friends, so I remember a lot of them confiding in me during their second pregnancies, that they worried they wouldn't have enough love to give to the baby. That there wasn't enough room in their heart to love their second child as much as their first. But that's not true. Our hearts merely expand with more love, scoots over to give more to the next child. That's true in every aspect for me except when it comes to feeling like I know what the hell I'm doing. Sure, we've been through it all with our teenager, but it doesn't make the boys' high fevers, first days of school, first fight with friends, first bloody knees - any easier. At least not for me. Each child really is different. Each experience is different, and the deeper I go into this motherhood journey (fourteen years!?) the more I realize that I have so much to learn. Just when I think I've seen it all and know just how to deal with any situation, something comes along to remind me that I'm a novice.

He is just so little. He is so earnest, so innocent, so trusting. He is putting himself and his little heart out there, trying to fit in with the other children. He can barely reach the hook to hang his backpack. I had to just watch and let him figure it out. His school uniform, in the smallest size available, seems to be swallowing him up. The pencil looks so big in his hand. These were all the thoughts swimming around in my head this morning. I thought I was ready. I am not. He's been in daycare since he was 8 months old, so we're used to being apart while I work part time, but this is different. This is school. All of my children will be in school. The hubs and my chapter of paying a nice portion of my paycheque to childcare is coming to a close after all these years. Well, that's one thing I am ready for.

This was only the first visit and it affected me in a way I hadn't expected. Three more to go before it's official. I should be ready by then.

*4 weeks later*

It's now official. Three more visits came and went. He became more and more ready. I became more and more emotional. I'd been checking in with my husband during the entire process as my boy and I went through it. He'd listened, but I don't think it had hit him, hit him just yet. Kind of like how as women, the idea of a baby is very real to us as they grow in our bodies, but it doesn't hit Dad until the baby is out and in his arms.  
So this morning, on our boy's fifth birthday and first day of school, I had him take the morning off work so that we could walk through this doorway for the last time together. We watched as our little one carefully put his uniform on. We physically stopped ourselves from coming to his aid as he struggled putting his shoes on over the socks that are too big for his little feet. We walked with him to school, watched him hang his bag up, on his tippy toes. We followed him while he walked in a line with his class, to the morning assembly to be introduced to the other students in the junior syndicate.
We walked back with the class to their room and watched them sit for their morning mat time. We blew him a kiss and wished him luck for his big special day. He grinned and waved. Just an ordinary wave for him, but such a big, symbolic one for us.
We turned away with tears in our eyes and walked to our cars to head off to work for the day. 

Our boy was ready. We were not. 
The longer I am a parent, the more I understand that my children are here to teach me how to parent. There I was, always thinking I was supposed to be teaching them but it's the other way around.

It's me that needs to keep up and be ready, because they always are.
By Stacey Edgar - Realistic Kidface
my middle child

Friday, 24th July 2015

my middle child


So what's your take? Is the whole middle child syndrome a myth? I'm the oldest of two so I never had an opinion on the matter but now I'm the mom of a middle child.

I have a 14 year old girl, 9 year old boy and a nearly 5 year old boy. I definitely have quite a few moments of mom guilt with my son because he is the most mellow, kindest, most sensitive one of the bunch (read: no drama) so he often flies under the radar. Girl 14 has a huge personality with a lot of fire and Boy 4 is Girl 14 magnified. My Boy 9 is the sweetheart. The one who will out of the blue, pick up on my exhaustion and say: "Are you ok? You aren't very genki today." (Japanese for "your energy levels seem a bit zapped.") The one who will go out of his way to tell me that something I've made for dinner is delicious. The one who will wait for me at the bottom of the stairs while I get all the groceries out of the car to help me while the other 2 scamper upstairs. The one who seems to remember things I've said in passing and follow them up later during a quiet moment. He is shy and reflective. Don't get me wrong, he's no angel. I'm sure, to the average person, his mischievous side is pretty evident but he is the careful watcher who navigates through our family gauging the two big (lovely) storms on either side of him.

The truth is, he has the strongest grip on my heart. My husband's, too. We lost a baby 10 weeks into my pregnancy between Girl 14 and Boy 9. I got pregnant with Boy 9 the very month that baby would have been born. Boy 9 was the catalyst. The one who seemed to bring the light and laughter back into our family.

He fights like mad with Girl 14 and is ever so patient with Boy 4's short fuse. He gets called by the wrong name the most. He, unlike the other two, can't ham it up for the camera and doesn't like to be the center of attention. He has his ups and downs. He has days where he is grumpy for reasons he can't put his little 9 year old finger on. But always, at the end of the day, he will give each of us a kiss good night and be out like a light before we can close the door behind us.

He is my middle child.  

Middle children may be the "forgotten one" but in our house, he's the glue. 


Versatile Banana Bread

Wednesday, 15th July 2015


School holidays NEARLY over...hope everyone is surviving!

For those with budding chefs at home and wanting something to do, this recipe is super easy and very adaptable!





2-3 mashed very-ripe bananas (I used thawed ones from my freezer)
0.5c oil (I used ricebran oil)
1 lightly beaten egg
1t vanilla essence
1.5c self raising flour (I used wholemeal flour and added baking powder)
0.5c sugar (I used brown sugar)
1t baking soda
1/2t cinnamon (I added a bit of nutmeg too)

Optional extras:
0.5c chopped dates
0.5c chopped walnuts

Mix everything together and bake in a loaf tin for approx 40mins at 180 degrees celsius (until a skewer inserted comes out clean)...brush with maple syrup if you like...





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