I have ummed and ahhed about whether to share this because I’m conscious that you only get the snippets of my life that I show you. Which means that if I share too many joyful moments I might come across as having it totally together, and if I share too much of my overwhelm I might come across as totally mad. The truth, of course, is that with three kids in tow I am somewhere in between, and at any given moment you could find me teetering on the edge of insanity or flying on the blissful wings of childhood laughter. Most days I swing between the two, but just about always, overarchingly, I am happy and so very grateful.

Today, though. Today.

Today I just about lost my mother loving marbles. And I can’t tell whether the vibe I’ve been giving out lately has portrayed me as mad, glad or just an exhausted mess! But this is the time I am in and I try to share fairly openly because this blog is not written to be a highlight reel, but rather to highlight the real (see what I did there, haha #twit).

Today, I might have described myself as not coping. Except I don’t, because I think we need to redefine what coping is.

If coping means having a shiny house and washed hair then yes I am not coping. My house is so inadvertently booby-trapped with toys and remnants of ninja warrior courses that I think even Kevin McCallister would be impressed. It’s not even the toys, it’s the stuff, THE STUFF. And as for my hair, well my hair can’t work out if it should belong to a pubescent boy, or Rod Fyffe, the ex-mayor of Bendigo (google him, it’ll be worth it).

If coping means you always calmly respond to your child’s request for their 71st snack of the day then yes I am not coping. Because I swear to all that is holy one of my kids asked for something to eat EVERY TEN MINUTES today. He asked for something to eat WHILE HE WAS EATING.

If coping means you can see the floor of your laundry then yes I am not coping. I wouldn’t even know what colour the tiles are.

If coping means you don’t message your husband and tell him his kids are tipping you over the edge today and to please come home as soon as he can and bring groceries for tea and bread and probably snacks because his sons seem to be stockpiling them in their guts like some sort of internal bomb shelters, then yes I am not coping. And if you message instead of call because you might cry if you talk to him, then yes I am not coping.

If coping means you don’t entice your kids into a 4.30pm bath with the lure of icy poles and their favourite music, then yes I am not coping.

And if coping means your kid’s main dietary intake does not involves fish fingers, then yes I am definitely not coping.

But Ash came home. He brought the groceries. The kids got their bath. They ate something. We watched some Ninja Warrior together. We read some books. They went to sleep loved and safe.

Coping is messy you guys. And sometimes it looks like you’re not okay, sometimes it feels like you’re not okay, because sometimes? You are not okay. And that, is OKAY.

We have our annual days about mental health, which are so fantastic in drawing attention to a really important issue. But thinking about whether we’re okay, checking in with each other, supporting each other, that goes for every day of the year. It is okay to not be okay and the more we can talk about having a hard time, not in hushed whispers but in normal conversation, the better it is for everyone. The more we can laugh about it? Even better. There is a difference between moaning and sharing our feelings. It doesn’t make you ungrateful and it doesn’t mean you love your babies any less. This is something I am only getting better at realising now.

Because if we think coping means always having it all together all of the time then I don’t think any of us are coping.

I read a quote a while ago that said ‘Everyone wants to hold the baby, but who holds the mother?’ and I guess I hope my words sometimes hold you. But even better, I hope you have someone you can lay your hard days on, who doesn’t judge, who doesn’t even offer advice. Who just says ‘I hear you.’

Thanks for always being that person for me.

Eliza xx

*Yes Mum, I’m fine, just verbal diarrhoea-ing again.

Bobby (along with his sidekick, Sid) moved out this morning. It was all very dramatic, he felt I was being too bossy and decided he needed to spend one night camping outside to get away from me. Sid concurred (but needed a little help getting his shoes, socks and coat on, and requested I run away with them in case they got scared). Bobby got the suitcase out and started packing, he had a few questions along the way, such as ‘Do you think these green shoes fit me?’ and ‘What do you think I should sleep in?’ but ultimately decided the large cardboard box outside would suffice.

I gave them a couple of blankets and out they went.

I breathed in the full 43 seconds of silence they gave me, before they both blew back in, shouting about how cold their fingers were and that they missed me too much to stay away (not even chance to boil the kettle!). We all had a big cuddle, said our ‘I love you’s and decided to reset the day.

It was a comforting end to what was a bit of a stinker of a morning. There were tears by too many kids before the clock had struck 7am and after a few great nights of sleep, the baby decided last night was her opportunity to practice squealing a Cappella. My cup of sanity had truly gone cold before I met the demands of the shouty tribe.

*It didn’t help that the husband was far too jovial as he swung out the door (I’m sure I saw him do a highland kick as he got in the car and I definitely saw him smiling as he turned on his podcast and reversed out of the driveway).*

So what I thought was going to be a lovely, slow morning actually ended in a tangle of frustration.

The boys, who had woken too early, needed a little extra love, while the mother, who had been giving out love to the baby all night, had precious little left to give. A conundrum that got more and more challenging as the morning wore on, until the great family crescendo eventually reached its peak. I asked both boys to take themselves to their room, which they did, while I took a moment to breathe.

That’s when Bobby packed the suitcase.

After reading parenting expert Justin Coulston’s article this week, on why ‘time outs’ are harmful to children, I should probably feel guilty about asking the kids to go to their room. Time outs apparently tell kids that their parent’s love is conditional, and conditional love leads to anxiety. And if that doesn’t hit a parent right in the jugular, nothing will.

But I don’t feel guilty, my kids know how loved they are.

And while I support Coulston’s general notion that misbehaving kids need connection, rather than further disconnection, I think we need to be mindful of removing every tool in the parenting kit. I spend the vast majority of my day connecting with my kids and when they are having a tough time or mid-meltdown you can bet I will be there by their side supporting them.

But. Parents are not robots. You cannot input data and expect a measured response every time, we are human beings. And it is, in my opinion, our humanism that makes us great parents. We love, we worry, we respond, we encourage, we suggest, we reflect. And you know, sometimes, we don’t get it right. We lose our cool and we run out of patience. But you know what? So do our kids (a lot). And I’d rather teach them that sometimes a person needs a little space to gather themselves, rather than ranting or hitting or uttering some scathing remark. Because parenting will test you out in ways you never thought possible. You are going to stuff it up sometimes, but you’re probably not going to stuff them up by taking a moment for yourself. You might even be teaching them something important.

Just my thoughts anyway.

Eliza xx

I’m disappointed about the election result, which is funny because honestly I feel so out of touch with politics and the general happenings of our nation right now. We tend not to have the news on – given how terrifying it is for adults we don’t want the kids seeing it. I occasionally buy the paper on the weekends, then watch as the pages curl up like autumn leaves, unread because life with small kids is busy. My workplace is my home, so I’m not regularly interacting and conversing with adults about current affairs, and my coworkers have little care for our democracy.

And yet, somehow it is these little children in my life, the ones that keep me so busy, that have me feeling most upset about the election result. Because they are my world, and I worry for their future. I want them to grow up without the impending fear of a climate crisis. I want them to grow up surrounded by a thriving natural world. I want them to know they are nestled amongst people who care more about our planet, our home, than making money from coal. I want them to grow up with inspiring leaders, not nitwits who are high class debaters and other-blamers but low class change-makers. And yet, here we are.

I’m disappointed but I’m also reflective. I am but a speck of dust in this world, we all are, and I can only make a speck of difference, but a speck is better than nothing. So I’m motivated now more than ever, to make some changes in my own life because I can definitely do better.

I want to reduce how much ‘stuff’ I am bringing into our house, particularly in terms of single use plastic, cheap kids toys and poor quality clothing.

I want to continue purchasing items second hand from op shops and garage sales.

I want to use my ‘keep cup’ all of the time.

I want to reduce our household waste. We already compost but we still waste too much food and have too much rubbish. We now have the smallest waste bin on offer so the challenge has been set.

I want to educate our kids about the joys of experiences rather than things, and continue encouraging their love of nature.

I know there is so much more I could be doing but we all need to start somewhere.

Many of you are further along in your bid to reduce our heavy footprint on the planet so please share your tips, I really would love to hear them. In the famous words of Maya Angelou ‘Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.’

I want to do better and I’m starting now.

Eliza xx

*I realise this post won’t resonate with everyone, but I don’t want that to stop me from sharing it. It’s taking up a lot of my headspace so I’d rather put it out into the ether and welcome the wonderful ideas of like-minded people.

As I head into the final month of this pregnancy, still a little bit in denial that we will soon welcome a third beautiful baby into our lives, I find myself wriggling around to find a comfortable spot in this next chapter. I am at the beginning of 12 months maternity leave, which is a privilege I am determined not to waste; being that it will probably be for the last time. When I took leave for both of the boys I admit I found the days at home with small infants somewhat monotonous and certainly didn’t ‘savour every moment’ (does anybody?). This time around, the boys are older and actually pretty good company, ha!  They fill my days with chatter, fighting, laughing and learning and being the least social member of my family, the boys make me get out and experience things I wouldn’t otherwise.

Bobby starts proper kinder this year, while Sid will attend a few hours of 3-year-old kinder, and I am so grateful I will get to be there to enjoy this next stage with them. Their unique personalities continue to unfold and I am so excited to see what’s coming with our newest addition (surely a placid temperament and awesome sleeper!).

Before all of that happens though, I’ve got a solid month of being heavily pregnant in that tricky hemorrhoid-denial, not-sure-what-sound-might-come-out-at-the-toilet, stage of pregnancy. (P.S. I  just googled ‘hemorrhoid’ to check spelling and I was NOT prepared for the images that came up on my screen).

We won’t be venturing too far from home, we don’t have a backyard swimming pool and with post-40 degree days a regular occurrence, I’ve been getting a bit creative with ways to entertain the kids. Play, particularly open-ended, unstructured play, is a huge passion of mine. I strongly believe that when we give children the opportunity and resources to follow their own interests, curiosities and imaginations, we are setting them up for a lifelong love of learning – and I don’t mean academically.

I care little for how fast our kids learn to read and write and add numbers. I know that will come. I have a ridiculous amount of trust in the power of play to build their oral language, nurture their curiosity, develop their fine and gross motor skills, and build their understanding of how the world around them exists. I truly do not mind if our kids are academic scholars or little turtle plodders, I want them to suck the juice out of life and do it in their own way!

So, in saying all of that, I plan to share the very basic play ideas we do at home (which I am already doing, but I’ll do more regularly). It’s not going to be fancy, it’s possibly stuff you’ve already done or seen elsewhere, and some of it might seem a bit ridiculous – but isn’t that the joy of childhood? – seeing the extra in the ordinary. Kids need slow, simple lives and for the most part we spend our days jumping on the trampoline, playing lego and ramming cars into already-scuffed walls. We watch TV. We read books. We eat every 10 minutes. We bribe our friends and family for use of their swimming pools. We ride our bikes and then cry when we don’t get to choose which way we go. You know, normal stuff. This is more about keeping my creative juices flowing than any need that my kids have (insert sideways laugh emoji here).

But, if you’re stuck in a rut and looking for an idea, you might occasionally see something that sparks your interest. I’ll put the ideas on the Podgy Hodgy Facebook page, as well as on my Instagram account @podgyhodgyplays. If it’s boring I apologise! Just scroll on past! If you have your own ideas or adaptions please share them with me 🙂

Thank you, genuinely, for following along.

Eliza xx

Bobby’s brains are so big they cover my 8 month pregnant belly…and Sid wanted to swim but the water was too cold. Happy days!

I am a terrible housekeeper. I haven’t mopped the floors, bar a few spot cleans, for months. I vacuum when I know people are coming over. The kids’ bath toys remain at the bottom of the bath long after the water has emptied. The rubbish-filled bin liner regularly outgrows its home, like a haemorrhoid suffering under pressure. Books, toys and washing baskets litter any available surface. Our kids, who are not well trained at packing up, leave cyclonic mess as they follow me from one room to the next.

Sometimes, the chaos overwhelms me. Sometimes, the invisibility of repeating a task that will again need doing moments later overwhelms me too. Does it count that I did the dishes four times already, if there are again dishes piling up after tea time?

But tonight, while cooking a below par tea, I thought about all of the important stuff we did today, even if the floors are still sticky.

We ate breakfast together. We built a pillow cubby. The kids played happily together, the kids fought, we worked on a solution (repeat x 100). There were some loads of washing done. Books were read. We had the happiness of friends come for a play. We did swimming lessons. We ate lunch together. We watched some tv. We played in the park. We painted – ergh, so much mess and they painted for three minutes. We made a treasure map and hunted for treasure. We made Lego creations. I laughed and growled – probably in equal measure. The boys helped Ash in the garden after work, I cooked dinner. We ate our tea together as a family. The kids were bathed. They had bedtime stories read. They were kissed goodnight and tucked in to the warmth of their beds.

Sometimes, what we do as parents can feel invisible.

Sometimes, we can feel invisible.

But sometimes, more than sometimes, it is the things you cannot see that are the most important.

The love you give, endlessly. The words of encouragement you offer. The lessons you teach. The worries you shield. The dishes you wash. The frustration you convert to patience. The qualities you model. The rhythm you bring, everyday -even when we’re not at our best.

There is a completely unravelled toilet roll running down the middle of our passageway. And for some reason tonight, all it’s making me do is smile.

Eliza xx

Less than flattering, but realistic, photo taken by Bobby.

Are you hoping for a girl?

This is a question I have been asked a lot. A lot.

Do you secretly want a girl?

I’ll cross my fingers for you that it’s a girl.

Will you find out to prepare yourself in case you’re in for another boy?

They are questions and statements put to me without malice. People are not trying to be offensive. Most are just curious, or picturing (the very real) chaos of raising all boys. And if we had two girls the question would no doubt be the same, the general consensus seeming to be, it’s good to have a little of both.

But we didn’t get a little of both, we got two boys. Two boys who walk around like their arm’s been chopped off if ever the other is missing. Two boys who annoy the heck out of each other but still gravitate to touching-distance at just about every opportunity. Even when I physically remove one of them for being too rough, the other reattaches himself without grudge. Will they always be like this? I don’t know. I’m assuming they’ll go through a phase of strongly disliking each other, as I did with my own siblings, but hopefully they’ll come out the other side as allies, if not best friends, for life.

It is, of course, completely true that boys are a bit nuts. The energy, volume and physicality they bring to a room is like a sudden change in weather. Sometimes you dance in the rain, and sometimes you just want to take cover. But what they bring to you in exasperation, they double in genuine, palpable love. They are not one-dimensional mess machines, but complex, sensitive, funny, loving little humans. Labrador puppies are their spirit animal, and after 4.5 years I feel like I’m just starting to get the hang of them.

I will forever be grateful that we got two little boys – as I would’ve been forever grateful for two girls, or a pigeon pair. Healthy babies are not a promise, and it is not lost on me just how lucky we are.

I appreciate that gender-disappointment is a real thing and I don’t want to diminish anyone’s feelings. I believe feelings come whether you want them to or not, as with envy and anger, it’s how you process them that matters. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about what a little girl of ours would look like, or how I’ll cope when our boys grow older and no one wants to go shopping or talk female topics with me. But I have a husband who adores his parents and speaks to them just about every day, so with a role model like that I hope our boys will never forget their old mother. And in the absence of sisters and daughters, my mum and girlfriends will become even more cherished to me.

So!

We are not finding out the gender of this baby. We have never found out the gender of any of our babies and see no reason to start now. Hand me a warm crying baby at the end of this fanny-swelling experience and it matters little to me what genitalia is attached.

Bring on February.

Eliza xx

I had started writing a blog post about a recent experience at a play centre where a very physical child caught my attention. It was difficult not to notice the maybe-two-year-old because his method of play involved physically hustling any child under-5 with his overzealous hugs, ramming of large toys, pulling of hair and poking out of eyes. The toddler left a wake of mothers comforting their unsuspecting children before releasing them back into the jungle/play centre. I haven’t seen a child like it for quite some time.

I wanted to write about how difficult it is to navigate the weird space when a child is repeatedly doing the wrong thing but their parent is no where to be found, or perhaps doesn’t see the behaviour as an issue. No one really wants to overstep the mark and discipline another person’s kid, it’s a hard enough gig disciplining our own.

I really felt for this kid, who at two-years-old had no more idea of the Big Bang theory than he did controlling his own impulses.

I wanted to write about the fact that it’s a toddler tunnel many of us have had to go through with our own rambunctious children. In fact, it’s very normal, he just needed a little guidance and support from his caring big person.

But every way I tried to write about it, it came out as a judgement of his mother – something I’m not really comfortable with doing. After all, my own children are as far from perfect as everybody else’s. They are so loud (so. loud.), they’re rough, and their manners often leave more than a little to be desired. There was a time when our oldest was about three, that I would need to shadow him like Heidi Klum’s bodyguard if ever he were around other kids, such was his presence as a human bowling ball (with smaller children being the pins). He would hurtle into them with such little regard for their feelings that I would despair at my own parenting. What am I doing wrong? Thankfully it was a phase that he seems to have mostly outgrown, though it took some time.

And during that time I will never forget the grace that was afforded to me by other parents. Never once did they have a go at me, or him, they accepted my apologies with an acknowledgment that I was trying my best. Perhaps they could see the tears that threatened to break the banks, I’m not sure, but I’m so thankful for that grace.

I like to think I would’ve afforded the same grace to this parent, if she was anywhere to be found.

But I think that is the difference, with my own bruiser boy, I was there. I knew my child’s temperament, I knew the toddler tunnel of turmoil he was in, and so I was there – trying to protect him from his own inability to play safely. Trying to teach him the gentler way. Trying to stop him before anyone was hurt. Trying to apologise if his bowling ball body actually struck a child. Removing him when he couldn’t play safely. It was exasperating and I probably didn’t do a great job, but I was there. I think other parents showed so much kindness to me because they could see I was trying (even if they perhaps wouldn’t nominate me for Mother of the Year).

When it comes down to it, it is our role as parents to be the teachers and supporters of our children – whatever their needs may be. I can step back as Bodyguard Against Human Bowling Balls now, and move on to supporting our boys’ next need, however haphazardly and unsuccessfully I might go about it. While they are little and learning, I will be there (or in the background nearby).

So I suppose I am judging the parent of that child in the play centre, even though I know judgement is such an ugly pastime. And maybe she was just having a bad day, maybe she just really needed some time to sit down with a coffee and take some deep breaths. Parenting is so bloody hard.

So I nearly didn’t write about it all. Judging isn’t helpful.

But if I don’t stand for kids, I stand for nothing. And this kid needed her. Because it is my belief that no little kid is bad. No little kid wants to be without friends. No little kid wants to be without the hidden rules that society expects. And gees it’s hard trying to be the one that teaches them but we try anyway because we love them so much. We fail a million times. We repeat the same lesson over and over. Always questioning ourselves. Always wondering what we could do better.

But I have found other parents to be the most wonderful supporters, as long as you are there, showing up just like them – without a clue but trying anyway.

Sometimes, we really just need to be there.

Eliza xx

I had one of those mornings where the sense of overwhelm hung over my shoulders like an itchy cloak. Things the kids could do yesterday, such as put on a pair of shoes or sit together without wrestling, they apparently could not do today. Every bit of crafting material was strewn across the house, my folded washing had been upended off the bed to make way for a game of hide-and-seek, a cup of milk was plundered recklessly onto the floor.

Those little things.

The itchy cloak prickled.

‘Let’s get out of the house,’ I declared, knowing myself well enough to predict the rest of the morning if we didn’t get some air.

Out we went, bikes in the boot, off for a bush track bike ride.

The first half was fantastic. Lots of hills to ride down, peppercorn trees to sit under, ants to ‘feed’.

The second half was hard work.

‘I’m too tired to ride back’

‘Carry me’

‘Carry my bike’

‘I can’t do it!’

‘It’s too far’

My sage advice, that sometimes good things mean a little hard work, was drowned out by their harmony of wails.

I’m in hell, I thought.

So when the youngest child demanded I take off his helmet and carry it, my overwhelm spoke to him by declaring his helmet would stay on the track unless he picked it up – I was already lugging a backpack and two bikes.

The little one sat down on the track and cried. My sense of frustration was still so acute I couldn’t find the compassion the situation obviously warranted.

Thankfully, my oldest could.

As I walked on, encouraging the littlest one to ‘keep going we’re nearly there,’ the biggest one turned back, picked up the littlest one’s helmet and said, ‘Are you okay my little brother?’

One of us was being the grown up, even if it wasn’t me.

I asked Bobby if he would mind holding Sid’s hand to help him walk back to the car, and he did, both of them now laughing at the situation. Me? I thanked my lucky stars they’re mine, while mentally shaking myself out of my strop.

We then headed over to our friend’s house, a home to five children with the markings of them everywhere.

And you know what I realised today?

I realised that despite them having all of the stuff that comes with a seven person family, it never feels like mess there, ever. It just feels like a place full of love. Like a family plays and laughs there, makes trouble, shares stories and draws you in with open arms, because that is exactly what happens.

It’s the kind of place that cannot be built of money. No carefully drawn architectural plans or expensive rugs or handwoven baskets can make a house that full of love. That kind of home is made of the people in it.

And so I walked from their home feeling lighter than before, leaving laughter and happy chaos echoing in their four walls, and returned to my own home with fresh eyes.

A home of dirty floors and boys who wrestle till they cry but carry each other’s helmets when the walk gets too long.

What a happy place to be.

Eliza xx

What a jazzy name for a blog post ha ha! Sorry, I write this lying squashed between two slumbering boys, having intended to post it straight to the socials but apparently it’s too long! So here it is as a proper blog entry.

Social skills.

I went through a stage about 12 months ago when I felt like it was more stressful taking my kids out to play than it was to stay home. My then 2.75 year old was having a hard time socialising in certain situations, often behaving too physically or becoming overwhelmed to the point of meltdown. I didn’t really know what to do, I just knew that I wasn’t having much fun and neither was he. I desperately wanted to help him, I wanted to teach him social skills and have him relax into social play like other children seemed to.

I tried to find books and articles that would help me solve ‘the problem’ myself, that’s my nature, but after finding precious little I was left to follow my own instincts. I was a bit lost but steadfast in my desire to support him as I would in any other area he needed help with (my kids = my 🌏, and all that).

I have since become more aware of this same need in other children, from toddlers through to primary aged children, and honestly probably adults. A desire to join in, an excitement for play, a desperation for friends, but a complete lack of skills in pulling it all together.

Some of you will have no idea what I’m yabbering on about probably, but if you are going through a similar patch with your child (quite often boys I think) these are some things that helped me (solely from the perspective of an untrained mother 😬):

• Do spend more time at home. Batten down the hatches for a bit, slow down your days and spend more time just in the family unit.

• Do say no to things that you feel will be too much for your child. It’s okay to say no.

• Socialise in smaller groups. It’s far easier for a child to interact and practise their social skills in a one-to-one situation. Give them every chance at success.

• Avoid play centres and fun factories like the plague, despite your child’s desperation to go. Too much noise, too many people, too much everything! Plenty of time for that later.

• Come from a place of understanding rather than frustration. I am still practising this one but I remind myself constantly that there is a feeling behind every behaviour. No child wants to be annoying (ok, look sometimes I think they do, but only to siblings and parents, not so much to their peers). A big hug and a talk later does a whole lot more than exasperated sighs or yelling (again, work in progress)

• Give them time. A lot if it is totally normal development. Celebrate small wins.

• Talk about feelings like you’d talk about a breakfast cereal, they’re that normal.

• Read books about feelings. My son loves reading his ‘when I’m feeling angry’ book. I’m sure it’s because he connects with it so well. We all just want to be understood.

• If a meltdown is coming, cut and run, people, CUT AND RUN. Try again next time.

• Treat social skills like any other skill. Some kids are natural readers, some are sporty, some are artistic. We’re not all natural at everything – if a kid had trouble reading we’d help them to learn. Social skills are just the same.

• Most importantly, embrace who they are and love them unconditionally. Let them know it constantly.

I am not a psychologist. I do not have training in this area. This advice comes purely from one parent to another because I know it can be super tough to watch your child struggle at what should be fun and natural – playing with other kids.

My sons are so little, they have so much time to learn, so many mistakes to make and meltdowns left to be had – but it is truly my pleasure to be their teacher. And nothing lights me up more than watching them interact with other kids.

We’ve got an important gig don’t we? First and most important teachers. ❤️❤️

Eliza xx