She’s here! She’s arrived! Well… not the complete Stepford version, since I’m wearing gym pants and a sweat shirt, but I’m feeling, strangely … serene. I wrote previously of my frustrations at home with the girls, and my lack of patience. Lately something’s changed, for the better. I’m really enjoying my girls. They’re not driving me crazy, and when they’re slow or non-responsive, the banshee is not coming out. My care factor is lower. Why????
They are cute and fun. Little A told me on Good Friday that poor Jesus was hung up on the clothesline, but that on Sunday, he’d come back up to life and we might see him walking down the road. Woah. Interesting stuff going on in that Sunday school class she visits sometimes with her grandmother.
Even diabetes played nice over Easter. I’d like to personally plant a big sloppy smushy kiss on the inventors of the insulin pump. Last Easter for Little L was a horrorshow of insulin injections, sugar-free easter eggs, the after-effects of sugar-free easter eggs (have you read about the delightful laxative effect from artificial sweeteners? Don’t leave your kids alone with a container of Eclipse mints, EVER), and some head-spinning rocket-launching tantrums as her blood glucose levels went through the roof despite carefully meted out chocolate hits. This year, however? You want two eggs? Sure. I’ll put the carbs in your insulin pump, then you can eat it. Another four little ones after lunch? No worries. I’ll add up the carbs then it’s all yours. She went high, but we could correct it straight away with another boost of insulin delivered through the pump. I LOVE YOU MR AND MS INSULIN PUMP INVENTOR PEOPLE. And so does the Easter bunny.
The whole long weekend they’ve been gorgeous, and I’ve been trying to pinpoint what’s different. I think they’ve changed because I’ve changed. I’m trying to turn off the trigger mum yell response (which is THERE, believe me) and listen to the need underneath the annoying whinge or refusal. I’m taking two extra minutes to squat down and cuddle and talk quietly, and though it’s taking practice, I’ve found it’s saving me 10 minutes that would have been spent in time outs and escalated crappy behaviour while we head butt like goats.
It’s far from perfect. It’s taking A LOT of time. I am running late. My parents’ cat, aged 21, died over the Easter weekend and the girls are really sad, and need extra cuddles and talks while they spontaneously pop out with questions about death and wishes that he come back to life (WHILE GETTING READY FOR SCHOOL). Add some rain and the fact that kids turn into frozen confused statues as soon as you add a raincoat (until PUDDLES! Oooh now they’re all Peppa Piggish), and we have a record for school lateness. 10 minutes after the bell! Whoops. But they are happy. And, I didn’t yell.
There’s much refining to be done. It’s not like you can get everyone out of bed 20 minutes earlier in case someone needs some touchy feely time. If you’re anything like me, that’s not enough to stop you from pressing ‘snooze’ on your alarm button. I wonder also whether my new ‘zen’ state has anything to do with the new epilepsy meds I’ve recently started in addition to the ones I’m already taking for migraines. I’m feeling a little whacked, I have to admit. It’s quite dizzy-making at times, and I’m tired, but I’m also feeling really chilled. Hard to work yourself into a frenzy about something when you’re a floating fairy.
As always, I’ve got to find a balance. Tips for being nice, and also being on time please? Punctuality is my nemesis. I suspect you’ll tell me we need to just turn all the clocks in the house back an hour before the real time, but then I’ll have to come around and punch you. Sleep is perhaps more important than food.
See? I’m still me. I still have the energy to punch people when it’s absolutely, completely necessary. Threaten my sleep and I’ll take you DOWN. Nicely, in a quiet voice.