The Five Little Ducks Blog

Once again, I find myself writing after a lengthy absence. There were times last year when I did not write because I was so caught up in feeling utterly depressed and that I felt I had nothing good to say. There were plenty of other times that “best sellers” were cleverly crafting themselves in my head, only to get lost forever in the muddy mess that is my Attention Deficit brain before they could be ‘put to paper’. Finally, there were all of the blog entries which were started but never finished due to sickness, busyness, laziness- and when I returned to these entries I could no longer “connect” with them. Here are some of the titles of unfinished entries:

-My year without sugar

-Space Invaders

-Lessons learned from 11 weeks of sickness

-The one about my marriage

-Outnumbered by the crazy

-Becoming ‘Unoffendable’

-The Problem with Pride

-Next year will be better

Recently attending our annual January family holiday down the South Coast enabled me to really reflect on how far our family has come in a year.

Last year the drive down there felt like one of the worst, longest days of our lives. Pouring rain and a crying newborn were the tip of the iceberg; car sickness, fighting and constant whining made the trip extremely unpleasant. The week away was difficult; our boundary-pushing nieces were only three months in to their placement with us and baby J was underweight, unhappy and overtired. I remember returning home feeling completely frazzled and shaken. People would ask cheerily about our holiday; my blunt response was “The kids had fun and we were in a really beautiful place but it was very hard work”.

This year our drive down the coast was far more tolerable, the only pebble in our shoe being the occasional irritating enquiries into whether we were “there yet”. Arriving at Tilba felt like coming home. From the literally breath-taking turquoise water at Narooma to the bushland and valleys sloping down from Mt Dromedary, beauty abounds. My heart was touched when Miss A exclaimed that it was all so pretty that it made her want to cry. Our holiday was a good one. We visited beaches, went on walks around the farm, enjoyed toasting marshmallows on the fire, there was lots of quality time with extended family, I found time to read. Best of all, the children played. They rolled down hills, wandered from cabin to cabin to visit relatives and they made a “secret castle” with cousins on top of a septic tank. The toys we had taken went practically untouched as the children preferred playing with shells, sticks and clothes pegs. Family commented on what a “unit” my children have become. I too have noticed how they seem to have synchronised into a team; at least 75% of the time now they get along very well. They are learning to share better, to be more tolerant, to forgive.

We were planning to leave on a Sunday; I had assumed that after time off over Christmas and ten days away together that I would be extremely ready for Miss L to return to preschool on the Monday. I was wrong. Such a happy time we were having that I convinced Daddy Duck we should stay an extra day. When Miss L and Miss R resumed preschool on the Tuesday, it was interesting to acknowledge that I wasn’t “sick” of the kids yet and that I might actually miss them. An awful drive home from Tilba with a screaming Baby J was stressful but did not tarnish my otherwise optimistic mood. I feel refreshed.

Before the madness of the new year really hits home, particularly as I adjust to having Mr E and Miss A attend kindergarten five days a week; I want to take this opportunity to reflect on what I am enjoying about my family at the moment.

The funny things kids say

There are so many entertaining conversations with young children. My brother often requests to hear amusing anecdotes about the children, and fool that I am, I do not write them all down.

As we were driving through the countryside, Miss A announced excitedly, “Look! Horsies!” Mr E replied seriously in his trademark deep voice, “They is not horses, they is sheep.” I corrected them both, “They’re COWS.”

Even little mispronunciations can be funny, like Mr E claiming that the new cubby house was “awesome”, and Miss L agreeing, “yeah, that’s awful!” For the life of us, Daddy Duck and I cannot understand why Miss L mispronounces ‘unicorn’ as “uh-li-corn’. It makes us want to scream with exasperation, yet it also makes us laugh.

A couple of nights ago, the children and I were talking about different foods, and how we all like and dislike certain things. They were fascinated to learn that I do not like sushi, although I was quick to reassure Miss A that it was OK for her to like sushi. Suddenly, Miss R turned to me in a panic. “Does Grandma like sushi?” she asked tearfully.

“No, Grandma doesn’t like sushi,” I replied. Miss R started bawling, her voice was high pitched and tears rolled down her red, blotchy cheeks. “If Grandma doesn’t like sushi, I don’t like sushi… what food does Grandma like?”

I gestured to the dinner I had made. “Grandma likes sang choy bow.” Sniffling, Miss R soon calmed down. I held my laughter inside, not wanting to offend her delicate, Grandma-loving heart.

In a counselling session with my psychologist late last year, she remarked about how humorous my retellings of incidents with the children were, and how it would be positive if I could learn to find the humour in the midst of stressful moments. Although this is easier said than done, the ability is growing. One incident springs to mind, when Miss A knocked over her babycino at a café. I might have felt annoyed had she not immediately remarked cheerfully, “I’m done!”

The sound of laughter

There is nothing unique about enjoying the sound of children laughing. For so long it seemed like my ears were constantly full of the sounds of screaming, screeching, yelling, whining and fighting. It exhausted me; dragged me down. I hear laughter everyday now, and it fills my heart with gladness. Gladness that my children have become genuine friends. Relief that things are going well. Gratitude that my gamble paid off.  Their raucous, wild laughter tells me that they are a happy bunch of well-adjusted kids (most of the time).

Their play

If it is a child’s job to play, the Five Little Ducks take their occupation very seriously. Their daily play schedule keeps them busy; bouncing on the trampoline (or “jumping-line” as the girls call it), making ‘ice-cream’ in the sandpit, climbing in the backyard, playing mermaids in the bath, creating castles and volcanoes from cushions and occasionally even playing with their toys…

The first time I handed Miss A some Barbie dolls, she was unsure of how to play with them and made them hit each other. She and her sister basically had no imagination when they moved in. They followed me around endlessly, not knowing how to occupy themselves. I have watched them grow and flourish into confident children; experts in entertaining themselves.

The girls’ yearlong obsession with Frozen left little room for Frozen-despising Mr E to join in with their re-enactments. There being only two female characters in said film, one girl was often excluded (my solution to their arguments being “you can both be Elsa!”). In recent months the girls have branched out and begun enjoying other films and TV shows, particularly How to Train Your Dragon and Peter Pan. This has enabled Mr E to become an active participant in their role-playing games. Now our home and backyard are filled with Hiccup, Astrid, Roughnut and Heather running about after their dragons, and “meanie mermaids” visiting with Captain Hook, Peter Pan, Wendy and Tiger Lily. Every program they watch adds new characters to their repertoire and fuels their play.

Each relationship is as unique as the child

I have come to appreciate that each relationship with my children is as unique and different as they are.

Mr E. My first baby, as I explained to him when he was struggling to accept Miss A and Miss L’s place in our family. Nobody can ever take away from him his role as my first born child, my oldest son. He is a very sensitive, tender-hearted child; we had some truly difficult times through his strong-willed toddler years.

I adore his whacky, imaginative, inquisitive mind; full of wonder about how the world works. He makes me smile and laugh every day. On a walk at Tilba, he said we could not go near the Big Tree because there was a Pterodactyl nest there, and Pterodactyls eat meat! Concerned, I asked him if we were meat. “They won’t eat me,” he replied smugly. “I’ve got too many bones.” He becomes absolutely immersed in imaginative worlds where he lives with his wild pets, emerging to tell us tales from his adventures.

A few days ago I was struggling to cope with the heat. I explained to my young family that I was not grumpy with them, just from the hot day. “Do you want me to cheer you up?” Mr E asked. He proceeded to do one of his comical dances where his facial expressions move in synchronisation with the wiggling of his body. How could I not be cheered?

The only adjectives which come to mind Mr E’s affection for me are “schmoozey” and “shmucky”. When I emerge from my room dressed for the day, a romantic expression flutters across his face. “My mum is so pretty… Mum, you’re pretty like a princess,” he says in a dreamy voice. Tonight he complimented dessert saying, “Mum, this crumble is delightful…. Wait. What does delightful mean?”

Once, when he was telling me that I was the best mum in the whole wide world, I replied that I was not, that I was a bad mum. He began to cry, asking me why I would say that. I have since had to learn to say ‘thank you’, no matter how much I beg to differ. I enjoy our cuddles (despite him being a very thin, bony child) and his sweet smiles.

Miss A. Each year at Tilba, we write a letter to our future self and leave it in a bottle in the roof. When I read a question in last year’s letter about whether Miss A had become more compassionate and kind, I was delighted to be able to say yes. A huge reduction in her self-centered behaviour has occurred. Time and time again, I have observed her perform acts of kindness for her siblings and others, like giving up her spot next to me so that another child could have it, or the last of her favourite ice blocks for a tearful sister.

Miss A is a very bright, capable child, and I expect great things for her future. With her confidence and strong personality, I imagine her going on to anything she wants to do; from owning her own hair salon, to teaching, to being a CEO, to becoming head of the Paediatric Department… She also has a very strong maternal instinct. We have often butted heads over her trying to “mother” the two younger girls and Baby J. I know that for all the times where she was too rough with Baby J (like when she tried to make him perform a handstand) or actually hurt him (like when she made him bump his head on the rocking chair, and on the slide) that there was no malicious intent; only her great love for him clouding her judgment. She will make an excellent mother one day.

Recently, Miss L and Miss R were squabbling and hurt one another. Frustrated, I refused to get involved. Moved by her sisters’ tears, Miss A spoke to them with all the authority and sympathy of a preschool teacher and brought them each an ice brick, a kiss and a cuddle to help them feel better. I was touched by her kindness and patience where I had exhibited none, and amused by her tone of voice as she resolved the situation.

Watching Miss A dance is a delight. She moves with all of the expression, flair and flamboyance of an interpretive dancer. I look forward to seeing her expand on her natural ability this year as she commences dancing lessons. I often refer to her as an acrobat; she enjoys running, climbing and practicing forward rolls and cartwheels. She is bold, adventurous and revels in playing in the natural world. We have fun dancing together, and she took great pleasure from coming swimming with me at the beach.

Her ability to sit still has greatly increased; she enjoys looking at books, drawing and practicing writing.

She no longer annoys me like she used to; I now feel genuine affection for her and enjoy having her around. We have our special “things”, like my trusting her with certain kitchen tasks, and our shared fondness for natural beauty which bond us. She has settled so well into our family; I truly believe that she is flourishing here. Not only does she benefit from having a strong family unit, but also a “village” that cares about her, especially at church and with my extended family.

Miss L. This little scamp will turn four next week. We still have a lot of issues with Miss L, but we are slowly learning to be more patient and positive with her; it truly makes a difference.

Miss L is the most affectionate child that I have ever met. It is difficult for me to match her level of enthusiasm for kisses and cuddles sometimes, but I know that she actually NEEDS these things to feel loved and validated. I was feeling a little over touched and kissed one day and explained to her that sometimes, just one kiss is enough. For the rest of that day, she would announce each time, “I will just bring you one kiss,” and moments later she would repeat the phrase, followed by another kiss. Miss L needs a lot of love, and she has even more love to give.

Praise is very important to Miss L’s self-esteem. She regularly asks the questions:

“Am I am good girl?”

“Do you think I’m a clever clogs?”

“Am I your special helper?”

She desperately wants to be helpful. Whenever I try to take out the rubbish, she makes a bolt for the front door, wanting to take it out for me. If I try to water a plant or pour the milk in her bowl, she is aggressively insistent that I let her do it. She has the uncanny ability to hear me get out a mixing bowl from a mile away; she is always keen to bake with me. While the rest of the “big kids” are glued to the screen or in the backyard, Miss L often prefers to keep me company as I potter around the kitchen. One of the best ways to stop an argument between Miss L and the other children when she is annoying them is to cheerfully ask her for a favour or some help. She will drop everything to skip merrily along after me.

Her favourite game is to adopt a character (like Anna from Frozen) and to say to me “you be mummy Anna, I be kid Anna”. For every character, there is a kid version and a mummy version. I pointed out that she had perhaps missed the point of Peter Pan when she told me “you be mummy Peter, I be kid Peter”.

Miss L enjoys singing to herself in a sweet, off-key voice. She can often be located by listening out for her little “la la la la…” While Miss A has now moved on to new songs, Miss L is still loyal to “Let it go” and she likes to firmly stamp her foot, proclaiming “here I stand and here I stay!” She is the only child who still requires me to sing her the brushing teeth song (I wrote it to the tune of “Row, row, row your boat” when Mr E was a toddler) when I am helping her brush her teeth.

She possesses a unique sense of logic, explaining that she is “a little bit big and a little bit little”. One night I told her not to kiss me because I was sick. The next night I went to give her a good-night kiss and she asked if I was better. I explained that I was getting better, so she asked if I was “a little bit sick and a little bit better”.

Miss L has a very cheeky sense of humour and a mischievous grin (although her smile can rarely be captured on camera!). Two of my favourite things about her are her squidgy cheeks (perfect for kissing) and her beautiful long eye lashes. Her brown eyes have a sparkle to them.

Miss R. When our nieces moved in, Miss R was only two years old. She was still my “baby”. In those early months of the placement, she struggled terribly with having two others kids to share her parents and her life with. I still feel a sense of loss for her.

Thankfully, things seem to have come along nicely and the three girls are now firm friends. I do think that having the other girls in our home has changed her personality; she is a little less like me now and more like them. She has become more physically fit and agile and enjoys running and clambering about with them. She has become more confident and gutsy. She is also more interested in “girly” things like princess movies, dressing up and looking “pretty” than when she was younger. She has become more mischievous.

All of the four “big” ducks like role-playing games, but Miss R’s dedication to her adopted personas is impressive. If I call her by her real name, she will correct me for the character of the day. The best example of this is of her alternative ego; a sassy 12-year-old girl called Sassa. Her face carries a different look when she is Sassa. She might stay in character for hours at a time, even for the mundane things like going to the toilet. Not only does she take her inspiration from movies, but also from our extended family. I enjoy hearing all of the names of relatives through her play. She loves her family dearly and is very loyal.

For all of this boldness, there is something very placid, settled and still about Miss R. She is the child my husband and I enjoy taking out to cafes or on trips to the shops. She is not fussy with food. When it is a struggle to get the other kids to eat, it is nice to know that she happy try every kind of cuisine without complaining. I am so proud of her with the way she practices self-control around sweet food. While the promise of dessert is the only thing which makes the other children try their tiny portion of dinner, Miss R happily eats her meal and when I ask her afterwards if she would like a treat, half the time she responds, “No thanks, I’m full”.

Despite my sad feelings that I cannot give Miss R as much attention as I would like to, her “love tank” must be full. Whenever I give her a hug, she is satisfied within seconds and is eager to have her own space again. When I imagine the sound of the children’s laughter, it is Miss R’s gutsy chuckles that stands out.

Baby J. This little man is almost fourteen months old. He is an absolute delight. Never would I have planned to have a baby on top of taking on two foster children; but God knew what our family needed. He sent us a bouncy baby boy to bring us joy and unite our children.

When he was a few months old and I was stuck in darker times, I composed a little song. For all of its simplicity, it expresses how much he means to me.

He’s a beautiful baby, he’s a lovely child

He’s a beautiful baby, I am so glad he’s mine

If it is a cloudy day, a ray of sunshine comes my way

He looks at me with joyful eyes, he makes me still, he makes me smile

And when I hold him close to me, I can just be, I’m at peace…

He’s a beautiful baby, he’s a lovely child

He’s a beautiful baby, I am so glad he’s mine!

 

Baby J started walking at 10 months old. He is an active, very cheeky boy. He has bright blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair that is starting to grow thicker on top and wispy curls on the sides. He has a cheerful face, a lean frame and he walks like a bow-legged cowboy. He is more sociable than my other babies, and he loves people.

I call him my “action baby”. He is learning to climb on things, and has a few cuts and bruises from his misadventures. He is learning to communicate with a series of grunts, squeals and Guinea-pig-like squeaks. He is fond of the word “Mum”. Baby J enjoys playing with pots, pans and spoons. The children all love him, although he annoys them sometimes with his grabby fingers.

Every little difficulty he presents to me just reminds me that I have been there before with my other babies. Seasoned old crone that I am, I know now that each phase does not last too long.

 

I no longer feel like everyday I am dragging my way through quicksand. I feel like I have got my spark back.

I am aware that life does not stay simple for long and another hardship or complication is always around the corner, but for now, I am content to enjoy the peace; grateful that joy has returned to my heart.

As I sat reading a book on the floor at Tilba, surrounded by a rapt audience of children asking for “just one more”, it dawned upon me that this was exactly what I had always wanted. A home full of creative, imaginative children who enjoyed the simple pleasures in life like reading books and playing outside… My dreams have come true.

Time to enjoy it.