I wrote this entry about a month ago, then hit a rough patch where I was struggling with extremely low energy and I was not in a fantastic place emotionally. Happily, the kids are healthy, life is going along fairly well and I am feeling myself again.
They told me that the first two years would be the hardest.
That first year was incredibly challenging; it was one of the worst years of my life. It was the year that every notion I held about myself was put to the test. The bright eyed, gentle natured person that I had been was replaced by someone cynical and resentful, easily irritated, quick to anger and lacking in patience. My mental health was not in a good place. We had to adjust to being parents of two young children to parents of three biological children and two foster daughters. I watched as my firstborn son and daughter lost their safe place at home and had to share their parents (who were far less cheerful than they used to be) with two intruders who broke their toys, snatched their things, hurt them and invaded their space. Something that I had underestimated before taking in the girls would be the impact upon my extended family. They had to learn to love and handle these new additions, and our family gatherings had become far more stressful than they used to be. And to top it all off, the loss of our beloved Amy; my husband’s 21-year-old sister. What a year.
How has the second year compared?
The second year has flown by. Apparently time flies when you’re having fun, so I assume that this means we are all enjoying ourselves more.
Having Mr E and Miss A attend school five days a week has helped enormously; thirty hours of respite from them per week has been a blessing. At 2.40 pm I say to Mr J “Let’s go pick up the big kids!” and he cheerfully clambers into the pram. The days never feel too long now (unless all of the kids are home from school due to illness, and then my mental health plummets horribly) and I look forward to seeing “the big kids” walk out of their classrooms at 3pm. I look forward to giving them a hug, listening to them, having them at home. I appreciate that while they are at school, my house is a far more peaceful place, and it feels like my home. Having some time at home with Miss R and Miss L without the influence of the older kids is lovely.
Not wanting to go to school.
Not wanting to wear her sports uniform.
The seam in her sock causing her distress.
Her shoe straps needing to be tightened several times.
Her waistband being too tight.
Complaining about the pony tail I put her hair in, and she needs to re-do it (90% of the time she walks out of her classroom at the end of the day and she has pulled it out anyway).
Seeing as she has refused to wear the (costly) winter uniform for the past few months, I will not waste the money next year. Even on the coldest days, she would march in the school gate wearing some stockings, her summer tunic and bare arms.
In the first year of caring for Miss A and Miss L, a physical sense of dread would fill me as the time approached to be reunited with girls after time apart, like after childcare, contact visits or even first thing in the morning. I would be so stressed at the thought of having to see them again, that I would be fearfully counting down the minutes, my inner voice chanting, “I’m not ready, I’m not ready.”
That is gone now. While I still appreciate the peace of having them out of the house for a time, they are no longer intruders. This is their home. We are family. They are welcome here. When we are reunited it feels natural; I am happy to see them again.
There are still traits about them which absolutely drive me up the flipping wall. The lying. The fighting. The whinging. The disobedience. The strange choices that leave me flabbergasted, wondering what could have possibly prompted these kids to do such a thing.
But we have made progress, and there are definitely moments which are so lovely and give me hope for the future of our family and for the adults my children will become.
The children were concerned this morning when I curled up on the lounge because I had a sore “tummy”. They immediately covered me in a blanket and ran to the kitchen to make my breakfast. A few minutes later I was called into the dining room where Miss A had made me a cup of Milo, put a flower from the garden in a cup of water and was emptying a bag of prawn chips (gross) into a bowl. Once seated, Mr E brought over my breakfast; Weetbix (or as Mr E calls them, “Weet-Pigs”) with neatly chopped banana and milk. While I ate, I could hear the younger girls busily preparing something in the kitchen. Miss R’s face was beaming as she presented me with a small bowl of “special ingredients”: icing sugar mixture, all-purpose seasoning and honey. She asked me to try it, so I put the tip of the spoon to my tongue. Mmm, delicious…? As I finished up my Weet-bix, Miss L brought in a bowl of milk with big lumps of mushy banana. Both girls were very disappointed when I explained that I was too full to eat their creations. Miss R tearfully asked “did you like my special ingredients?” My reply was that they tasted very interesting.
It was all a little messy and chaotic, but sweet. I was impressed by their kind intentions.
As I wrote this description, Mr J screeched and demanded to sit on my lap, Miss R and Miss L squabbled while waiting for me to read them a book (which they thoroughly enjoyed when I got to it so I read the book twice), Miss A got cranky at Miss L for touching her book, then relented and let her hold the book, then Mr E put his pyjama shorts on his head and sang a crazy song accompanied by wild dance moves. The whole background scene had its moments of frustration, delight and hilarity; however it felt like an apt portrait of life in our house.
There are times when it all feels like too much. When, even now, I want to give up. There is only one way through this journey. Forwards.
I also want to make a note about something which has brought me a lot of joy and purpose over the last year; making time for my interests outside of my role as wife/mother has become a priority, and I’m grateful that my husband has been supportive. About a year ago, a friend started a book club which I eagerly joined. Reading for pleasure is something which I had neglected but have now taken up with gusto. Our “monthly” meeting is great fun and it feels wonderful to have stimulating, intellectual and often hilarious conversation (about topics other than child rearing) with other adults (if you like reading, please feel welcome to join us!). A choir also was established in my local area; it is a pleasure to be training my voice again and be working with other singers. It is like good medicine for my soul to hear the voices swelling together in beautiful harmony.
The Five Little Ducks Blog 