Fall in Houston 

I make no secret of the fact that I hate Houston. But last Saturday there was a detente in our relationship as Autumn hit. The cooler, dry air may be playing havoc with Sam’s eczema but teamed with Houston’s bright blue skies it’s glorious for being out in. An ideal afternoon is now spent playing with the children in front of the house, biking and walking to the park, Ellie around our feet. It’s almost idyllic and helps me wrap up in my family and shut out the ugliness of the world. 


It’s the best bits of England made better – hardly any rain and it’s not cold but fresh. The dark nights roll in and it’s still nice to have a drink on the porch (or in the garage if, like us, you don’t have a porch. 


So why does it make me so homesick? It makes me crave those parts of England I thought I would be glad to leave behind: walking with the damp permeating your clothes, dying for that cup of tea and Tunnocks tea cake, hiding under blankets inside… I miss the too cold, the too wet, the too dark. Even in its perfection, Houston is not my home.

A Time for Reflection

Like much of those in America, including possibly the winner himself, the results of the 2016 Presidential election came as a huge shock to me. So sure of the result was I, that when questioned why I would take children to an election party given that results don’t finish coming in until after midnight, I rolled my eyes and said “Oh, by 8, maybe 8.30, we’ll know. I mean, we won’t know, but it will be obvious”. I was anticipating the vote for Hillary to be such a landslide that in my wilder dreams I almost saw Texas as a swing state. I nearly made a T-shirt that said “Spoiler alert: Hillary wins”.

In the end, I was half right. By 8-8.30 I did indeed know. I can’t remember the exact time my heart stopped hoping, but at a certain point it was clear that the majority of the swing states were leaning red, and in other states Trump’s margin was greater than expected. Together, it was clearly an indication of what was to come. At 9-ish I said to friends “I don’t want to get in the car and drive home, because I know that when I get out of the car it will be a done deal”. But in the end keeping my children up far too late, and clinging on, and staying up 2 hours’ after we got home was in vain. Trump won.

Trump won. And I am afraid. And after the tears, for me, came the time for quieter introspection. How? I needed to understand two major “hows”:

1. While I respect that there were a multitude of reasons for voting Trump, many of which reflect values that I hold dear (but choose to manifest differently), how did an open misogynist, who mocked disabilities, who acted a racist to an almost caricature level, and who made hatred-inspired division a cornerstone of his campaign, win? I understand how he got some votes e.g the pro-life vote, but how did he win?

2. How did I so totally and utterly not see it coming? How did the Democratic Party and associated media not see it coming?

The answers to these are many layered and complex. They are being debated in the media now, and they will be written about for years to come. I am not Political Science savvy-enough to add to the experts, but for now I am recognizing that the DNP did not listen to their followers who actually echoed the same sentiments as the Trump followers.

I was not a Bernie Sanders fan. I liked his ideals, but I felt they were too extreme for the US at the present time, and his past record in the legislature (or more to the point, his lack of record) told me that he would not work well within the system to compromise and make change happen. I saw stagnation. But it seems I was an outsider in wanting someone more proven, more acceptable to other politicians, more used to working with the other side and deploying their army of machinations to achieve a compromise goal. I think the people overwhelmingly wanted Bernie the outsider and consistently overlooked his negatives – even some of the same negatives theory through at Hillary. And in the end, The DNP looked around at the American public overwhelmingly asking for an outsider, and put in place: the ultimate insider.

That’s just the start of what will surely be characterized in history as a catalogue of mistakes. But it is not even really where my thoughts were; they were more at the grass roots level (albeit how this reflects DNP actions) and with personal guilt. Why did Trump win? The difference this year seems to be because he exploited divisions while mobilizing a group of people that liberals all but ignore: non-college educated (I refuse to say “uneducated” like the divisive media), often rural, whites. He spoke to them, and he spoke for them. But surely, he could only get them to vote for such a heinous character but making the division between him and the other candidate strong. He must have made that wound so deep. And thinking about this, when I did some soul searching I realized that as an enlightened, tolerance-preaching all-loving liberal I was as guilty of contributing to these divisions as anyone.

Did I have any interest in America’s other  whites? No. Did I care about disenfranchised whites? Oh, I read about the African American experience, and the Transgender experience, and the Refugee experience and so on. I lapped it up! I shared articles, I spouted about how enlighten I was because I could never really appreciate what it was like to be one of these minorities, but I could appreciate the environment they were in and how terrible my white straight privilege was! Oh, now I saw the light indeed. Now I was so much a better person indeed. Enlightened. Accepting. So open minded. So liberal. How did even manage to see when my halo was so bright.

But what about others? How could I not read about others who were disenfranchised? Is it that I had no access to such literature? No. Immediately I can think of two occasions where people directly tried to engage me on this issue. I  posted about white privileged and two people directly said to me “I don’t think African Americans do have a disadvantage compared to me”. Of course, we all know my response. It’s the classic white liberal response: You’re wrong! And not only are you wrong, you want to be wrong. You don’t like the changing status quo my pompous ass concluded. Whether here is any veracity to those statements or not, yet problem to me is not what was said or through, but what was not. I cannot remember a single time I engaged with a disenfranchised white and said “tell me about your troubles”. “Tell me about how you feel marginalized”. “Let me listen to you”.

Why? I don’t think I am generally someone who doesn’t try to to see other people’s point of view, or who carries a self-righteous rightness about them. So why now? Why couldn’t I listen to family members and friends, of all people. Thinking long and hard about why I have changed to be like this, I have drawn the conclusion that a large part of it stems from living on Facebook for me. At the time of the election, I got almost 100% of my “news” from Facebook recommendations and click fests, and lived in that Facebook bubble where (and I forget what the name of it is), FaceBook shows you posts and media articles that reflect your previous interests and likes. How could this not entrench my views further? Everyday I logged on to have my views reaffirmed and deepened. Every day others logged on to have the same to their different views. How could this not create a chasm? Clearly this is only a problem when you get your information exclusively in this manner, but I am ashamed to say that I did. And now I think about it: that’s incredibly dangerous. Surely, it has to be incredibly dangerous to encourage oneself to narrow your world view? And to keep reaffirming your underlying opinions rather than evolving and challenging them. And often, let’s face it: doing all this with sound bites and memes. I nearly started a running series on this blog about liberal memes that annoyed me because so they so entirely missed the non-liberal point of view. Yet I still willingly exposed myself to them day after day.

Against this background of realizing that Facebook was not doing my world view any good, things started to get heated in my feed. I watched comment after comment get leaped on, and yelled at, even though the original intent was not to incite. The divisions deepened and became personal.

I am honest and true to my beliefs, but I express them differently depending on the views of the audience. I talk about them in person subtly and with nuance (I hope). I take care not to hurt people if they disagree with me. I try to listen. But it is very difficult to do this on Facebook. It tends to be quick status updates, memes and headlines. You speak to everyone at once, and in the same way. You can’t gauge  those non verbal cues as to how someone is being affected by your words. But you do get all those self affirming likes and shares! It just wasn’t good for me.

I don’t know when much of my interpersonal discourse moved from real life to Facebook, but embarrassingly, it did. Some months ago I stopped making political posts and stuck to baby pictures and selfies. But it creeps in. A picture of Caroline in a (bi-partisan) election hat started flurry of passionate debate – by accident it seems (although I did tag it #imwithher). (#imstillwithher). That wans’t the only example. Being careful with what I posted on my own page probably deepened my resentment of the so-perceived “others”, rather than leading to discourse and learning.

So, it’s time for a break. I had thought about it before, but never managed to pull the trigger on deactivating my account. It makes me quite sad – there are so many people I am only in touch with through Facebook and I have enjoyed my friendships there. I have been to a wedding and had a marvelous friend come and stay with me because of it. I have reconnected with an old “sister” (“” because she is not family buy blood, just by love and experience). But I need a break. I seem unable to control my usage and use it only positively so Facebook is gone.

I’m sad that I have lost messenger as I deactivated Facebook, and I worry about lost friendships. But I am hoping that I can still connect with people here, and through emails and text messages. I’m not quite a hermit / dinosaur yet.

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The above is just a snapshot of what is going through my mind. It’s worth saying that I recognize:

*There were many reasons for voting for Trump other than “white disenfranchisement” to include for example, his pro-life stance, and his business acumen.

*I don’t hate Trump supporters. I don’t just “tolerate” them. I love many of them, and I recognize and understand their reasons for voting Trump where I have heard them. In the same breath, I don’t dismiss articles which say, for example, that racism can be just about actions as about beliefs and voting for an open racist with racist policies can be seen as a racist act. I have trouble reconciling a lot of this in my head.

*A lot of my decision just reflect a need to hide away from the ugliness in the world for a while. It’s not helpful, but I need to be able to distance myself.

*Many felt Hillary was just a truly non optional alternative. I loved her, but they saw entitlement, dishonesty, murder and warmongering. She lost a lot of her vote because of this.

*Many (the majority?) of people are able to use Facebook in an entirely constructive way. I am not one of them at their moment. You would probably be horrified if you knew quite how much time I spent on there. This is a personal decision that does not reflect what I think of Facebook and its users in general.

*The extreme right seem to be gaining traction all over the world (including Europe and Australia). This is a world patterns right now which probably has nothing to do with social media and everything to do with the fallout of several wars and economic depressions.

*At times I sounds like I am really beating myself up. I am very sad at the moment. It is hard to put into words what watching a man who was vocal racist, who said women should be punished for abortions, who promised to enact racist policies and undo some of the greatest social progress this country has seen in decades, and who has no political experience to temper his actions, what it has done to me to see this man be put in power. What it has done to me to see literal hate spewed forth and not only be legitimized but supported. If I played any part in this, if I even contributed to underlying movements that in some allowed this to gain momentum, if I was even prepresentative of the problem rather than part of it, I take that very seriously and will demand dramatic changes of myself. Change must happen. A man such as Trump much not be allowed to be the face of a Nation.

*Coming off Facebook is not the most helpful thing I can do. I know this. I have already been researching organizations and making lists of what I can feasibly contribute to, both financially and by giving my time or expertise, to counteract racism, and promote gender equality. Good will come of this.

When your baby won’t be a baby


I promised him I would treat her as my last. Even though nothing makes me as happy as “the babies” – from the big awesome responsibility of raising tiny humans to be moral beings, to the little every day tasks of bathing and feeding and drying between tiny toes – I promised him. I will make her my last. 


But how to do it? How to ignore that space in my heart? How to deal with the yearning to “do for” when my son says daily – multiple times daily – “but mummy, I can do it all by myself!”. Well, there is a way. I will nurture and spoil and baby and coddle this one. I’ll let her need me to I’ll do all the things for her and I’ll keep her out of fashionable skirts and in babygrows, and out of chairs and in bumbos and out of the playroom and in my arms. It’s the last time — I will savor her forever.


Ah, But Little Miss. Little Miss Caroline Grace who has outgrown her name and adopted the sassy CG does not want to be savored. Unlike her laid-back brother who lingered in each comfy stage she charges ahead. I should have known. When she upped and walked at 10 months… I should have known. When at 10 and a half months she grabbed the legs of her highchair and screaming tried to toss it over… I sat her at a regular chair in at the table with a booster seat for 3 years plus and I should have known. I should have known when I saw her holding her own in an argument against her brother who has three years on her… when he sloped away defeat I should have knon. When she put her own shoes on… when she grabbed the medicine syringe out of my hand and threw it across the room screaming “no”… when her bellows weren’t screams of sad anguish but those of cold, determined anger at any lack of control… I should have known.


I really should have known when at 12 months on the nose they moved her to the 17-24 month class. “No binkies! No bottles! No bare feet!” They said. Then quieter… “She’s doing so much better…” they said. 


She doesn’t want to be my baby. Well, she doesn’t want to be a baby, but she will have her cuddles and hold up her arms and snuggle in and be my baby. 


But… she doesn’t want to be a baby. She is fierce, and she fights for her independence. I know now. I know not to fight it. So when she told me for months that she hated cribs and she won’t be constrained in one, I should have listened. But I fight too, and she’s a baby and I know that babies go in cribs and so we stood yelling at each other until one of us gave in. And here she is… peacefully slumbering in a toddler bed. I lay her down, kissed her on the forehead and left. And there were no tears, she just picked up a teddy and went to sleep.


She is my last… but she will not be treatedas such, Adamantly, she will steam ahead and be first. She does not compromise and when it comes to what is best for her: she is not wrong.  And as we draw the battle lines and give each other steely eyes gazes across them, I recognize this – in too deep of a way – and I know where she gets it from.


And though my heart screams and I dig my heels in (and she digs hers in further) – May she keep trail blazing. May she keep lighting her eat into the future and we will all stand in her wake and look on and try to keep up. 


I have always taught myself what… but I suspect I will learn far more from this woman than I can even imagine. To be Caroline’s mother is, truly, to be blessed. 

Ellie’s story

ellieThis is post is hard to write because I am embarrassed and ashamed. But for some reason I want to tell this story.

I have never been a dog person. To be honest, my feelings towards dogs have always been between indifference and active dislike. Don’t get me wrong, I would be nice to dogs I met if I had to, but my feelings on dogs? Meh.


walt

And then Walter came into my life unexpectedly and beautifully. I was suffering from horrible depression as the side effect of a drug, and when I found Walter in an Alabama trailer park, I knew he was my solution. This post is not about Walt but trust me: he was a special dog. An old soul in a young body. A characterful snuggle bug. My running partner and my nighttime companion. My Halloween dinosaur.

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Two years after Walt found his forever home with us, he died very suddenly . I was upstairs sleeping in after several night feeds, and Wes screamed for me. To this day, we don’t know what happened, although since CPR was not able to inflate his chest we suspect he swallowed something. All I do know is that after a very difficult 2 years, life was finally starting to look good for me, and Walt left. He stayed with me when I needed him and when his work was done and I was good, he was gone.

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I then did the silliest thing possible; in a haze of grief I ran to the pound and rescued the first dog I liked (and there were plenty that I didn’t…)… And into our lives came Ellie. Ellie was different. She was bright and energetic and not brilliantly house broken… But her cardinal sin was that she wasn’t Walter. And so things started to slide.

Ellie’s life descent is tied up in so many issues. There is the issue that I felt that as a SAHD Wes’ job was to walk the dogs and he didn’t walk either – not even his own. I was resentful. Tjhere was the issue that I felt I couldn’t take Ellie out without taking Wes’ dog out (he would howl as Wes didn’t walk him) and I didn’t want to take him out. Because I didn’t want to do “Wes’ job” (aside: this is a terrible model of marriage. I’ve moved on from this somewhat). The issue that when Wes’ dog died he felt Ellie was going to stop him getting the dog he wanted… And that he never wanted Ellie anyway. There was the issue that Ellie has a slight incontinence problem so couldn’t come to bed with me and I resented her for that fact that neither she nor Wes came to bed with me and I was lonely. And the issue that she wasn’t Walter and Walter had left.

So we entered this terrible spiral where I neglected Ellie (emotionally – she was fed and watered), so she became more demanding and more naughty (pottying in the house etc) which irritated me, and made Wes really mad, and so I neglected her more… So she behaved worse, so I neglected her more and so on until I came home one day and Wes said “she has to go”.

And I was mad! Mad that he never got rid of his neglected dog (Earnest had health problems which Wes wouldn’t sort), mad that he wasn’t helping, mad at myself and suddenly aware of how much I like Ellie’s sweet nature, her unconditional love, her ability to forgive in an instant… All this. That she was loving and curious, and playful and a people pleaser. That her energy was enviable and inspiring. But it was too late.

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In the midst of several marital rows, I told this story to a friend who owns three dogs. Her response was to tell me that she wasn’t a dog person either but as soon as she got her first puppy, the second she saw him, she knew no one was ever ever coming between her and that dog. That was it. She would kill for him. And I decided: OK! I love my dog! No one is coming between us! Screw you husband!

So I stepped up the plate. I bought Ellie some decent food and some treats and some toys and a comfy crate for my car. I started walking her twice a day, except for Thursdays which are my crazy early and late days when she goes to doggie day  care. I was strict about crating her when I wasn’t around (so no poop in the house) but being with her when I was… She curls up on a bed by my desk, she curls up on my lap, she comes for car rides and she comes to bed occasionally with a doggie diaper on (not even kidding here folks).

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And she behaves well. She walks ‘loose leash’ beautifully now, she obeys (unless she really doesn’t want to go outside to potty when she does go to her crate), she rarely jumps up. And I fell (back) in love with my companion and things are working out.

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But something else magical happened. I began to feel better about myself… Finding time to walk a dog twice a day with a full taken job, a breastfed 7 month old and a toddler is in a city where my commute is an hour each way is no mean feat. But I did it. I made sure it happened. I weathered 90 degree heat and thunderstorms. I let go of having to leave the house at a set time, or go to bed at a set time (sadly, I have also currently let go of washing my hair more than weekly. OMG I can’t believe I admitted that) and relaxed and felt good that I could I achieve this.

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No matter the weather

No matter the weather

Even better, because Sam always wanted to come on the walk, and Caroline had to, I began to have 40 minutes a day with my kiddos! We ran, we played hide and seek, we went down slides and on swings and shared the task of holding El. And we loved it! If I offer Sam to drive to the park he says that no, he would rather walk. The nagging guilt that my kids are not outside enough is gone. The nagging guilt that I ignore them a bit is diminished (not gone, because let’s face it, I still use my iPhone at the park…). Ellie has made me feel better about myself and my family, brought me love and a little daily joy.

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I see Ellie now as she is. Sweet, and forgiving. Fun. I love her energy. I wish I had her capacity for loyalty and unconditional love. Her patience. Her companionship warms me.

I used to think that Walter came into my life when I needed him and left when I didn’t, but Ellie just happened. Now I know that she was there when I needed her, patiently waiting to heal parts of my life. She is just as much my guardian angel as Walter.

Ellie, I am so sorry. But this is your story.

Happy Easter!

Spoils from our Easter baskets

 

Happy Easter! It’s not been such a good one in the Frazier-Wood household. I have been sick for over 2 weeks. Last week I finally got antibiotics which removed my potential contagious status, allowing me to reenter society and not wallow in bed alone… but then the kids went down with the bug. Mostly in the middle of last night which is why I have huge dark circles under my eyes… yawn…

In a way therefore it was good that Wes had me cancel today’s plans for rest, but it also made me sad… Being so far away from home can be hard and I think holidays can be the hardest of all. Easter is so different in the states – no hot cross buns!! I missed them so this year. I was going to bake some and hand them out to unenlightened Yankee friends over here, but I didn’t feel well enough – nor did I think I should be baking for others when sick since I only got my antibiotics on Tuesday.

Easter basket for the littlest one

Easter basket for the littlest one

Then there is this whole Easter bunny malarkey which confuses me. The Easter bunny brings Easter baskets which are totally different to Christmas presents somehow (hint: they’re not) and crucially: NO EASTER EGGS. I mean, the bunny does bring Easter eggs but they are actual painted eggs: where is the fun in that? I needed my hollowed out egg filled with matching chocolates to be entirely consumed for breakfast. Although I did Easter ‘American style’ this year (whereas I British-up Christmas as much as possible) I did procure Sam a proper British easter egg imported from the motherland and am pleased to say that it was his favorite part of his Easter basket by far. Heh heh heh. Its in his DNA.

Sam and his Easter egg

So we spent the day watching movies with cuddles (Sam), reviewing grants, dispensing comfort and wiping snotty noses (me), crying inconsolably and snotting endlessly (Caroline) or hiding our healthy self away from the rest of the families contagion (Wes). All my friends’ pictures of food and fellowship have made me feel bereft today…

Ah well, there is always 4th July. Everyone knows Brits LOVE the 4th July😉

This is motherhood

IMG_5781*phone rings*

“Hey Mummy, I’m in the grey truck with Daddy. Have you made my Valentines cards?”

“Yes sweetie, Mummy made cards for your friends. They are at home. I made pretty bags and put a candy bar in each”.

“Oh Mummy! Thank you so much! I am so excited”.

And suddenly, there it was. It was all so worth it: the time spent hand making those little bags, the paper cuts and the missed sleep. The excitement and gratitude catching in my three year old’s voice… It was worth it.

This is motherhood.

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IMG_5911That is totally what I was going to write immediately after that ‘phone call at 5 pm.

At 6 pm, it was a different story. I came home stressed because there were more Valentine’s bags to make, since the class has – unbeknownst to me – increased in size recently. We came home, dinner needed tending, Caroline needed feeding, the bags needed finishing, and in the middle of all this Sam comes up to me and says “Can you go and find my Thomas pictures, please?”, since his Dad is curled up on the sofa feeling ‘cold’.

“Yes,” I snapped. “Because heaven forbid I do only THREE things at once for this family” I muttered as I stomped angrily upstairs leaving a bewildered three year old behind.

Let’s be honest, this too is motherhood. This is the second part after the Babble / Scary Mommy sickly ending that no one really writes about. Just keeping it real here.

This is motherhood.

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IMG_5998Now it is 9 pm. Caroline is fed and sleeping, the dinner was served, Wes put Sam to bed over an hour ago freeing me up to wash my hair, the Valentines bags are in the car, and I am drinking wine. Life is calm.

This too is motherhood.

 

 

 

January goals

 

goal setting and wine

I like to set my goals with wine

I ended up picking just 2 goals for January: keep doing what I need to do to give Caroline exclusive breastmilk (I don’t even know why this is important to me at this stage, but I picked it so there we go) and to get my family into a workable daily routine. Actually, giving my kiddos exclusive breastmilk from my non-maternal breasts is such a huge challenge that it needs a whole routine in itself, so these two dovetailed nicely.

Pumping in meetings academic mom

Pumping in meetings

The long and short of it is that yes: at the end of January I feel like I achieved my goals, if not the sub goals like “take Fridays as vacation” (I only managed one 1/2 day as vacation… Sob…). With breastfeeding I did not remember all those darn supplements and every glass of water but I did keep to a reasonably healthy diet, stay fairly well hydrated, get some Reglan and end up pumping an extra 4 oz a day while also breast feeding evenings and weekends. So, I am going to call that job done.

Houston sunrise

One benefit was beautiful sunrises

I also stuck to a hellacious family routine. Combining pumping and returning to a demanding job with Houston’s horrific traffic has meant that I am up at 5.30 every day and it is go, go, go from then: 5.30 feed Caroline, 5.45 get up and get three people out of the house and fed by 6.30. 7: Arrive at daycare, feed at leave in time to be pumping at 8my desk at . Pump at 10 for another FORTY minutes. Leave the office at 11.30 and feed Caroline driving to be back for 12.30 meetings. Pump at 2 for another faking 40-45 minutes. Leave work at 4, feed Caroline, drive home for 5.30. Make dinner. Eat dinner at 6. At 6.30 Feed and bath Carokine. At 7.15 Bath and bed Sam (<— one of my favorite times of day) to get him down for 8.15 (pardon my French but fuck those sleep consultants with their 15 minute nighttime routines. I swear they don’t have actual children, just cats or something). At 8.15: Sort out the milk for tomorrow, sort out dinner for tomorrow, pack car and pump again at 9. At 9.30 collapse in bed with this little bundle of gorgeousness sleeping beside me. Then do it all again in 8 hours time.

3 months old rock n play

My sleeping buddy

I’m sorry, cry me a river and all that, but isn’t that just exhausting to read? Is it just me? Am I emerging from some deeply sheltered and pampered life blinking angrily into reality? I don’t know but it seems like a crazy exhausting schedule to me, but it is all that works for us right now so do it we will (and it is only going to get easier as I pump less, kids get more independent yada yada yada).

In unrelated news: I also eat a lot of chocolate and drink a large glass of wine every night.

Anyway, the point is not to moan, but to say that slowing down, calming down, climbing down and focusing on just one thing – the daily routine – has been very interesting to me. It has allowed me to see how exhausting it can be and how much energy it needs. Last year, I would have been focusing on that and 20 other things and nothing would have got done properly and I would have been stressed. Just doing this – life – properly has been eye opening.

I have had meltdowns – huge meltdowns. I have got through the check-out at target and realized my wallet is at home (and got bailed out by an amazing friend!). I have needed my friends desperately (all of whom been wonderful). From my friends’ behavior towards me, I have learned how to actually help someone, not just want to help them. I would have failed utterly without Wes (howl – where is my independence?). I have thrown pity parties all for myself and had a little tantrum if it is mentioned that many people do this every day and many people have it worse than me. It’s been exhausting and humbling, so humbling. But so rewarding. It has been so nice to think “I should fix my postpartum figure” or “I need to get my stampin’ Up! Business going or “I really should write a blog post” and just think “No. Those are not my goals right now, right now I M just getting my family trough this transition”. It’s been freeing! And I feel like I have achieved something! I feel good.

I am also amazed that I haven’t completely given up on future goals: we’ve cooked at home all but 2 meals a week, the house has been liveable, I have made some cards, I have seen friends, I have lost 1 lb… All these little things have just meandered along at a snail’s pace. I am also amazed at how relaxed about them I can be when I have a focus and when I give myself permission just to go with the flow.

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At work! Success collecting baby pee.

I have started to adopt this at work too – just focussing on one thing and trusting that everything else will get done adequately. I have focussed on my main twin study, and the second grant to find that. I got the grant in (Friday!) and am pleased with it. This month I am focussing on my twin papers, and saying ‘no’ to things that don’t align with that goal. Whether that works for not I will let you know – academia seems a separate beast to personal life.

3 year old happy

My happy

Amazingly, I have been so happy this month. So, so happy. Busy Lekki = happy Lekki, and my children delight me daily. I have realized that for now, building my family and getting the home right is my joy. I have felt a deep contentment and peace (I have also been renewing my relationship with God which has helped). I have felt supported and surrounded by so much love and friendship and understanding. And I have felt so lucky! Tears and grumpiness and meltdowns not withstanding, I have felt gloriously like I am where I am supposed to be, doing what I am supposed to be doing.

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Goal setting with tea and biscuits (and Emma Bridgewater) not wine.

For February… I am not so sure. Probably more of the same: get through the month with home cooked meals (not thinking about actual nutrition right now), and no late starts, and with feeding Caroline breast milk). I feel like I need one thing to add onto this base, but something small (like, being presentable at work would not be an option right now – as I sat in my oversized hoodie, maternity pants and glasses, my co-worker commented that I looked ‘depressed’). Maybe staying on top of our finances – that’s something that I need to get back to. Or building a family recipe book. Or doing craft activities with Sam (not sure if that is for him or me.. probably walking with Sam would be better for him). I’ll pick something and let you know.

Did you set any goals for January? Make progress on your New Year’s Resolution(s)? How do you stay on track?