A portrait of my children once a week, for the whole year.


13-52 (2)

Eva: He is her poet and she is his poetry.

Xavier: Most days, I don’t even know what we talk about.  I just listen to him and the sound of his voice, and of him listening to me.

These three are mine.

This week we had a taste of Autumn.  It rained and rained.  Then the sun came out and we drank of the last drops of summer just as one furiously slurps the last drops of the milkshake through the straw.

I won’t lie.

This week has been tough.  And long.  And I’m so exhausted.  And glad its done.

It started Friday before last with the 3.5 year old and his leg that didn’t work anymore.  I have no idea what he did to it but he maintained his injury and absolutely could not walk for two days.  I believe that he hurt it, but lugging a 16 kg little boy around for two days…well, I was the model mummy and I was patient and kind and…that lasted two days.  Then the three of them decided to hold a vom-a-thon.  And all the kind heartedness drained from my body fast.  I hate illness.  Its like having life thrust me in the side with a dagger all the while saying, all your probiotics, your sugar boycott, your “healthy” living…yeah…take that!  And that!  And I’ll take it all with a bowl of ice cream and about four blocks of chocolate and (insert number here) cups of coffee…and wine.  Thank you very much germs.

Its fair trade chocolate and coffee.  At least that’s how I’m justifying my avid consumption.

Forgive me but I’m a wee bit tired.  At 4am, after I’ve been up every 45 minutes (have I actually been asleep?) its an empty void that my mind wanders to…not that I want to give up or get out…I just want to sleep…alone…or to shower…alone…without out jumping out every 5 minutes because I’m sure I hear someone crying.  Or at least I am thinking, I’d handle this so much better if, we owned our own home, or Jason had a job that paid a reasonable wage, or I could afford the pieces of furniture I want so I could actually organise and arrange my house the way I want…or…or…its a slippery downward slope and usually makes no sense at all.

But then…I read the news (in 2 minute intervals whilst hiding in the toilet throughout the day.  Or way, way too late in the evening when the babies are finally asleep and the only reason I am awake is find some solitude).  I read about villages of children who may not eat because churches can’t agree.  And baby killers that go free because “woman need the right to choose”.   Another boat of people that has gone down because people would rather risk their lives for a small possibility of a better life than go back to what they came from.

And then I pray.  I do not always remember to pray.  But when I do, I pray for my children.  I pray that they will be the ones to grow up to live justly, love mercy, and walk humbly.  I pray that the kingdom of God will come.  First in my heart.  Then in their small hearts.  Then in the world.

And I remind myself that tomorrow is another day.  And there is coffee waiting.  And I will get through this…and that my husband owes me big time for sleeping through the three year old vomiting right next to him in our bed.  God help Jason if Jesus ever returns during the night…

13-52 (1)