No room for mediocre. Deon V Hunt.

I have one sentence to describe giving birth to Deon "I don't want to."
I now knew what childbirth felt like. I knew what was in store and was not up for it. If I had been clever, I should have asked for a cesarean, but I didn't, I didn't even ask for an epidural. I suffered it, and repeated that sentence maybe a good 20 times. John eventually said to me "well you don't have a choice, shes coming!". Even as she was coming out I was still saying " I cant, I don't want to". Denial is a very silly thing!
After finally weaning Kalara, which was a major victory for me, I found myself pregnant.. again. I was almost 21 and had other ideas for my 21st than dinner at Tony's in Henderson. I was not happy with myself at all, I had planned to go to Uni and get myself a career, John and I were having fun times still figuring out how to put being parents  before ourselves, but here we were preparing for baby number two.
She was born on June the 11th 2001. That day was a Sunday, and for some stupid reason, even though I knew I was going into labor, I went to church. I was asked to stand up during the Sacrament meeting and upon standing, I had a major contraction. I must have looked like an idiot, wincing in pain, but still trying to maintain composure. After sacrament we are walking out of the chapel, saying good bye to friends "where are you going?" "I'm going to have a baby!", they laughed and thought I was joking. I wasn't.
We dropped Kalara off to my parents place and went home to wait for things to move along. Evening comes and we get visitors and I'm trying to signal to John ... get them outta here! I'm trying to gracefully remove my self from the couch and as soon as I make it to my room, my waters break and the longest and worst contraction came with it. John comes to check on me, and I tell him we are going to the hospital now and to say goodbye to friends, I couldn't care if they stayed there in my house, but we were leaving!
The "I don't want to" moaning started there. From the time we left home to her arrival was only about 40 minutes. I cant believe that I actually was such a baby about it, at one point the midwife just glared at me, I know she wanted to tell me to shut up. lol. there was no time for meds or even the gas, she came too fast.
As soon as she was born I was fine, completely oblivious to the drama queen that had come out during labour. Pain does terrible things to people, especially this person. We were home within 24 hours. I hate hospitals and since I seemed to have come out of this still alive, I wanted to go home.

Deon Vana Hunt. We had made a list of names via the alphabet. One name for each letter, then selected our favourite. She hates that she has a boys name. Too many people comment on it, thinking I named her after Dionne Warwick. Sorry Deon, It was just bad luck we liked that name on that day! Vana is after Johns good friend Silvana Talamaivao. Though I'm sad to say Deon cannot remember her at all. A truly great lady who knew how to hassle and mock my hubby like no other. One day when we get our butts back to Nz, she will be on our first to visit list.

Deon was different to Kalara, she was fair skinned, but still with the dark hair just not so much of it. She was chubby and cheeky. Always playing in the mud or eating grass. Lara didn't like being dirty, Deon loved it. She has always been fussy though, rough and tumble outside but she used to line up all the shoes in order, then get annoyed if a shoe was missing, line her raisins up and eat them one by one, and yes, if you gave her a packet of m&ms, she would split them into colours. The same with her toys, all lined up from biggest to smallest and good luck to Kalara if she messed it up. Today she is still the same, hair needs to be perfect, all school work in order. She hates chaos and thrives when things are in order, but she still loves to be outside, always doing something. (something usually includes the most expensive extra curricular activities, or baking the most complicated recipe everrr)
This year she is in her last year of primary, year 7. She is also the girls School Captain . We are so proud of her, she doesn't take no for an answer and truly gives her best in everything she does. She worries me the most too. When I say she doesn't take no for an answer, that is slowing starting to apply to me. To be honest I'm kinda scared of her ambition. The thought of having to support her and be her advocate is scary, who knows what trouble this kid is going to get into. Kalara has always been quite self sufficient, happy to join everything she wants , but usually gets herself there and doesn't beg for me to come watch.. That may have something to do with sideline yelling.. but you get my drift. Deon is all about parental support.. mum you need to... mum we are going to be late.. daddy can you please take me.....(and daddy always takes her too).
She has a way about her, always smooching up to her uncles, she always gets penned as the favorite, much to her sisters disgust. Always eager and ready to go.. should somebody put shoes on to leave the house, she has mastered the art of sneaking into the car and coming home with a treat for herself.
She is my responsible one, my little memory card, reminding me of all the things that I need to purchase, pay for or sign. If it wasn't for her, half the kids school stuff would go forgotten, come to think of it, I would probably forget a child or two at a park or shopping center if she wasn't there to pull me back into reality.
I love this girl, I admire her, she has qualities that as an adult, I still don't possess (which I wont list). Everyday she teaches me something new. I've had to relearn Algebra, so I could help her out with homework, she forces me to bake something different should a Saturday afternoon get boring. She makes me walk around the block when she can see I'm getting the grumps. Sometimes the best reflection of yourself is in your kids. I don't mean that to gloat, I mean it as in, she makes me reflect and improve who I am and what I need to be doing. you could say that I am actually scared of failing her. There are things I want for her, that I need to provide, and I am finding that scary. I find lots of little notes to my self around the house, 90% of them include things that I must remember to do for Deon.
She recently secured a scholarship at the local High School for years 8 and 9, it is called the EXCITE program. Its an excellence program covering all basic subjects, which also means 2 hours of homework every night, she also got into a Sports Excellence program in Touch Rugby. So I'm thinking that for the rest of this year, we will be relaxing a bit, next year it seems will be a true test for her and for me. I'm not looking forward to it, but I am looking forward to watching her grow and achieve as much as she can.
Mediocre is a funny word. It means ordinary, neither good nor bad. It also means 'of middle height'. I suppose you could say, that it is not something I want for my kids. the mediocre. I'm not really satisfied with mediocre things. Not when you know that they are capable of superior and great things. Catch 22 , As the parent, I have to leave mediocrity behind and stop being of middle height. and there lies my fears, can I live up to my children's expectations, can I live up to my own expectations?
I am sure I will muddle through it, as I have up until now and will keep doing. I'm grateful to have family that support my kids to no end, both sides of our family, they love them just as much as I do. And to have a John. A John that has my back, even if I'm wrong, and still loves me when I'm wrong (p.s I am always wrong.)

As for Deon. I'm praying that she will manage all the work ahead and do it with a smile. I know I will be struggling to smile while keeping the other 6 kids quiet so she can study, you know the saying goes, you reap what you sow.  So let the sowing begin because I need to reap some rewards!
Happy weekend xxxxx

Tell me

"Tell me." My son says to me, "Tell me mum, tell me what it was like in the old days."

I had to stop right there, rewind a bit, and tell myself to breathe.

Since when was my life an ancient one? since when did my childhood require a good 5 minutes to remember the details or be so long ago that its referred to as the "olden days". 

Did I get old. Am I Old?? I'm laughing, but not really, just a fake laugh to soothe the 'crap I am old' thought that just entered my head. I look at Levi and explain to him that the good old days are Pre 1980. I make the cut because I was born in 1980. Sorry to John who was born in 1978. hahaha. you are old hun. 

I am not old. I am 33. that's young isn't it? I feel young, I know I don't look young, but I've never cared for what other people think, so in my head and my space, I'm still young. I still listen to cool music and get excited when I get my hands on a new album. I'm down, I'm hip. And then again, if you use the words, cool, down and hip, then maybe you are old.

I will say that I'm not old ......fashioned. I may be ageing gracefully (not) and trying to reverse all the effects of child birth, late nights and bad food, but I still know whats cool. At least I think I do.

Cool things for me include. Clean house. Clean children. Quiet children. Quiet husband. Pinterest. Oh dear.

Actually anything clean and everything quiet fits into my cool zone. Maybe that's more in the 'I wish' zone. 

Start again. 

I know whats not cool.

A conversation with the 14 year old and within maybe 30 seconds of her explanation of her day, she has said the word 'like' a good 20 times. That's not cool. that's just annoying. 

Talk to Deon, 30 seconds with her and she has told me that I need to fix my hair, there is no food (to her liking) and that she need new runners because her friends got new ones. You know the Nike free runs 5.0. That's not cool either. 

Things like the word SWAG. Do not use the word swag. First of all it is a stupid word, second of all, what the hell does it mean anyway. Oh you got swag, because your pants hit the floor or your skinny jeans make you look like your gonna cry from the extreme tightness. Sorry to all the people I know that rock skinny jeans, I'm talking about the extreme skinny. Like, you may as well have worn your sisters tights today, kind of skinny. 

Jeggings are not cool, they are ugly. They are just a more stupid version of the extremely skinny jeans. Lol. 

Rude people, nosey people and judgy judgy people. they aren't cool either. 

My hair is not cool. Yes I still have curls that refuse to cooperate with me on a daily basis.

Sugar is not cool. My recent war against sugar is turning into a slight obsession. Whilst I'm still to master the art of eliminating it, reading and understanding what sugar does to your body. very uncool! 

okay maybe only old people rave about health issues.

Anyway, since when did your age affect how cool you were. Stop worrying, its not till your children tell you that you're not cool that you need to worry. That hasn't happened to me yet. YET. They have told me that I'm not funny, "no mum you're not funny." But I am funny, I'm sure of it. Don't they know humor comes with age! 

I think that when you start turning the music down because its too loud and cringe at teenagers clothing, you might be getting older. Older is a better word. I am getting older.. therefore I must be getting wiser. That would be the concept. Good concept, if it were true. I have learnt from my mistakes, taken trials turned them into triumphs, but I am still none the wiser. I still leave my wallet at the supermarket, I still cant read a map, even when I've studied it and think I have it sussed, on the road, you can guarantee I'll point you in the wrong direction. I left my youngest child at my sisters house one day, packed the kids in the car and we drove off, only to hear Riley ask why Fellyn wasn't in her car seat! You can prob put that down to too many kids. I'll cop that one. OR when a lady driving past stopped me and my daughter and asked for directions to the police station, I confidently pointed to the left and explained where to go only to turn around to my daughter shaking her head "No mum you just sent her to the Fire station" safe to say we were rolling around on the street laughing, till we saw her car again and quickly ran away. Trust me I have plenty of stories like this.

On a serious note... the older I get, the more I am able to look back and laugh (or cry), sometimes I look back at my life and just shake my head. at least now that I am OLD, I have a few more skill sets to help me deal with those shake your head moments. At least with age comes experience. I have experienced a lot of dumb stuff and a lot of good stuff, all the stuff combines together to make me who I am, what I know and gives me the leverage I need to instruct and teach my kids. I realised the other day that Lara was going to be 15 next year, I said this out loud to John on a drive home, I also said to him "Do you know what I was getting up to when I was 15?" He just nodded and said, "lucky shes not like you." That's for sure, and its because of my experience and AGE that I can steer her in the right direction. something Ill be doing for long time to come.

Tell me that the ageing process will be kind to me. Tell me that growing older will grant me more wisdom and less durrr moments. Tell me that my kids will love me regardless of my uncool and old fashioned ways.

Tell me, my son asked me. I think I will just tell him, that yes I am old, I lived in the 'olden' days and I have plenty of stories for you. So next time Levi asks me about those 'days of old', I may be able to give him the answer he wants instead of trying to weasel out of it. 

Cheers to my friends out there, because if I'm old, then you guys are too! LOVE YA!

Homemade Muesli Bars

Im sick of buying muesli bars for my kids. If I think about it, the only reason why I buy them is to fill up their lunch box. Look at the the sugar content of your run of the mill muesli bar, and you might as well pack a few tablespoons of sugar into their lunch box.
So I remembered my mother making muesli bars, as well as breakfast muesli. We dug up her old recipe in the infamous, cocoa/flour/butter/oil covered recipe book, and gave it a go.

So this is the paper recipe

 But this is what we ended up doing (based on what was in the cupboard and what we like)

1 cup coconut
2cups wholegrain oats

Toasted them separately, then let cool down. Then we added.......

1 bag of mixed nuts (500g)  (had raisins, sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds, almonds, cashew, peanut and brazil nuts)
1/2 bag apricots. chopped up.
handful of cranberries
2 cups of cornflakes

Then we made the glue that sticks.

1 cup peanut butter
1/2 cup honey
1/2 cup butter
1/2 brown sugar

Melt this in saucepan and bring to a slow boil, dont let it burn, so dont walk away and play on facebook because it'll burn. lol.

So just add the sticky stuff to the dry stuff, mix it up well and press it all down into a dish. precut it before you refridgerate as it gets quite hard.
chuck it in the fridge for about an hour so it sets well. If you have a few kids this will last a weeks school lunches. If you have seven kids like me, maybe two days, if the adults keep their mits off it!

the best thing about this is its homemade, still has sugar in it, but not loads and not over processed either. You can chuck in what you want, some choc chips, dried fruit that you like. I was tempted to put in some LSA(linseed,sunflower,almond) mix, but I didnt, I'll fool them into liking it this time and next time ill nab them with the good stuff!
Check out Mama Schwencke's recipe book from the 80's. most recipes you actually cant even see, It's covered in baking love!  I've typed them out plenty of times, but still pull it out when we bake, just for comforts sake :)

Me and John + One

Friends often ask me about my pregnancies/deliveries. Seems like I should have this birthing thing down pat. When in reality, the more children I had, the more horrific the birthing got. I struggle to remember all the details from each birth. The more I think about those experiences, the more I'm  remembering. Those first few days with your newborn is something that should be greatly treasured. Never will they be that small again, so new and pure, relying on you for all necessities of life. Having a new little spirit around the home is probably my favourite part of having a child. Don't worry it quickly turns to endless nights, sore boobs and undone housework, but watching a newborn child sleep, first smile, first eye contact, they are all truly special moments. My first child was born 3 months after my wedding to John, and in my 19th year of life. I was young ... and selfish and naive and emotional. ha. Lets say I was not ready for the demands that a baby brings, but I muddled through it thanks to a few great friends, my mother and of course John was always there to hold the baby while holding the playstation control, a technique that is highly commendable, and something that he can still do to this day. Picture Fellyn who is now two slipping her head under the playstation control so she can sit with her dad, and so politely get in the way.

So I'll start with her. My eldest child. I'll try not to ramble but in this case I think I might have to!

14th of May, 1999, Kalara Lee was born around 11:45am, to a 19 year old mother who had carried her around for 2 weeks longer than she'd wanted to and was quite possibly the grumpiest person in West Auckland. I had a feeling that she was going to arrive the night before, so I packed a few more things into my bag and went to sleep. I woke up around 5am to my waters breaking, panicking ringing the midwife only to be told to stay home till my contractions were closer together. So we stayed up, John turned his playstation on and I sat in bed just waiting, breathing through my contractions. Picture my hubbys head popping into the door frame, "Are you alright hun?" Playstation control still firmly gripped. He quickly became my least favourite person.
I remember waiting by the door at Waitakere hospital for somebody to open it up so we could get in, I remember John guiding me through the doors, I being calm but was very nervous, all I wanted to hear was that wooshing noise of her heart beating. Sometimes when you read a little too much on giving birth, you end up thinking the worst of everything. As my contractions progressed, my midwife started talking about going into the water. All I could think of was a stupid birthing video I had watched with a mother in a pool in her home, completely naked and way to composed for childbirth. "It's okay you can keep your top on" she told me, and I replied.."can i keep my pants on too?" (I did say I was naive). So I had Kalara in the water, the water seemed to take all the pain from my lower back away, plus once I was in the bath there was no way I was getting out.
She was so long and hairy, it sounds like a funny description but all I could see was this head of black hair.
9 pounds and 4 ounces, she was a big baby. We didn't know she was going to be a girl, but I smiled as soon as they told me.

During labour I had only had the gas, but I couldn't get the rhythm of it, always going for it when the contractions were peaking instead of beforehand, then id be all out of it when I should have been recovering. John did so good, holding my hand, even though I'm sure he wished he had never offered it in the first place. he cut the cord, poor nurse though who put her finger in the wrong place, John cut her finger too. hahaha. I remember being surprised that the breathing techniques actually worked. I also remember my midwife and mother playing around with the placenta like I couldn't see them right on front of me, and thinking to myself, old people have no shame. haha. sorry mum. Having mum at Kalaras birth seemed to stress her out, seeing her daughter in pain didn't go down with my mumma, and I could hear her harassing the midwives,"give her something!!" and she wonders why she was never allowed into the delivery room after that.
The best feeling  in the world is the moment that the baby is OUT. I never thought I could be so grateful to have pain end, then couple that with a little girl that now belonged to me, but my disapointment when everyone said "She looks like her dad!!!
I dont know why but I had thoughts of having a blonde baby with my eyes, but no all my children look like their Dad. Good looking polynesian kids that dont look anything like me! I cant complain, cant be helped that their Dad is so incredibly good looking. Although I remember having to defend my motherhood once when somebody asked me if I had adopted an Indian baby. :)
I remember holding her for the first time and thinking what the heck am I supposed to do now?
The nurse or midwife was trying to get me to give her the breast but I think I was still in shock from delivering her. I tried to, but soon got very tired and dizzy. I had lost so much blood, my blood pressure plummeted and I passed out while the midwife was trying to take my blood pressure, which led to being put on oxygen and some fluid via drip. I was okay after something to eat and drink, I remember being annoyed at having to share a room, I obviously still thought I was a princess. Our first night together was nice, she only fussed a little and I think I spent most of the night holding her and just looking at her. My baby girl.

Turned out my great grandmother had been admitted to Waitakere Hospital, so once I was able to, I bundled up Kalara and walked over to see her. She loved holding her, this little brown baby with jet black hair. Her first Great Granddaughter. 4 months later Grandma Davy passed away at the age of 104. Somewhere I have a 5 generation photo and it is greatly treasured. I'll always remember the thin skin on her arms, bruised and so delicate, compared to Kalaras new born skin. She said to me that day. "You are so lucky Leilani, to be young and have babies. have lots of babies, you wont regret it.". She could quite possibly be the only family member that has encouraged me to have more.

I could tell you alot about Kalara,  She had reflux, so sleeping was something that we struggled with, she also liked to vomit all over the place, which is really annoying when you breastfeed, you cant just replenish on demand because the baby just threw it all up. Thats liquid gold your dealing with kid! We used to pop her into the car just so we could get her to sleep, she loved the hum of the car, it just used to put her out straight away. Follow that with disapointment when she would open her eyes as soon as the car stopped.
She was so clever as a toddler, a caring big sister to Deon and just a really great kid. She was my rock, although now I know children aren't really meant to be support for adults, but at that time in my life, she was my focus, and she allowed me to grow into a mother and wife, (like dragging bricks around I was kinda reluctant to take on those titles. Comes with being 19) and she was definitely our trial and error baby. Poor first children of this world, get to suffer through new parents and all their insecurities, and errors!!

Now she is 14, and from the hundreds of selfies that I find on my laptop to the latest song being played over and over again, I wouldn't change her for a million bucks, nor would I change the teenage pregnancy. Sometimes in life things happen that truly are blessings in disguise. Where I would be with out her or John, I cringe to think.

This picture is of my Grandma Davy holding Kalara who is 2 days old.

Saturdays

When I was a kid, I always looked forward to Saturdays. Sleep in, torture my siblings and annoy the olds. Now I spend my Saturdays trying to keep my skids occupied, as far away from me as possible and spend as little money as you can (with seven kids). All the times I would refuse to clean my room, do my weekly job of cleaning the bathroom. My mother is probably smirking behind closed doors as I spend my Saturday doing exactly what she used to do.
You could say Karma was a bitch, but now I'm convinced that she just may be called Saturday.

Saturdays as an adult consists of constant talking, reasoning, explaining and unfortunately, yelling.
Every Saturday morning I'll let the kids hang out till about 9am, lounge in their pyjamas, have a second breakfast. But after 9am, it's clean up time, all the stuff that I didn't get to do during the week, I now make the kids do. They all have their jobs, bathrooms, bedrooms, floors, uniforms down, bags unpacked. If my kids are clever, we can knock this out in an hour maybe two. but if its Saturday like yesterday. Forever doesn't describe the slow motion torture that was our Saturday morning.

Different to my normal 6am wake up to get the kids on their bus by 7am. On Saturday, I get to sleep in to 6:15am. super stoked. Cue the arguments that followed over Taylor taking too long with sugar, the spilt milk and the one kid who wants to have pancakes, and proceeds to ask 500 times even though she has already got her answer. and yes it was Riley.
So the tv goes off at 9am, usually followed by the predicted moans and groans, how hard their life is and how mean their mother is. I love how we do the same thing every Saturday. If common sense prevailed then maybe they would get up and do all this on their own, but that would be too helpful says my friend karma.

As a kid my mother would always threaten us with the wooden spoon, especially when she was trying to get us to clean, I don't recall actually getting hit with it, but I remember it just being waved about in the air, by a frustrated mother wanting her children to obey! My threat is Dad. "Ill tell your Dad!!" "Do you want to sit with Dad instead??" I love how John just has to say something once and they are on the move, furiously doing what they've been told, no chat back, no stomping of feet, no "ohh but...." Shake my head you kids make me look bad. I'm always complaining about how you don't listen.
Funny how we were the same with our father, poor mum would ask and ask and then Dad walks in. oh jobs done. scared. haha.

After dragging their feet forever, jobs are half done, lounge and kitchen are clean, so it was shoes on, pack a bag and walk to the park. Love that we have a brand new Library just down the road, comes with a pool and a kids park right next door. I love walking with the kids, we can talk and laugh and I can stop being grumpy mummy. Taylor likes to play eye spy on the way there. She is a funny five year old. "I spy with my little eye something beginning with B". Of course noone gets is right. "B for Bath" she says."You know we're walking on the bath". I think she has been watching too much Laughing with Samoans.
Number one and two are conveniently missing, always making sure their Saturdays are consumed with their friends and better fun than I can offer. leaving me with 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7. No big girls to give me hand may have been a good indicator to stay home.

I figured a morning at the library and park should tire them out, but after getting dodgy looks from the librarian due my kids making tunnels out of the new circular seating they have, and the man trying to do some study throwing his hands up in the air, (he actually 'threw' his hands UP!!)  I could see that today was going to be longer than usual. Outside to the park, we spend an hour playing, I spend most of the time apologising to other parents for my twins hogging the slide and Fellyn throwing bark at other kids, I saved a little girl who had climbed up the rope web thing and was stuck, just as she was about to fall off I caught her with one hand, funny we stared at each other for about 10 seconds afterwards before she started crying. bloody stress me out. tell your mum to come and watch you. lol.

HH finally arrives to rescue me from the overcrowded park. Plus I was feeling a bit under dressed with my shorts and tshirt. next week ill remember to wear my designer jeans and see through top. bleh.
Lunch and a harsh warning to the kids, this afternoon was going to be nice and quiet, you have books and cards, choice of any movie, draw, make a mess I don't care just keep it quiet. As I shut my door to have a rest, the volume of talking automatically rises. Its like a volume knob, my bedroom door, open it and they are quiet, start to close it and the volume increases. I try to ignore them, hoping they remember earlier instructions. yeah right. sometimes you just have to laugh, I would spend a fair part of my day angry if I didnt laugh at my kids. Just like the noisy bird that squawks in the morning (Australian birds drive me nuts) what starts as a quiet chirp soon turns into a full volume bleating. My kids seem to have the same tendencies to build their conversations up from nice quiet talking to full yelling and eventually someone crying.

I'm making a promise to my children, when they have moved out and have their own lives, I promise to turn up on Saturday mornings, to say their names over and over again till they answer the door. I promise to tell on John and all the mean things he does to me and how they have to fix it. I promise that I will be your Karma. Whatever, I will be in bed enjoying my Saturdays and you all will rock up with the grandkids. How do I know, because thats what I did to my Mum, and since Karma is making a nice appearance in my life, im learning to anticipate anything that I may have thrown at my parents. (BAR the teenage pregnancy, drug use and boyfriends) LOL.

My Lara Bear

 

 

 

My girl. My first born. My learning curve, that is still curving. She has been my Koala bear since she was the baby that wouldn't sleep at night and just cried allll the time. (Ask Moira Neho, she endured that with me!) That may have been because I was only 19 and didn't know what the heck I was doing with a baby. She is now 13, turning 14 in May, and she is still my baby. Kalara Lee Hunt. From the second we said her name, she smiled, and shes still smiles. Till today. Today out of nowhere we started talking about bullying, and tears well up in her eyes. She is like her mother, cries in an instant when the raw nerve is touched. With a little encouragement, she talks about people at her school that hassle her. people who call her names, tease her, mock her. my blood is boiling. I am trying to remain calm, talk calmly, ask the right questions, but all I want to know who they are and where do they live. My heart breaks for her, for her confidence to be attacked, for her heritage to be mocked and for her friends who have been going through the same thing.
Kalara says to me that its not that bad, only sometimes or some days. But even once is too much.
She tells me about a conversation with her friend, who wants to go home because in NZ you're not teased for being brown, being brown is pretty cool. So we talk about changing schools, and I'm reluctant to offer that. She is in a good school, or so i thought, academically it is a great school, but I'm wondering if the school harbours this culture. Where brown kids are considered to be less important, or are targets for stupid teenagers.

Kalara has always had a strong spirit, she is the eldest of seven and is just as responsible as you would expect of her. She plays all the sports, sings all the time, joins all the nerdy clubs, loves church and has an awesome group of friends, which mainly consist of kiwi kids. Till today I've looked at her and always been happy with how things are going with her. Now I am a worried mess. What do I do? Do I change her school, does that mean that we have let them win?? Do I make a fuss with the principle and embarrass her? Pull these kids out and berate them, knowing that they would just retaliate and probably harass her further.
My letter to the principle is written and ready to send. I suppose we will wait and see how this next term goes, but I am armed and ready for war.(verbally that is, no machetes here) Every line has been carefully repeated in my head, I'm laughing now at the imaginary conversations with her principle in my head.
You would think these kids would know that if Lara is Polynesian, maybe she has Polynesian parents... they obviously don't know the repercussions of that fact.

So this is how we got to the hair cutting. I was brushing her hair and said that she should cut it short, then she started to tear up, I was taken aback a bit and quickly said that we did not have to do that. She tells me that the only reason why she doesn't want to go short is because she will get 'paid out' at school. Being old and all she had to explain that being 'paid out' means being mocked and teased. It means being bullied.
So we talk about bullying, about what has happened to her, and it goes back to last year. I'm slightly shocked and annoyed at her for not letting me know, but still just surprised at the extent of it all. she wont name the people or repeat the names shes been called, but I know. I know the words, I could tell that if she repeated the words to me, that I would cry too.

Then my girl looks at me, as if she has drawn strength from somewhere and says "lets do it". after several "are you sure?'' and a few google searches of what she wanted, I have shaved half her hair off and she is now looking a little like Cassie and loving it. She says that she can handle it. She tells me about a girl at school whos father has leukemia and she wanted to shave her head in support of her father on 'Worlds greatest shave" but her mother wouldn't let her because she was scared she would get teased at school. Lara is certain that when school starts she will be proud to be a bit different and the people who want to tease can do so without effect on her. So she is sticking a finger to the bullies. And I support her 100%.

We live in a country where being called an Abbo is a derogatory remark, that kind of says it all for me. In Laras first week at school, she was called an Abbo, like that was something bad or something to be ashamed of. I told her to tell them that she is Samoan, and maybe explain just what a Samoan is.
But what if she was an Aborigine, would that make her less of a person, does that mean that she is worth less?
I have always noticed the slight racism here in Australia, I've always ignored it and carried on, it has not affected me personally because I am fair skinned. My husband has had people stand rather than sit next him on the train, but I tell him that's just because he's scary. Majority of people down here on the Gold Coast are lovely and embrace kiwis as their brothers, just not when the All Blacks are playing. We have many 'palagi' friends, my kids love their Aussie mates, its only a few that ruin it for us. I suppose it doesnt matter what coutry you live in , racism can be found everywhere, Im just sad that this is something that my kids might have to deal with purely because they are brown.

Maybe I can get a little closer to my girl, today has definitely made me realise how much she doesn't tell me, how much she has bore on her own. It has also shown me how strong and resilient my baby is. I am proud of her. I always have been proud, today I am so proud of her defiance. I love it, I love that she made this choice on her own and will own it. As long as that defiance doesn't reach her parents (crosses fingers) I know that the hair will grow back, and one day she will look back and laugh at the heroics of it all. I'm just hoping for the rest of her High School journey to be as painless as possible. Hoping.

 They say to let children experience pain, emotional and physical, as it teaches them to be more robust. I would wrap my kids in cotton wool if I could, that would give me great satisfaction, but in the real world, where real people live, they will have to learn how to deal with bullies, There will always be that crass idiot and the b**ch that doesn't leave you alone, Mama cant always be there to fight every fight (she would love to though). So I'm hoping that while this is hard for me, to let her fight her battles her way, she will figure out a way to be happy and successful in everything she does.

Now I just need to go back and delete all the swear words and unnessessary rants.
Time for a chill pill, a sleep, and a refocus on whats important. Easter weekend my friends, enjoy the family time, and sorry for the sad post. LOVE to you all xxxxx

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 





Patience

I have this fear. My children only remembering the worst of me. My grumpy days, the lost temper, the angry face or that argument with dad. While these are usually few and far between, sometimes they can all occur on the same day.. maybe even within the hour!
You try your best to provide the best environment for your kids, but sometimes 'eff it' does not mean 'effort'. It means leave me alone till my head has healed and I can think like a normal person again.
It can just be something like too noisy. too messy and too naughty. this is what a kid is isn't it? This is what they are made of, noise, food, play, mess. It's what my kids consist of, and this is all good with me, when it is contained. You could say we have containment issues. You know like on border control, I feel like walking around with a red light going off, telling my kids they have breached the border, time to go back.
I think what I'm struggling with this last month is boundaries. My own boundaries. where do I set them, am I supposed to be grumpy and yell all the time just so they will listen. we have charts and reward systems, my kids know what they are supposed to be doing, I know I've drilled it into them. but that's just it. I don't want to be drill master. I want to have fun too, I want to play handball instead of cooking dinner or play outside instead of mopping the floors...again.
 Last week Riley brought home a letter from school, stating that it was Easter parade time again, and I (being her mother) am to make her an Easter hat. I usually pike out and just send her with bunny ears, but she said to me "mum can we actually make a hat this year?" I said no. If I make one hat then I'll have to make Four. No thanks. But she was still asking me everyday, till last night I raised my voice at her, telling her to leave it alone. She had her answer. That one lil tear that rolled. No noise from her for the rest of the night (unusual) and just the sulky face. bad mummy. Today I brought all the stuff to make an Easter hat. Not that I know what that really looks like, I'm sure riley will know. That feeling like your always playing catch up. Forever forgetting things, or refusing to do something then having to deal with the guilt of knowing that you didn't really have a good reason why you cant. I lie in bed at night and cringe at all the things I should've done or forgot to do. Its like a revolving slide show for 'this is your life'. All your failures.
Don't worry, I'm okay, most of my decisions regarding the kids are fair. they usually just depend on time or money. I just feel like that patient side of me is disappearing. a slow motion drain from my body. I feel like I'm saying 'No' all the time, either I'm growing less patient or my kids requests are getting more stupid.
HH has about as much patience as he has a 6 pack. Its there, just underneath. I grew up with a father who had no patience, the difference is he had a temper to match. John is impatient, but he can keep it reigned in. My dad would loose his patience first, then he would loose his temper second. I can tell you that growing up with someone on a short fuse isn't good. That fear that a parent can instill into a child does no good. they loose self confidence. Adults may think that behaving like that brings them respect. I yell and make a noise, so you better respect me. Ah no buddy, all that does is bring fear. Being fearful of somebody, is not respecting them.
I am constantly mindful of this, when I'm instructing my kids, I raise my voice, so we can get things done, keep our home clean, do our jobs, function. but I try to keep the anger behind those words out of it. I want them to listen to me, because that's the right thing to do, not because they are scared of me. Some days I can feel that patience slip and the frustration set in, and I'm not even sure what to do in those moments, I usually just busy myself cleaning or cooking. keep the body busy so the mind will follow. I should read a parenting book, but I'm way to cynical. I think ill just rely on my old friends. trial and error.
What I want for myself is right in the middle. Hard line on the rules and respecting each other, but still a soft place for my kids to fall. I have seven children, I am a responsible for how they feel about themselves. I think this is prob the hardest part of being a parent. I can cater for all of your physical needs easy. Ive done it for the last 13 years. but emotional support I find hard, it means talking about feelings and to be honest, I hate doing stuff like that, it means that I have to be unselfish, think about how your feeling and then, because I'm the parent, I'm supposed to have answers? I don't have answers yet, I'm still coping with being over 30.
My mother always says patience is a virtue. I have always said "well i am not very virtuous", much to her annoyance. Maybe mama is right, patience is a virtue, as only the virtuous can have real patience. Something I need to work on, just like my six pack of abs. its there, just underneath.