the post where I will not mention the dog hair

Am sitting in bed trying not to wake the tiny sleeping girl beside me who screamed for most of the day, unknown reasons, but doesn't seem ill... just..... annoyed about something (can 11 week old babies get annoyed? This one seems to). I am sitting here with laptop, papers and urgent toy catalogues all over (groan) and I have a bowl of home made fudge which I am eating with a spoon. With a spoon. Yeah. Just digging right on in there. I didn't even bother to pour it into a mold and then slice into neat little squares to share with everyone else. I poured it into a cereal bowl, knowing all along I'd eat it this way. I feel a little bit sick. That's what happens when you pig out on fudge, at night, in bed with a cardigan on (the thrilling highs of my life exposed).

I have a had a horrible day. I am really scrunching up my eyes trying to find some nice moments in there to share and obliterate the bad stuff. There were some. The pink sky this evening. The quick jaunt into town with The Man I cried down the phone to and who came home super early. I bought a teeny wooden rattle with a bell inside for Baby Angel Girl who has no baby rattles... what happened to the millions I bought my other babies? I do not remember where I have stashed them or perhaps I gave them away. My memory is filled with holes, like dropped stitches in a sort of rubbishy unfinished knitted sweater. This is the start of a new rattle collection then. Making it the one and only gift bought so far this year. That was the highlight of the day. Or maybe the super fast solo dog walk with screaming babe strapped to body? That was pretty nice once she fell asleep on me and I got to breathe in the sharp cold air and look hard at the twiggy trees against the fading light.

But the rest of the day? I am not sure how I will get through more of the same (should there be some... almost inevitable). I found myself a crying self-pity mess earlier, 2/3 of the day gone, screaming baby, me not even dressed and struggling to even put socks on because my hands held the screaming baby. Dog unwalked, other children in various states of dress, house a tip (did I mention the frickin dog hair? god I hate that animal some days, I do, there, I am mean) no lunch made (baby crying in arms and volume ups when I place her down for ten seconds). I feed her, she pukes. I put her in sling she head butts against me and screams. I feed her again, she pukes. I strip her clothes off desperate in case something weird is sticking in her. She screams because I am making her cold. I lie down to feed her on the bed and hear two children arguing, really really loudly. Maybe they are hungry. The dog decides to shred up the toilet roll tubes Esmé and I have been saving to make Christmas crackers with. All over the rug I didn't yet vacum but which makes me mad because now it's really necessary, not just passable to untrained eyes. Did we do any home educating today? Ha. What a joke.

I shouted at people because crying babies make me jingly jangly with tense nerves. Bizarrely I tried to swap one bigger bookcase in my bedroom for a smaller one in Isaac's room and of course had to abandon it halfway through with shit toys and books piled all over because Baby Angel got tired of waiting for me to pick her up from Isaac's bed. I then realised Isaac's bed was wet because his hot water bottle leaked everywhere. I strip the bed with one hand: I do everything with one hand, don't you know, it's the new way of doing things, catch up everyone, two hands are so last season! As is keeping ones eyes open for as many hours as possible. Not only is sleep over rated it's practically a forgotten thing, being awake is The New Black. One handed shenanigans is the even newer black. Using the birth ball post birth for sitting and bouncing fractious babies is the best thing since the invention of sliced bread, the telephone, or instagram.

I am not even remotely finished yet. I have not brought you up to speed with the rest of my day. The bits where I wail to my children that I am sending them to school because they are too crazy and unhelpful. The bits where I cry down the phone to my dh that there is no one on earth who I can call other than him to come home and help me, which is depressing in and of it's self, and that we will have to get rid of the dog because it's driving me insane. Am I depressing and boring you yet? That's ok, stop reading any time, there is no gun pointing at you. But I am boring myself and need to go online shopping if any child wants a Christmas resembling Christmas yk?

Needless to say I do not know how long I can function for 12 hours a day alone. To care for a tiny baby. To care for two other children all day and then a fourth a bit later. Provide some sort of education or activities or outings or, well anything. To set down meals at regular intervals and decent snacks. To keep the house from silently filling with dog hair (honestly I think at night sometimes Ginny invites over some more black doggie pals and they shimmy about all over the house scattering hair like bad fairy dust, in the morning it gathers with every gust and draught of air - plenty in this house- and scitter like tumble weed around our legs. Up to our knees it feels some days. I swear This baby will grow up watching hair balls instead of real balls rolling around for her amusement. Any one want a really hair shedding dog that needs 2 hours walking a day to keep it sane? Go on, you know you do. Sort of kidding. Maybe.) And yeah, to walk the dog each day. To clothe and feed myself.... it is like every day I wake to mountain I have to crawl up before bed time. I never quite reach the summit though and go to bed with a stretching mountain range in every direction all around me. There is no sleep to be had in this bed though. Because there is a baby wishing to be fed in it. I doze. I jerk awake and my mind fills with thoughts best left till' day time. Mainly of things I have not done. The to do list I wrote in my mind a few weeks back with one thing ticked off (and it was probably 'write a to'do list'). I hear the dog downstairs doing things; dog hair shedding party time, eat the cat food time, lie on the sofa while no one looks time and I get mad at it, silently in bed but dare not get out of bed in case I wake the baby, and in any case I am too tired and can't really be bothered.

But my bed is warm. There is a fire downstairs and children laughing below me. I have a sleeping peaceful baby. I am tired but my sweet sweet kind and lovely Man brought me food and tea and a hot water bottle. There are things to be thankful for in a world of chaos, and in my own smaller world of chaos. And truly I am . I am just so worn out too. So frayed. Did I mention the dog hair? Did I? I'd like to talk about it again, because it's a topic quite dear/annoying to me right now. But I fear I may have mentioned it already. Plus it's sort of boring to read about, I get that, and just basically goes with the territory of dog owning. I wonder did I not realise there would be dog hair? Maybe I glossed over it when thinking ahead. I do that often.

It's time to carry the fudge back to the fridge. To get a cup of nettle tea and an apple to negate the fudge damage (at least in my mind anyway). To watch something on my laptop totally unrelated to my life (something cheery I think, The Killing perhaps...) and hope for better things tomorrow....

slow and simple

I am here, reading online rather than writing. My hands and days are so busy and full right now, with four little people. Mostly it's a good sort of full, sometimes it's a stressed and tired sort of full. Many days my favourite time is when I settle into bed, finally, baby with eyes half shut, feeding off to dreamland, other children in bed, a pot of tea by my bed and a book in my hand. It's bliss. I had a lung infection (I don't like the word pneumonia) and was ill these last couple of weeks. Nights I couldn't lie down flat because I actually couldn't breathe. It's a luxury and blessing to be lying down to sleep again. A spoonful of honey in my tea, a little molasses cookie on the side. In the pre-mornings before he leaves, The Man lights up the fire ready for our day. This morning the baby and I crept down early, at dawn and sat quietly, our eyes both pulled to the flames. It was peaceful. The most peaceful part of my day. I am relishing the quiet simple things right now. The string of fairy lights in my bedrooom, one tidy room in a house of chaos, the peachy fuzz of Iona's head, cupped in my hand. The scent of warm coconut oil on her skin as I massage her (she is pure joy I tell you), watching Felix cut paper snowflake after snowflake, Esmé with her needle thread and buttons, Isaac with me chopping veggies.....

I need these sorts of things more than ever right now as my life creeps up a notch in the bigger handful department. My plate is fuller and more varied than ever. I need to see each thing in it's simpleness and singularity, rather than look all at once at everything and see a blur and mass of jumbled colour, heaps of things to do and say and hear and then re-do all over again. We are slowly gaining a new rhythm to our days at home, it has taken us until now for one to emerge. It's nothing we plan, but rather one we fall into.

I am focusing on crafts, food and walks, time in front of the fire with games and books. That is all. Outings further afield are few and require The Man to help. I have proper photos from my real camera just waiting for me to download, but these easy instantly-uploaded phone ones are my easy choice of the day.

The Green parent magazine have asked me to write a regular column about home life/home educating and other family relatedness, so watch out for my home-y words starting in the next issue!

falling asleep mid sentence

In between the lovely baby gazing and cooing and the hours spent breastfeeding and changing nappies and rocking and shusshing a writhering red faced baby I am faced with the rest of my children. I am surprised they even get a look in given the above. Housekeeping, cooking, cleaning, nappy washing, general laundry and skivvying - normally my forte, have fallen upon The Man. Who is out of the house 10-12 hours each day. I am not sure when we last had a conversation. Or even brief chat. I think it may have been the other night when I fell asleep as he was talking to me. Well I was in bed. I can't be certain what the subject was, but I remember it being vaguely important. Which means it was either to do with a) money or b) one of the four offspring. Our talking seems to bounce of each other in questions neither of us know the answers too: Why does Iona have green poo today? Why does Felix still not know where the spoons are kept? Why has Isaac left his homework until 9pm on Sunday night? Is it our failing not to nag him? Or his shoddy organisation? Why oh why do sodding schools torture us with homework? Why is Esmé screaming again? What happened to her Barbie she left in the stream? Who's turn is it to wipe her butt? Who's turn is it to walk the dog? What's for dinner? Everyone is always asking everyone else that last one. No one ever seems to know. I am always shocked that it's 5pm. Again. Again! I am having this Groundhog Day feeling way to often. Like in the beginning of the film when he is all mad and trying to kill himself, not at the end when he is at peace with living the same day over and over.

I am not getting much done. In truth it's never the aim of the day to get stuff done. But I found myself up in the middle of the night, ghostly nightlight glow on baby's suckling face as I panic'd all guilt ridden and inadequate over what 'home educating' we have done since The Birth. None. Really. I forced everyone to make 'art folders' and I ordered a massive pack of A4 size excercise books for 'projects'. Projects number zero thus far. I made a big list for each child and things they wanted to do this Autumn in big thick magic markers and stuck it importantly on the fridge where it falls off every time I open the door and makes me feel more inadequate than ever. I yell quite a lot. And get irritated. And just want to flop on the sofa watching The Great British Bake Off with nursling baby and cup of hot tea. Oh why oh why is it over? I did not discover that it existed until episode eight. I watched all in a jagged row and then bit my nails and bounced in sleep deprived excitement over the final rounds of baking. The Man wondered what did I get out of it being gluten free and all? The human failings and weaknessness! Don't you see? I quivered. The fragile nature of success and tormenting failure all pared back in the makings of the perfect Fondant Fancy. Riveting stuff. And a distraction from home education (dog walking, sweeping up dog hair, emptying the bin.....). Although the offspring have been very excited to bake. Isaac is keen to star in series 15 or what ever it may be up to when he is adult enough to compete. Yesterday Felix made an Italian potato flour cake and Esmé made Mary Berry's basic sponge which she jazzed up with blueberry jam.

And so this is our education. That and xbox'ing Lego games, playing Rome Total War on the computer and learning that babies take up a lot of adult time and energy. Isaac is very good and bouncing on the excercise ball and lulling Iona off to sleep, Esmé can sing for how ever long she is asked (not long, if you were wondering). I would quite like to cry and ring up another adult some days tell them I am lonely and say come over please. But I find (and this is the depressing bit) that the only adults who could do that already have commitments and responsibilities and are either miles away or it would be an imposition of me to ask. Double depression. Really.

My mind is scrambled. I forget my point. I don't think there is one. Which feels like the subject matter of my days too. I have to remind myself that of course it's not really like that. But usually I am too tired for the pep talk.

Highlights and gratefulness of last week (just before I go and round up the troops for something 'educational'... does watching Toy Story 3 count? Or walking the dog?): ~Smiling baby, odd little chuckles ~Beautiful sunny autumnal walks ~Local honey, I am addicted to it in my chamomile tea ~Finding I can now add chopping up someone else's food one handed to my CV should I ever need too (one word: scissors) ~watching a whole episode of Downton Abby with only a few iplayer pauses whilst I policed arguments ~finding I am now strong enough to both drive and hoover (sort of backhanded highs of the week since they mean I have more to do) ~kind husband who brings me hot water bottles, hot tea, glasses of water and dry breast-pads every single night while I feed guzzle monster baby. Then he goes and reads to the other three. Then he goes downstairs to his laptop where he works to fit in stuff he couldn't do because he had to dash home. Yep. Pretty grateful for him. Especially when he squeezes in washing up duty and dog walking too. Then I thank him to the moon, or would if I saw him enough to say so. Or didn't fall asleep mid sentence. Photos that make it look like my week was brimful of beauty. It had its' moments and all but y'know, it all had a coating of dog hair and baby sick too. No one with babies need wonder why I have ceased posting much. The occurrence of time free, hands free, a laptop with cable plugged in or battery charged, phone and or camera handy all at the same time, have equalled zero times until now (but wait I have sleeping baby in arms and cannot see camera). Who knows when I will have such a time as this again. I have become lurker and forgetter. And forgiver too, for I am deep in the knowledge of early baby days again, which I had truly forgotten. A million congrats where I have misplaced them, and thank you's too and hellos and heads up. It's not on purpose. Honestly. It's just for now (my new mantra, on repeat).

...and she said 'I love screwing things up!'

Iona snapshots

Below this last weeks pics, two weeks after the ones above (look how she is growing!). I am having such a good time with my new baby! Really, it's pretty much all good. The overwhelming bits are the food prep and house details. Not my four pixies. I am loving every minute of smooching and baby gazing. Truly good. I don't have any impatience this time over other things I could be doing and cannot. It's really good and a new experience for me to feel this way :lol I absorb every bit of her daily growth, savouring it. It's magic. She is so loved, there are always arms wanting to hold her. Loving the top pic of my mother and tiniest daughter - we wish you were still here! Come back! Grandmothers are the best. No one else loves your babies like you do except their grannies.

the subtle change

I am slow to get the feeling of and to settle into Autumn this year. Of course I am. It seemed like the summer was one slow long stretch of warm/rainy waiting. Just waiting. That stretched on and on and on in those last weeks of pregnancy that seemingly refused to end. Then I had my week of Iona's birth in hospital and then at home in bed and I find when I emerge, it is a whole new season. I missed the change over.

That subtle change, what with the huge enormous splash of life that soaked and covered me whole with the birth of my fourth little person. Yet I don't really mind. I am swimming along happily in these days of newborn-ness. I really am. The odd bursting of hormonal tears aside (that's de rigour for new mamas anyway) I am happy with my lot. More so these last couple of days that see me stretching my walking legs again, going outdoors and not needing any pain meds. Just a week ago I could not do that, so I am greatful this week that I can.

Everyone here are starting or re-starting activities. Isaac started high school and music lessons and his life seems so jam packed it's more about slowing down and paring back for him. Felix started Forest School again, new trampolining and drumming lessons, and is continuing with climbing. Esmé has ballet, dance and a morning at nursery. All of this with The Man and friends helping with driving. That is something I just cannot do right now. It's lovely actually to not have to! To rest and feed Iona every hour. Take little walks, watch films and attempt tiny baking or crafty bits with Esmé, listen to Felix read... collect conkers. Look at the household mess and let Don contend with it at weekends. This is a time I will not have again, as is all, so I am just letting it unfold, not letting myself be too anxious or stressed by the bits I cannot control (because, um, yeah, Control Freak is my middle name, ordinarily).