Two guys at the door

Screen Shot 2018-01-24 at 11.51.12 pmThere are many things that come with parenthood.  Lack of sleep, lack of privacy, lack of money, lack of time and lack of energy.  And yet in exchange for all that is taken, parenthood rewards us with an impossible amount in return.  A kind of crazy love that chokes you up, and leaves you wondering how such a noisy and gross little person could fill you up with so much joy.  

We would do anything for them, wouldn’t we?  I would take a bullet, walk through fire… sell my soul in exchange for theirs.  It’s our instinct to protect them from anything that might harm them.  But what happens when their greatest enemy is inside?

I’m talking about depression and anxiety – insidious, vile and silent torments that they are.  In all honesty, it frightens me.  I’ve watched dear friends lose sons to suicide.  Boys from good, warm and loving families.  Boys you’d never suspect were carrying pain inside.

I’m certainly not an expert in mental health, however I made a decision recently to start having conversations with my sons about depression.  I guess I’m seeking to open the communication channels early.  I realise that there will come a day when they will do little more than grunt through conversations, and that whatever is going on inside their heads will be a total mystery.

It will be too late then, to invite them to pull up a chair and discuss their woes.  How we talk (just like how we walk) is a habit; built through years of practice.  It’s about creating room in a relationship- reinforced through positive experience-  to safely exchange our feelings without judgement.

The other day I received a call from the school to tell me that one of my sons was in sick bay vomiting and needed to be collected.  At first, it appeared that he may have eaten something off, but since I made all four boys the exact same lunch, I decided to keep digging.  It was only later on that night, when we were cuddling at bedtime, that I discovered the cause of his ‘illness’ was not physical, but mental.

My poor boy was suffering from extreme anxiety.  It had been the first day back at school, he was worried about his teacher, about not having the right books, his dad has been away overseas, I was leaving the next day… SO many changes, and for him, the stress of it all just became too much.

I scratched his back and asked him to describe exactly how his feelings had escalated.   He recounted how the worry had started small, but then more worries piled on top of each other, and before he knew it, he was pivoting down a spiral that he couldn’t stop.

I reassured him that it was normal to get overwhelmed sometimes.  God knows it happens to me.  So I asked him if he wanted to hear a story about two guys in a room, that might help him catch his scary thoughts early, before they became too big to control.

He turned around to face me in the dark and nodded.

So there’s a house on a hill; it’s a really special house.   Walking up the road, come two guys- they aren’t friends.  They walk up to the door and knock-  they both want to come inside.  One of the guys is happy and the other is negative.  Now, the thing is, only one of them can come into the house at a time.

If Mr Negative is in the house, Mr Positive has to wait outside.  It’s like your thoughts- you can’t really have a positive one AND a negative one at the same time.  (I invited him to try it: pretend you’re biting into a donut and try to imagine that it’s both the YUMMIEST and the WORST donut you’ve ever had.  Can’t be done, right?)

Back to the guy in the house.  The only way to get Mr Negative out of there, is to push the good guy in through the door.  Sometimes, you have to take charge of your mind, and actively force your thoughts in a different direction.  Because if you just leave Mr Negative in there to hang out, he’ll get lonely and start inviting his friends.

You’ll start thinking of all the worst things, and all the other reasons you should be sad… and soon the whole house is filled with a bunch of Mr Negatives and it’s too late to find room for the nice guy.  

So… you’ve got to do it quickly!  As soon as one of the bad guys shows up at your doorstep, you need to kick him out.  It’s easy when he’s on his own.   It’s even easier if you bring along some good guys to help you out: thoughts that make you happy, things you’re grateful for and look forward to.   If you keep your house filled with good guys, you’ll find it easier to chase off the baddies when they come knocking.

The story seemed to make sense for him as he dozed off to sleep…. although this morning, he had managed to build himself up into a state again.  When it comes to mental health, I don’t think the goal is to ‘fix it’, but to find strategies to cope better.

In that light, I do take some solace from observing that my son seemed to recover a lot faster today.  I could hear him trying to talk his way through it, whereas yesterday he was talking himself into it.  I know for him this will be a journey; but I’m grateful that he feels safe enough to express himself.   At least maybe that way, he won’t have to face his bad guys alone.

Dancing Queen

Screen Shot 2017-12-31 at 1.07.32 pmIt seems impossible, but just like that… it’s the end of the year again. I’m sitting in a massage chair, with my feet soaking in a foot spa waiting for a pedicure; contemplating life.  It’s just what you do at this time of the year.  You think about the year gone by, and start dreaming about the year ahead.

On the TV screen above me I notice the original music video of Dancing Queen playing in a merciless loop.  I haven’t heard it in a while- and I’m not sure if it’s the fumes of the nail polish remover or the immortal lyrics of the song, but I’m finding the moment rather intoxicating.

Where was I when I first heard this song?  And where am I now?  It’s a classic that fills me with a sense of freedom; young and sweet only seventeen.  Confident and free.

I pause and make a decision- if I had to select a soundtrack for next year, it should be this one.  I want to make a commitment to be always be like Dancing Queen.   To move through life with a commitment to authenticity.  To continue growing and unwrapping the very core of who I am – my values and my views – and to honour that in everything I do.

I look back over the years and at the amount of times I was timid on the dance floor, or the times I didn’t make the dance floor at all.  The times I’ve tried to be someone else in order to fit in with the crowd- to be a different type of mother, or a different type of partner.  I reflect on career decisions that may have ‘made sense’, but ultimately didn’t make me happy.  Adventures that made NO sense, but that would have brought me joy.

This year has been a bold one.  I followed my heart and made some big choices.  I challenged myself in ways that were long overdue; I set goals that seemed totally unattainable. I leaped with faith into a relationship that made no logical sense, and discovered the love of my life.

And although I can’t say that I’ve arrived at any kind of destination, what I can say is that I’m happier than I’ve ever been.  Just through being real, a little bit less fearless and a whole lot more ‘me’.  It’s only taken me 38 years!  But then again, it’s better than staying buried for a lifetime.

When I look at my growing boys, if I have one hope for their futures, is that they would learn how to live authentically- that they not fear risks because of the opinions of others, that they take chances even when the crowd watching doesn’t get it.

There is a great peace that comes from being raw and real.   From putting up boundaries of what you will no longer tolerate, and from pursuing happiness in ways that others might even find confusing.  In a world where so many people are shallow and uncertain, there is great satisfaction in being exactly who you want to be.

My partner and I have six boys between us, and this morning we were discussing how incredibly different all their little personalities are.  It seems when you’re a kid, being yourself comes naturally.  Kids don’t apologise for being who they are, and they seem to accept with ease that they are special.

My eight year old walked out of the bathroom yesterday with his hair slicked sideways in a mafia part, like he owned the world.  I sung out from the kitchen and told him he looked handsome, to which he casually replied, “I know”.

I hope their sense of worth never changes.  In fact, it’s my New Year’s Resolution: for our boys to never stop realising that the ‘prize’ lies within.  They are special- just as they are.  Because the great adventure of life isn’t about what you can ‘take’ from the world, but what you can bring to it.

We want out children to grow up in a home where there’s always room for them on the dance floor, no matter what crazy moves they want to make.   I can’t teach them that if I spend my life standing fearfully like a wall flower at the back of the room.

My blue nail polish is drying and I’m estimating that we are now on about the eighteenth loop of Dancing Queen.  But I’m good with it- since I have nominated it my soundtrack of 2018.  A tune to remind me the importance of never straying from my authentic self, to honour the things that make me happy, to pursue my passions and be more daring with my decisions.

I wish you all an incredible New Year; and I dare you to pick an empowering soundtrack, and to dance boldly to your own song in 2018.

Silent hero.

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I have been away from my children these last few weeks and I would have thought I’d have very little to write about in the way of parenting this month- if it wasn’t for something my eldest son said yesterday over the phone that very much surprised me.

I was standing at the airport, ready to board the plane home from Phoenix, Arizona where I had been visiting my partner.  My eldest son could hear that I was tired & emotional; and then suddenly out of the blue, he said, “I’m proud of you”.

I was so touched, but I didn’t quite know what he meant.  So I asked him, “What for?” and he simply said- for the way you live your life. 

It just struck me like a bolt of lighting to the gut.  I had been feeling guilty about being away, but I had forgotten that well beyond all the conversations, all the lessons, all the cuddles, lunchboxes and excursions- the greatest impact we can have on our children is to show them an example of how to live.  Not just ‘how to get by’, or exist- but to get out there and live.

After all, it’s not what we say, it’s what they see.   Words are never louder than what you witness.

My life has not always been easy, but with gratitude I have to say- it’s always been rewarding.  As I said to my partner this morning on leaving, I’ve never been afraid to trade the path that is convenient, for a path that promises to be extraordinary.  I grew up in the middle of a civil war, at ten we travelled to Australia as refugees, I then left home at seventeen to go travelling, I got married young and took on step children at twenty-two.   I survived a divorce, and we have somehow found a way to successfully co-parent our four sons.  I’ve jostled up and down the corporate ladder.  I’ve started businesses and had to close them.   It’s sometimes been challenging, but heck, it’s definitely not been boring.

Student, traveller, step parent, mother, business woman, writer… we are all called to adapt and re-invent ourselves as we travel along our own personal adventure.   I’ve been down, I’ve been up.  I’ve been rich and I’ve been poor.   I’ve been right and I’ve been wrong.  But of all the things I’ve been, there is one thing I’ve always refused to become: a victim.

For this, I’m grateful to my parents: a pair of the toughest, hardest working people, who always taught us that it isn’t what  happens to you that matters, it’s how you handle it.

And yet to be honest, I don’t actually recall either of them saying this to us even once.  They were just silent heroes, who through their dignity and determination- showed us how to live.   Aware that every single day, we were watching; much like our own children are also watching.  They are watching how we manage our fears.  They are watching how we handle our enemies.  They are watching how we bounce back after our disappointments.

What does it matter if we tell your children to be kind, but then show cruelty to others?  Who cares if we encourage them to be brave, to reach for the stars and pursue their goals… if we ourselves live defeated, crippled by fear.

I believe that there is no such thing as a ‘good parent’, who sets a bad example. 

Hypocrisy is one of my greatest gripes.  I cringe at folk who sit in church pews on Sundays, but show total intolerance of others through the week.  I can’t stand the flippant insincerity of someone who will smile to your face, but backstab you when you turn.

If you’re going to live, live truthfully.  Because either way, the world will eventually reveal you.  And when it comes to our children, there is no hiding at all.  From the moment you wake up, the curtains are up, and the spotlight is on.  Piece by piece, our behaviour will form the backbone of the standards they accept in their own lives.

When we chase our dreams, we teach our kids it’s ok to chase theirs.  As I boarded the plane, I felt hopeful that my sons might see in me one day, an example that there is no compromise necessary for staying true to their own happiness too.

Our example will either leave a trail of inspiration, or a trail of destruction.  

I am now on the last leg of my journey home.  I can see the sun rising on the horizon as we start to sight the sleepy silhouette of Australian soil.  I can imagine my boys curled up in the beds, still asleep.  I can’t wait to hold them.  And as I reflect on the month gone by – all the things we’ve done together and all the things we’ve done apart – it occurs to me that I’ve never been obsessed with what I can do FOR my boys, but more concerned that I teach them what they can do for THEMSELVES.

As counterintuitive as it may seem, we shouldn’t seek to be ‘needed’ by our children…  we should hope to be admired.

Five small changes that can make a BIG difference.

The list of ‘things I could be doing better’ always feels so desperately endless.  Help the kids with their homework, read more stories, cook healthier dinners… but between running a business, running a home, and trying to have some kind of a life, it can seem overwhelming to find everyone a clean set of clothes, let alone be the kind of mum that cooks regular five star meals.

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To be honest, I think I might suffer from a bit of defiance.  I see mothers who have the time and energy to run their kids around to twelve different types of sports, who bake everything from scratch and who somehow still manage to look amazing.  I resent them and their perfect hair… and I tell myself that I don’t need to change.

But I guess we all have things to learn from each other.  And not being  ‘perfect’ is no excuse for not trying to be ‘better’.  It’s in this spirit, that I wanted to tackle the topic of nutrition and offer 5 quick and easy changes we can make to drastically improve our family’s eating habits… without a massive amount of effort.

Why bother at all? Well… for the same reasons we put suncream on our kids and tell them to get off the road when there’s a car coming.  There is simply too much information out there now, to pretend that the highly sugary, highly processed, high fat diets that are ‘normal’ in many households aren’t going to have a devastating impact on their health later.

I honestly believe that there will come a day when we will look at highly processed foods, the way we look at cigarette smoking now.  We won’t fathom how we used to eat the things we did, knowing all the poisons they contained.

But where to begin?  Please don’t give me a list of fifty things to change in my diet, because I’ll just cry and do NONE of them.  How ’bout we start with five small things that even busy mums with bad hair can do, to nudge their families towards better health:

1. Say no to soft drink. We could chat about this for days, but let’s just lay out some quick facts.  Did you know that one average can of soda contains approximately 10 teaspoons of sugar?  The impact on a little body is significant – raising insulin levels, causing dehydration and destroying teeth.

What about ‘diet drinks’, you ask?  Well, now you’re dealing with a far worse set of problems.  Aspartame and other artificial sweeteners used have been linked to hundreds of conditions including seizures, multiple sclerosis, brain tumours, diabetes, and mental health disorders.

So whether it be the phosphoric acid, additives, the fructose load, the empty calories… Just say no.  Handy hint: they can’t drink it if you don’t buy it.

2)  Buy fresh bread (or bake it, if you’re a show off).  Most supermarkets carry a line of freshly baked bread… and surprisingly, it’s often cheaper!  Packaged breads are manufactured to last longer and stay fresher.  In order to do this, companies pack a cocktail of chemicals into the mix, and what you’re actually serving up for breakfast contains similar ingredients to cleaning products which would make you rush to hospital wailing if your kid ingested.

Check out the back of the next loaf you buy- it will probably have a long list of nasties like chlorine, potassium bromate, dough conditioners, high fructose corn syrup, dangerous sulfates, diglycerides, calcium peroxides… all inside a loaf with a pretty picture of barley fields and misleading labels like “healthy heart”.  Shame on you, marketing department.

Flour, water, yeast, and salt.  That’s ALL it takes to make bread.   Ok, wow, I need to get through this faster….


3) Ice cream isn’t the only desert.  When looking for sweet things, it’s worth remembering that there are many alternatives that are just as yummy.

We make banana and strawberry pancakes, drop blueberries and dark chocolate chips into yogurt, blend up a big round of smoothies.  Jump on google and find better alternatives to ingredients- like using rice malt syrup (made entirely from brown rice) instead of regular honey…. a sweet tooth doesn’t have to be a curse.

4) Cut down on processed lunchboxes.  Ah, this is a tough one.  If you nagged me about this in the morning, when I’m trying to get kids out the door after five hours of fitful sleep, I’d probably punch you in the face.

However, for the same reasons as processed bread is dangerous, all food that comes in ‘pretty packets’ is laden with preservatives, additives and – to call them what they are – poisons.  The further a food item is from it’s original form (eg. from potato to salty crisps), the more has been done to it, and the more dangerous it is.


Ideally, our kids’ lunch boxes would only be filled with fresh food; but I’m realistic.  That ain’t gonna happen.  But what I can do is make sure it’s not ALL processed food.  Fruit, fresh meat cuts, dinner left overs, fresh salmon or tuna, rice crackers with cheese, bakery treats, yoghurt… I set myself a small challenge to ensure that the fresh food in their lunch boxes outnumbers the stuff in packets.

5) Finally- I believe that we need to educate our kids. If I come across an eyeopening documentary, we watch it.  I don’t even mind if it shocks them a bit; ignorance is far more costly long term.  We look at ingredients on the back of foods when we’re out shopping.  I’ve scooped out ten teaspoons of sugar onto a plate to show them what’s really in a can of coke.

I know some people will disagree with me on this, but the way I see it – I wouldn’t have my kids cross the road with their eyes closed, and I won’t have them be blind about what they’re putting into their mouths either.

Plus, I can’t always be around nagging them to make good choices.  The aim of half decent parenting is to raise kids that can make good choices for themselves.

In closing, I’d like to be clear that there is so much room for improvement at my table.  We get takeout when I’m tired, we eat way too much pizza and I can’t go without wine.  But I’m open to learning and if you’ve got simple ideas to add to this list, please jump in and share.  We don’t have to be perfect, but we can all get a little bit better.



Father’s Day Stays

Fatherhood.  What do I know about it?  I’m a mother.  And just because I’m a single mother, doesn’t mean that I know anything about being a father, or that I DOnick-wilkes-490 the role of a father.  I do the role of a single mother.  That’s what I am.  And I’m so proud of it, that I don’t need to claim recognition on someone else’s day.

I was really shocked this week when I heard about this publicity stunt – err,  excuse me – proposal by a child services educator to rename Father’s Day as Special Person’s Day.  Is nothing sacred anymore?  Is the Queen’s birthday up for grabs next?  We might offend the Australian Republicans, you know.  Brazenly celebrating the monarchs and all.

The professor behind the noise is a Dr. Red Ruby Scarlet (because THAT is a serious name of someone worth listening to) claims that the movement towards changing the day is one about inclusivity.  And before I totally dismiss that there could be any logic behind her proposal (which I’m unashamedly about to do), I would like to acknowledge that Father’s Day is not an easy day for everyone.

There are families who have never had a dad in the picture.  There are families who have recently lost theirs.  There are people who only see their fathers in their nightmares.  And others who wonder if they’ll ever even know his name.

As sad as these situations might be, they are no less real for families who struggle through Mother’s Day, Christmases or birthdays.  None of us are untouched by grief.  We all have places in our hearts where loved lived and left, or where loved should have lived and never existed.  Nobody said life would be easy.  We already know we won’t get out alive.

We can’t take away the darkness.  But nor should we let it rob us of the brightness that deserves to be celebrated.

There are some incredible fathers amongst us.  In my opinion, unpopular as it probably is, they don’t receive anywhere near as much recognition as mothers do.  Maybe it is because childrearing has been a traditionally female role.  Or maybe it’s an echo from the feminist movement.  Every time I see a girl power sticker that says some version of “Women Can Do Anything”, I wonder to myself why we need to keep announcing it?  And I also wonder how people would react if the sticker said “Men are so Powerful”, or some other shameless version of the male might.

Personally, I find it embarrassing.  There’s plenty of room on the podium for both the guys and the gals.  Everyone gets a turn, so chill out Dr. Ruby Raving Mad Scarlett and go make yourself a cocktail.  Sounds like you need it.  Today we are cheering for Fathers, and that’s ok.

We are saluting the men that went out at 2:48am to get their pregnant wife tavern chips and gravy, because it was the only thing in the world that mattered to her at the time.  We high five the nappies you changed balancing on chipboard at Bunnings.  We thank you for the safe arms you wrapped around our toddlers when they learnt to walk.  Thank you also for the awful meals you tenderly made- which everybody hated, because it didn’t taste like mum’s.

We appreciate how hard you’ve worked through the years, even when it kept you away from the bedtime stories you would have rather told.  Thank you for the bugs you’ve killed and for the mouldy mysteries you’ve fished out from under the car seats.  We salute the single dads buying tampons for their teenage daughters.  We are grateful for the men who sacrifice precious time with their families in order to serve their country abroad.

There is really so much beauty in Fatherhood.  Oh, and noise and vomit and exhaustion too.  Fathers deserve to be celebrated every day.  As do mothers.  That, in my opinion, is true inclusivity.  When I sent my ex-husband a text today saying ‘thank you for being an amazing dad to our boys’, I didn’t feel like it detracted anything from me as their mother.  Yes, we kill bugs and work long hours too.  Nobody said we didn’t.

Iron Sulk

usa_avengers_chi_ironman_n_cf2a66b6What do you do with a sulky child?  My ten year old has a tendency to be more negative than the others and I have to admit my patience gets really low when I hear him complain about things for no good reason.  Why are we having left overs again?  Why can’t we play outside for longer?  Why did he get more Milo than me?

My usual tactic has been to start listing off all the things he has to be grateful for, and I’ll usually throw in some dramatic examples of my own childhood as a refugee immigrant for additional dramatics.  Somehow, this never tends to elicit the spontaneous gratitude that I keep hoping for.

The other day it occurred to me that the problem with sulking is not necessarily an issue of gratitude.  It’s perhaps more of an issue of managing emotions; as intertwined as the two may be.  We may FEEL upset, angry, jealous or disappointed… but the key point is that we don’t have to ACT upset, angry, jealous or disappointed.   After all, I don’t want to necessarily teach my sons to suppress their emotions.  Only to handle them better.

Naturally, I turned to the Avengers franchise for some assistance.  We were driving to school and I asked the kids to imagine what it would be like to own an Iron Man power suit.  What could it do?   What powers would the suit give them?  How strong would we feel?  After a long list of ‘cool stuff’, I casually mentioned what a shame it would be, to have an Iron Man power suit hanging in your closet, if you only ever chose to wear pyjamas.

Duh.  Now wouldn’t that be dumb, we all agreed.  Then of course, I made my point.  Feelings are spontaneous.  They often just happen, they hit us from out of the blue.  Sometimes like bullets.  If you’re just wearing your pyjamas, you’re going to get injured.  But if you put on your suit, if you switch on your brain, you can filter how the world comes at you.

Being ACTIVE in the processing of your emotions is an acquired skill, and one that as Latin American, I may always wrestle with!  But it is something to aspire towards and something I’d like to encourage my children to practise.  We pulled up outside the school and I turned to Max:  The world isn’t happening to YOU, kid.  YOU go and make things happen in the world.

He swaggered out and waved goodbye at me with a smirk, “Thanks for the TED talk, mum”.  Anytime.  Now, cheer the heck up.

Broken Glass

Screen Shot 2017-08-09 at 2.02.44 amI WAS going to write about something really sweet and positive this week, but something more important has come up.  And it is, perhaps, one of the things I most dislike.

I had just walked in the door from a long day of work. It was late, kids were hungry and restless. I kicked off my heels, changed into Ugh boots and announced that we would head to the tavern for dinner. My plan for a quick exit to place with Sauvignon Blanc was foiled by a fight that erupted between sons #2 and #4.

It’s not worth making a ‘long story short’, because the story IS short. Ridiculously short. The older boy pinched a dollar from the little one, and decided to run around in circles, laughing maniacally at the frenzied state of his little brother as he chased him, trying to recover his pocket money. It’s not a complex plot. But it was enough to send my blood boiling, because of the nature of the offence: bullying.

I dealt with the matter quickly (and loudly) and then drove us down to the tavern. But I wasn’t done. As I pulled into the carpark I locked the doors and turned to my sons, announcing that they would not be unleashed onto tavern parmies until they had heard a story about something I witnessed when on a trip to China many years ago.

I had been walking along when I noticed a homeless child on the street, playing with what may have been his prized possessions: a pair of discarded medicine bottles which he was using as pretend superheroes. I watched him for a moment, when I suddenly witnessed two businessmen approach him, and saw one of the men kick the bottles from the little boy’s hands for amusement. It makes me sick even remembering. The little boy scrambled to collect his broken bottles as the men strolled off laughing.

The story brought silence to the car, and tears to a couple of their eyes. I voiced the obvious- these men were bullies. Horrible bullies. And yet, how can we look at their actions with disgust, if we treat each other in the same way?

Bullies come in many shapes and sizes, I told the boys. And each are as disgusting as each other. A bully can be the kid in the playground hating on your yellow shirt. Or the smug corporate mid-60s in a board-room, looking right past your 20 years of experience, at your cleavage. It could be the person who talks down to the Indian telemarketer because he/she somehow feels superior, instead of having some perspective around privilege. It could be anyone. From a family member who hides insults in their jokes, to an ethnocentric politician drunk on misappropriated power. ANYONE.

I eyeballed to the boys and I summed it up like this: a bully is anyone who tries to pull you down. They are the people who would choose to sit at a broken table pilled with criticism, instead of dining at a banquet of potential. They are the voices who would want you to question who you are; who would steal your joy or kick your little glass bottles.

The car was silent. One of the kids piped up and asked if I had confronted the men I had seen mistreat the young boy in China. Of course I had. And despite the language barrier, I am fairly certain the two men had no doubts about my disgust. Not that it would have made a difference to their future behaviour. But it hopefully made a difference to that young boy, to know that someone stood up for him.

I unlocked the car door with this final warning: so let it be known, each time you bully each other, you are no different to those men on the street…. So don’t look so shocked when I don’t let you get away with it either.

Invisible Hormones

Screen Shot 2017-08-01 at 10.18.15 pmI always like discovering new words, and this week I found one which has helped me understand my sons a whole lot better. It’s called Adrenarche. It’s rather appropriate that it kind of sounds a bit like ‘anarchy’, because that’s what led me to go looking for it.

The benefit of having four sons (and God help us, there HAVE to be some), is that you have the opportunity to notice patterns. Recently, Cruz- my third child to turn 10- has been acting up a lot. He normally has such a lovely nature, but lately he’s been excessively reactive, emotional and just all round volatile.

The other day he ran into the house really upset over a soccer goal that was scored against him, and as I watched the other boys rush in behind him, complaining that he had ‘lost the plot’, I thought to myself: this scene looks familiar. Both his older brothers had a really nasty patch that came out of nowhere around the same age. Could there be something more to this?

So I took to Google and came across Adrenarche, which is a sort of silent pre-puberty that hits children around the age of ten. In preparation for the body changes that lie ahead, the adrenal glads (over the kidneys) suddenly come alive and begin to secrete a cocktail of androgens, which apparently affect young boys a lot harder than they do girls.

It’s interesting because we girls go through such visible changes in puberty that ‘oh it’s just hormones’ becomes a very plausible way to dismiss tricky behaviour. Boys dealing with Adrenarche however, may not generally have access to the same level of awareness. It must be a confusing and challenging time for them.

Long story short, I gathered Cruz and his older brothers and explained my findings, using (as I always do) analogies to help simplify the matter. “It’s like your brother has suddenly found himself behind the wheel of a much bigger and more powerful car than the one he’s been used to driving. We can’t get angry at him for not knowing instantly how to control it. We have to help guide him.” I reminded the older boys that they had gone through this transition too, and they had been right trolls to deal with- so they owed me some help.

Imparted with their new status of ‘driving instructors’, it has made for more peaceful and compassionate dynamics. And not to mention, Cruz feels a lot more empowered to handle this little bump in the road.

Thank you, Google. You have all the answers.

(Photo by Nick Schumacher)

Starting Fresh at the Finish Line

FullSizeRender 4Well, I finally did it.  When I first decided to start writing this blog, I set myself a goal to write an article every week, for one entire year.  It’s not always been easy, or convenient.  I’ve often struggled for ideas, energy and time.  But here it is- one year of articles.  Done.

The reason I wanted to pen one year of stories from our lives was simple: to create a kind of journal for my sons.  Life has a way of scrolling by so quickly.  There are details and opportunities that I miss every day.  Writing about our life has in many ways forced me to slow down and become more observant.

A lot can happen in one year.  There have been happy days and holidays, sick days and messy days.  There were birthdays and celebrations.  There were good news, sad news.  There were days that dragged and days I feel that I entirely missed.  I got promoted, I got made redundant, I started my own business.

I made new friends, said goodbye to others.  Started relationships.  Ended them.  I’ve cried.  I’ve made people cry.  I’ve had moments of quiet pride; and quiet moments of terrible shame.  I’ve questioned myself as a parent and as a woman.  I’ve felt like I understood nothing.  And then in fleeting little moments, I felt like I understood everything.

We’ve laughed a lot.  We’ve played games, cooked together.  Tried new parks and gone back to old ones.  We read books, found new music.  We’ve tried things for the first time.  We’ve tried things for what I hope will be the last.

There have been cuddles.  There have been fights.  There were tears and apologies.  There have been words I wish I could take back.  There have been stupid things I swore I’d never do again; and then I did.

And there have been days that I wish I could have stayed in forever.

But it is all happening so quickly.  That’s why I decided to write one year of it down.  To mark the moments and search for some permanence in the details.  Because if I don’t stop and think about every week, they just slip through my fingers like rain.

I was pregnant, and I couldn’t wait for them to be born.  They were born and I couldn’t wait for them to start sleeping.  They started sleeping and I couldn’t wait for them to walk.  Then to start school… now suddenly I blink, and I have a son in high school!  Everything in me is begging for the rush to stop.

Please just slow down, let me cup my hands and catch it.  Because once we pass this moment, we won’t ever have it again.  The world is so concerned with destinations; a flustered race towards some event.  Waiting for something to happen.

What writing this blog has taught me is that the ‘something’ is now.  If we just paused and opened our eyes, there are moments to write about within each day.  Destinations happen all the time.  Not just when the kids grow a bit more, or when I get more balance with work, or when we get through the school term.

I want to wake up inside of every moment and remember that I’m already there.  The curtains are up and my life is happening now.

The encouragement and feedback of so many of you has been worth the world to me.  Plenty of times I wondered if there was any reason to keep writing, and your kind words kept me going.  Now, at the completion of ‘one year in our lives’, I am grateful for the humbling experience of being able to share so intimately from my life and family.

What next?  The start of something new.  I feel like I’ve said enough and I would like to start sharing content from other writers, god help us, maybe even professionals who actually know what they are talking about!  I’m sure there will be moments that I will want to share; but overall, I am taking a step sideways and inviting other voices to the microphone.

I started this blog on Valentine’s, and it seems appropriate that I finish on the same day.  Despite all the topics we’ve covered, and all the things that have happened and changed, there is one thing that remains untouched.  Unaffected, for even one moment.  My love for those boys.  My commitment to make their lives better.  The hope I carry that they grow into good men.

As I take a step back from writing weekly, I can genuinely say that I am proud of all the words that captured our year.  Because it showed me that even though so much happens in twelve months, so much more can happen in one moment if we just learn to look for the stories.

That is what I have learnt in one year of writing.  So much is always happening.  What a shame it would be to miss it all, because I’m always looking to the horizon, wondering about what is going to happen next.

Next is now.  Thank you all for reading.

Win or Lose, you learn.

Screen Shot 2017-02-06 at 12.22.21 AMIt’s been a big week for sports.  Federer defeated Nadal in what proved to be an epic final of the Australian open.  Greene got 10 rounds of controversial revenge on Mundine.  And a very aggressive season of my Kitchen Rules got off to a punchy start.

Adding to the excitement, my boys played several matches of futsal, one of them started tennis and my grade oner had a brawl with a bully in the school yard.  Like I said, It’s been a big week for sports.

And as always, the results are a mixed bag.  There are always wins, there are always losses.  There are times of beauty and grace, and others of shameful disgrace.  Whether it’s on a world stage, or in the back yard, there are moments that make you shriek with excitement and moments where even your breath feels too loud.

This is why we love sports.  Every match, round or game is a little pantomime of life.  It’s seldom an even playing field.  Everything is a mysterious combination of skill, effort, courage and chance.  And at the end of the day, the score card isn’t always fair.

But there are always lessons to learn…


I remember jumping back into the car after one particularly gruelling soccer game, having a revolting sock shoved into my face by one of my sons, and hearing him say, “Take a deep breath, mum.  It’s the smell of victory”.

Winning is fun.  We try and tell the kids that it’s not about winning, but let’s be real for a sec.  It’s sport.  So it kind of is.  I hear a lot of parents say that “it’s just about having fun”- and that’s great.  But have you ever had a season where you spend week after week getting defeated?  It’s not that much fun.

So here goes… in my opinion, of the three top things that kids can learn from winning, the first one is:

  • It’s ok to want to win.  Desire, focus, motivation… none of these are evil, but our culture has an insidious way of pairing these emotions with their sinister counterparts like greed or arrogance.  Let’s never ask our children to apologise for having the audacity to see themselves as little champions.
  • Winning takes effort.  It’s true that every game has an element of chance.  There are lucky shots and fortunate coincidences; but they are usually only moments, and very rarely responsible for the entire sum of the final score.  It’s important for our kids to re-inforce the correlation between effort and reward.  One day, it might mean a promotion, or a marriage saved.
  • No victory is permanent.  I am fortunate enough to coach one of my son’s futsal teams.  The kids are young and some are new to the sport.  We win a few, and we lose a few.  The important thing to remember when we win, is that there are no guarantees for next time.  We respect each brand new opportunity to prove ourselves and we guide the kids in being gracious in both victory and defeat.


Loosing isn’t QUITE as much fun as winning, but knowing how to do it well is an important part of life.     Here’s why…

  • You have a chance at some objective self appraisal.  With each loss, we are able to reflect on our limits and make an assessment about the things that we could have done differently.  I find that so long as we are kind, it’s important to be honest with our kids.  Don’t tell little Johnny that he played magnificently, if he spent most of the game picking his nose in the shade.  Highlight the good things, and ask your child to make his own observations for areas he would like to improve.
  • You gain empathy.  It stings, it always stings.  Knowing what it feels like to lose,  allows us the perspective and compassion to handle our victories with more grace.
  • No defeat is permanent.  Kids amaze me with their ability to bounce back.  The paralysing grief that follows a devastaing loss can usually be dissipated with vanilla milkshakes.  By next week, nobody really remembers the score and even if they did, it is no longer relevant.  In sport, like in life, the only thing that matters is:  what will you do next?

At the end of the day, that’s all the matters.   The spirit with which you recover from a loss and the grace with which you handle your victories.  There’s a lot to learn from both winning and losing; the important thing is to stay out there, and keep playing… both in life and in sports.

As I said to the boys recently- play life a little bit more like it’s a game.  And play your next game a little bit more like it’s your life.

The ancient art of raising boys, as mastered by none.