How do you know when enough is enough? To stop pushing the things that aren’t coming naturally to fit into your days? For me blogging has become one of those things. I started off with a hiss and a roar, wrote some of the best things that I have ever written in my life and then I just all of a sudden ran out of words. Some of the things I felt compelled to write were cathartic. Healing. Some were controversial in a sense (gender disappointment is a known topic of derision) and some were ‘tie your tummy up in knots’ nerve wracking to publish (hello hunt for the father who doesn’t know I exist – now the potential father who does know I exist but claims never to have met my mother so either she lied for some reason or he’s in denial/has a terrible memory). The posts I wrote about mum were probably the most healing of the lot. Losing a parent is probably going to happen to all of you at some time in your lifetime and it’s a lonely experience. I think whether you are young or old, it doesn’t make the pain any easier. Some could argue fairness (hell, I know I did! In what world does losing your life to cancer at 43 seem fair?) but that’s life isn’t it. Unpredictable at best, heartbreaking at worst.
My fun posts about my boys were probably my favourite. I started this blog in humour before touching on more serious notes. I love to write in humour, it’s how I live my life. Full of jokes and sarcasm and way too many swear words! But this winter has been a rough one with sickness and a bit of a crazy busy schedule of a new routine with a new school starter (in NZ they start school on their actual 5th birthday). After a thorough back and forth over the potential fit for him at a few schools, we decided on one outside of our suburb. A 15 minute drive to be precise (20 in traffic) and that has altered my entire morning. I do one drop off of the youngest in my area before driving to drop off the other and stay with him until the bell rings, then drive to the train station to park, catch the train, walk to work starting at 10am these days (but leaving the house at 8.15am!). I then work until 5.30pm, walk back to the train station and catch the 6pm train to my car and drive home, generally arriving at 6.50pm. By the time I get the kids settled to bed and sit down it’s between 8 and 9pm. And of course I need to be in bed by 10pm to have any semblance of enough sleep to be energetic enough to pull it off the next day! Is it little wonder my brain is too fried to find the extra brain power to write?
I’ve spoken to lots of bloggers lately who have felt the same. With winter comes sickness, darkness and cold. Cold is best tackled with a warm blanket on the couch and a marathon of addictive mind numbing television. Or a book and a hot coffee. Or bed with its electric blanket and a dog or cat asleep on your feet. I can’t speak for everyone but I think when you are frying your brain with a busy schedule it can stomp all over your capacity to form coherent words. That’s how I feel.
I love my little slice of the internet but I’ve decided that I need to refill my glass to the top to be able to form the words to write here, at least to write something of substance. So yes, I’m sporadic in my posts. I’m not saying goodbye, I’m just saying sorry that my writing is a little infrequent at the moment! Until I get something better in place with my routine (if I can!) I won’t be writing as frequently. But I will be writing sometimes. I hope you can bear with me!
Do you ever get burned out and give up on something you used to love? Do you ever take time out for you?
“To dream anything that you want to dream. That’s the beauty of the human mind. To do anything that you want to do. That is the strength of the human will. To trust yourself to test your limits. That is the courage to succeed”
Many of you may not know this, but years before I started Maybe Baby Brothers I actually had another blog. My little slice of the internet was used to document my way through my infertility journey and was called Maybe Baby … (or maybe the loony bin). I started it as a survival mechanism, infertility is a lonely and hard road to travel, especially so soon after losing a parent. I was 25 when we started trying to conceive our first child and 29 by the time I gave birth to a healthy baby boy after 3 cycles of IVF.
I met Valerie in an online group for mums. We didn’t meet when we had our babies but shortly thereafter and over the years she has shared tidbits of what she went through in her first marriage and now she has agreed to share her story.
I am astounded at the courage she has shown to go through that and come out the other side the woman she is today. She is sharing her story in the hopes that it will be able to reach someone who is in the same situation and help them to find the courage to get out. She is certainly not what you would think of as a typical victim which just goes to show that there is no typical in family violence. It could be happening to anyone. Chances are it’s happening to someone you know right now and you wouldn’t have the faintest idea. Statistics show that 1 in 3 women experience physical and/or sexual violence from a partner in their lifetime. That is a very scary statistic.
I’m a cat person. I am. I have to confess that right off the bat.
I never grew up with dogs, only cats so when I was old enough to make my own decisions I ‘encouraged’ my now husband that we needed to get a dog. In all honesty, I’d just come back from a big overseas adventure in Europe and was quite possibly just bored and looking for something new to inject a bit of excitement into my return to an everyday mundane routine.
Jessi and I met when we both became pregnant at the same time in 2010 and due in the same month, July 2011. We bonded over our difficulties in conceiving and our friendship just grew from there. We were in the same online birth group for our first born sons and I have had the pleasure of meeting her and her wonderful family several times. She is such a beautiful soul who doesn’t deserve this heartache but sadly she is not alone on this journey. I have met several women who have gone (or are going through) the same thing.
Miscarriage is one of those silent topics that many women are ashamed to talk about for fair of being belittled.
It’s a tapestry of emotions and life events quilted together to tell a story.
We have bright patches of colour in happier times and more subdued colours in sadder times. Some people’s tapestries are brighter than others and some are duller but every persons quilt is unique and everyone’s lives are made up of a million different events sewn together to tell their individual story.
MOJO:A quality that attracts people to you and makes you successful and full of energy.
I’ve had some mega mojo missing lately, especially when it comes to writing.
It got to the point that I couldn’t even look at my blog. Just logging into my dashboard filled me with a sense of anxiety because I just had no idea what to write about and actually, I didn’t even want to try! Has anyone been there? Where you have a responsibility (even if it’s not really a responsibility but it just feels like one) and you can’t stand the idea of it?
Usually I’m very organised with a blog post for a Tuesday morning which is the one day of the week that I can somehow squeeze a post in between the madness at home and my day to day job (no, I’m not repeating myself! The madness at home and my actual WORK. Yes, I know the two can be easily confused).
Last night however, I ‘briefly’ popped online with the intention to buy a few plates and bowls to replace the ones I smashed and instead I walked away (ahem, entered my credit card details to purchase!) pretty much everything BUT.
Forget KonMari. The other night I took my de-cluttering mission to the next level!
We’re in the process of building a brand new kitchen. This means walls, ceilings, floors and all! Of course, before that can happen we first had to remove everything to demolish the old one. So armed with 5 large plastic storage containers the hubby and I started to pull everything out one by one and decide whether or not we would keep the item or throw it away.