Monday, May 6, 2013
do it yourself.
Being out of action has made me realise a few things.
Crutches are a pain. Figuratively and literally. I think they're purposely designed to take the focus off the pain elsewhere by giving you excruciating pain in your underarms.
I must spend far more time than I realise wiping counters, putting agway toys, and vacuuming, because the house has descended into a sticky, crumby mess.
On Friday, I had a moment. I was exhausted. I was sore. And my small ones were being naughty in the way small children sometimes do when they know that Queen Mummy Fun Police is out of sorts and it's the end of the week and they're bored. The mutiny had me so frustrated that when it came to lunchtime I placed bread, butter, cheese, knives and plates on the table and told them to make their own sandwiches.
They couldn't do it. Not wouldn't- they actually thought it was fantastic- no, they couldn't grasp how to spread the butter on without tearing holes in the bread, how to cut their sandwiches without their plate sliding all over the table.
And I realised that I need to stop doing things for them that they can do themselves. Levi-pie loves cooking- they all do, but him particularly- and he's perfectly capable of making himself a cheese omelette with only a little stove-side assistance from me. He adores doing it, and wants to at least once a week. There's no reason he can't make a sandwich. Or make his bed. Or pick his jarmies up from the floor. Or feed his dog.
The same, of course, applies in differing amounts for the girls.
Operation: Basic Life Skills begins as soon as my knee has healed up.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
the bright side
So, the inevitable happened. I'm on crutches, and a bucketload of painkillers, having done more damage to my knee than I initially thought. The coordination is strong in this one.
The bright side is this: the abundance of support that's come my way. Being a mother of small children, and being on crutches is Just. Not. Fun. And when my patience fails, my compassion fails, or physically I fail to deliver what my children need, other people in my village have stepped in.
My mother has done a crazy amount of babysitting for me, sleepovers included. It's her I message when I need help. She's had the girls for sleepovers. Had Scarley more than I have this week {getting up and down off the floor, say, to change a nappy, makes me bite my lip and sometimes cry- literally}. Called me just to ask how I am. Driven me to the chemist and the supermarket. I'd honestly just not have managed without her.
Shan has made school lunches {no puzzle sandwiches though}, entertained the small ones while I stay in my blanket fort with icepacks, and is currently out gathering lunch.
My sister-in-law, who's taken Levi to kindergym, and then out to the park and for icecream and to watch the airplanes. Levi himself has been so wonderfully kind and helpful that I've repeatedly told him how proud I am of him, and have given him a $10 note. {My Bee girl, unfortunately, not so much. And by not so much, I mean not at all. It's really shaken her to realise that it is possible for Mummy to be hurt, to be out of action, to not be able to captain my ship as per usual and organise everything and provide lunchboxes packed with puzzle shaped sandwiches and carrots cut into snowflake shapes and do the thousand things I do day in, day out. The result is some pretty intolerable behaviour on her part}.
The kindy staff, who insist on helping, who ignore my 'no, I'm fine' and thrust pillows under my knee during parent meetings. People in the supermarket carrying things. Friends giving medical advice. My little kitten, who curls up on my chest and purrs.
I've also been consciously giving myself a break. Microwaveable steamed rice and steam fresh vegetables have made an appearance like never before. Crumby floors are being ignored {with the exception of Friday, when I smashed a glass on said floor}. Lots of resting, and a lot of letting go- as long as teeth are cleaned, meals are reasonably nutritions {beans on wholemeal toast and a glass of milk absolutely fall into that category}, and intolerable behaviour is dealt with, the rest can slide for a while.
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