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November 2017

lessons-firstborn

I have a soft spot for my firstborn.

I know, I know, it’s not politically correct to say so.

Maybe because she’s the oldest, like I was, growing up.

Maybe because she’s the only girl, or maybe… because I have higher expectations of her. After all, she is older and should ‘know better’, right?

Ouch.

Can you feel any tension in all of this?

Brett and I had no clue what we were doing 9 years ago as first time parents. Believe me when I say I made aaaaall the rookie mistakes, trying to find my own way in parenting.

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learning-value-time

Nap time at last; time for tea!

I filled my mug from the cold pot, popped it in the microwave for a couple of minutes and waited impatiently for that soul-refreshing experience that is my nap time cuppa ritual. With a cheerful double beep, it was done.

I reached for the milk but, this is awkward, I’d been a bit heavy-handed in my hasty pour and there was really too much tea in the cup to top it with my desired dash of dairy.

I tried anyway – administering a tiny, clumsy plop and the skimpiest of swirls, but the cup was too full to move.  It was a sad moment. Reluctantly, I admitted defeat, decanting teaspoonfuls from the full cup down the drain.

The ritual had lost much of its magic; its flow. I mean the tea was still alright but the experience as a whole was just unsatisfying.

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in Faith, Family Life

Learning Like a Child

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learning-like-child

I’ve been teaching a 3-year-old the New City Catechism.

It was a supposed to be a lesson for her. I was going to systematically go through the questions and answers that explained our faith so that she would be a well-learned member of the church. I imagined that she would hide these little answers in her heart and when she was old would be able to recollect these little truths hidden inside.

But I am the one who is learning.

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mother-didnt-breastfeed

A lot of things failed to go to plan in the weeks surrounding my son Jackson’s entry into the world.

I hoped to go into labour at 41 weeks. Yes, I actually hoped to go past term, purely because we needed that time for our nursery renovation.

I hoped for a birth story like all my friends’: the requisite number of hours of labour, an epidural at just the right moment, and a modest amount of pushing, with little to no tearing, thank you very much.

I hoped to shed a few tears. I hoped for immediate skin-to-skin contact, for a photo of our new family of 3 mere seconds after baby’s first breath of air.

I hoped to breastfeed.

What I got was far beyond what I ever could have predicted.

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discussing-money

I remember as a child being told, “We can’t afford it.”

I’ve heard myself say to my children, “We can’t afford it.”

It confounded me when I heard it and I didn’t feel right when I said it, so I made a conscious decision to stop saying it.

I thought more deeply not only about what information I was passing on, but also what attitude and what picture of a relationship with money I was modeling.

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blessing-cleaning-toddler

I hate cleaning.

Don’t get me wrong: I love clean.

I grew up with a mother that knew how to clean thoroughly, spot the cobwebs that were invisible to the naked eye and throw open the windows to top it off with a fresh breeze. Coming home after a Mum Clean was refreshing and completely taken for granted.

But I am wired differently; I fight against my cluttery personality every day, as well as the part of me that says, “I’ll definitely do that later.”

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