They were talking about raising teenagers on ABC702 just now. One lady rang up and said "when you have little children you often say they are so gorgeous you wish you could eat them up and when they grow into teenagers you wish that you had".

Regularly I have moments, like yesterday morning when Marianna had the mother [pun intended] of all tantrums because I wouldn't let her carry the box of jelly beans I had just bought her, when I understand why some animal species eat their young.

I love Southern Fried Momma - she writes the funniest shit... and this blog entry about her parenting style and the idea of homeschooling really made me laugh/shudder/nod in empathy.

I mean who would think that homeschooling is a good idea? Seriously people, there are trained, [reasonably] well paid professionals to do this dangerous job, why would you contemplate doing it yourself. Personally I think DIY is for suckers (or at the very least enthusiastic amateurs); whether you're talking about painting the spare room (looks easy, but isn't) or clearing the blocked toilet (looks dirty, is dirty, but it's better than waiting for the slackarse husband to get around to it), it's all ugly and should be left to the specialists. Working with children is doubly more so. They are unpredictable, they can and will hurt you, their whinging voices can cause mature adults to lose the will to live. Why would you try this at home?

So if it means sitting through unbelievably dull Fete meetings (like I did last night) in order to fundraise to support the public school our children attend I'm all for it. I'll go to meetings, sell raffle tickets, bake cakes, set up and dismantle fete stalls, anything but sit down with my child and try to teach them anything. I've tried and failed and I am very reluctant to do it again.

Three cheers for the teachers of this world; the people who willingly put their lives and sanity on the line each day to teach our children so that we don't have to!

To the casual observer it may appear that I hate my children. But rest assured I don't. They certainly test my sanity on a very regular basis. Often they make me think that I should have given more serious thought to a life in the nunnery or a Buddhist monestary or simply a cave far, far away. But apart from these moments I spend a lot of time loving my children so much it scares me.

They are both amazing little people and the fact that the universe has somehow placed them in my care is a totally awesome and unfathomable concept. They make me feel stuff all the time.

How can I describe what I feel when I find Marianna dressed in a singlet and undies dancing in front of the mirror in her room, singing Waterloo at the top of her lungs, substituting "bum" for every second word?

How can I describe what I feel when I find Will and Marianna conspiring together in her room. Huddled around her little Dora table, Marianna is issuing instructions to Will who is her scribe. He has written "I love you mummy. From Marianna". They are preparing it as a surprise for me.

Parenting is full of really tough moments but the sweet moments make it all so worthwhile. I am one very lucky mummy.

After driving everyone around me nuts (story of my life) discussing the pros and cons of sending Marianna to school next year I have ... drum roll please ... picked up her enrolment forms from the school.

Honestly, I've felt like a pendulum in a clock these last few months. Yes, I'm definitely sending her. No, I'm definitely not sending her. Well obviously we're currently in the "yes we're sending her" camp right now.

With a late May birthday she will be one of the youngest (if not the youngest in the class) which doesn't make me very happy. But every indicator tells us she'll be ready. The reverse side is leaving her at day care for another year and I know for a fact she'll be bored out of her brain and I think her behaviour will go downhill if she's left in a room with a whole lot of 3 year olds to bully. She needs to be challenged as she learns quickly and we think only school will offer her that opportunity.

Hopefully this will be the right decision. Time will tell.

I've been memed by Kath. It all started here.

I'm a little vague and sore-throaty today so I'm just going to wing it. I think the point is to write 5 things I love (or not) about being a mother. This is dangerous territory but I'm going to give it a go.

1) Becoming a mother wasn't easy for me. My children are adopted. My body let me down, nothing to be done about that. I prefer not to dwell on negatives. My children's birth mothers couldn't care for them; I couldn't have a baby. Somehow, through the mysterious workings of the universe, DoCS and the court system in both Guatemala and Colombia, I became their mother. The sadness, regret and pain of both of these situations live within me always. They are tiny atoms fused within my heart. 99.9999% of the time I don't think about them or feel them. But occasionally something will happen to make me re-focus on their existence. The weight of these moments is more than I can bear, but I have to, and soon the moments pass. I don't want to think that these atoms affect my parenting but I fear that they do. I can not articulate these fears, I just feel them fluttering there, under my heart, sometimes.

2) Because of point (1) there is some part of me which still can't accept that I am actually a mother. Someone has surely made a mistake. I like to turn these strange sensations into a positive. I live by the idea that my children are only lent to my by the universe, I do not own them, just as no parent "owns" their child. I felt "owned" as a child and I do not want that for my children. I want to walk side by side with them, guide them where I can, aware that I know so little, that I can not foresee or control their path. These ideas free me and trouble me. I see other parents sharing a more intense, more intertwined relationship with their children and wonder if there is something wrong with me; am I missing some maternal spark.

3) I find the day to day of parenting a heavy weight to carry. It is not just the fact that there is not enough hours in the day to fit in the children's needs, housework, paid work, other family issues, hobbies, friends, etc, etc. Though this is a significant fact. It's that I am selfish. There is a strong internal faction inside me which demands "me" time, whether it's to write this blog, or go to a mums' dinner, or simply plop in front of the tv in peace and quiet to watch some reality tv trash which I sadly find entertaining. Mothers want to be with their children all the time, right? Shouldn't I want that too. Maybe it's that my children won't be compartmentalised, they won't stick to the rules that exist in my mind. Play when I want to play with you, eat when I want you to eat, go away and play quietly when I want you to do so. They do normal annoying child-like things and sometimes that is hard for me to cope with.

4) So far it seems that there is nothing I love about being a mum. I guess that's just my processing. It's funny because I so love almost everything about being a mum; a mum to two beautiful wonderful little people who I am so priviliged to be able to parent. It is almost like the emotional part and the physical/mental part of parenting are two very different things. How can I describe the joy of snuggling in bed at night next to Will as he settles into sleep, listening to his comments and questions about the day past and the day ahead? He is my fragile little man, the baby who eight years ago lived with the possibility of never walking or talking, now almost ten years old, robust, happy, friendly and loving. My heart swells to bursting with admiration and awe at how far we have all come together since the day we first held him in our arms in Guatemala City in September 2000.

5) Then there is Marianna, our dynamic diva. Whereas parenting Will has meant living with the fear and joy of a dependant child, parenting Marianna has come with all the opposite fears and joys. She is so independant it is strictly her lack of disposable income which prevents her from moving out and living life as she sees fit right now at the tender age of almost four. I adore her and I fear her; I know she is capable of bringing immense happiness or possibly causing terrible pain. I am sometimes scared at what the future may hold for her and us. Anything is possible for my bright, beautiful, strong-minded princess.

Well, as usual, I've meandered into a whole lot of useless navel gazing. Barely touched on the theme at hand. I am much better at the basic memes, as opposed to these more DAM ones. Bugger it.

Here's another sweet family anecdote to add to my Mother of the Year nomination application.

A couple of weeks ago Marianna woke up and came into the kitchen where I was fiddling with Will's school lunch.

"I want to give my daddy a hug," was her opening line.

"He went to work early this morning sweetie, you'll have to wait until he get's home this evening," I said.

"NOOO, I have to give my daddy a hug NOW," she retorted.

"Well, daddy isn't here. If you want we can call him on the phone and say 'good morning'. Otherwise you can give me a hug or wait until tonight."

She was quite for a few moments. Then (in case I had misunderstood her previous requests):

"I WANT TO GIVE MY DADDY A HUG NOOOOWWWWW ... [significant and ominous pause] ... YOU SHIT!"

Look, it's hard to shift blame for my angelic little cherub knowing such words. She would certainly have heard me uttering the odd "shit" here and there. But in my defence I should say that it isn't my fault that the roads are so heavily populated by moronic arsehole shitheads who so obviously found their driver's licences in Corn Flakes packets.

I do need to give her points for using it so well and in proper context. Despite the initial shock I was suitably impressed.

A moment any mother would be proud of.

My morning starts off well. Some exercise, a shower, you know.

Then Big Jay announces he is going to work and all hell breaks loose. Princess Cranky Pants goes into major meltdown. "Daddy, daddy, daddy... I want my daddy". Over and over again and VERY LOUD!

I try to ignore her, going about my business in the bathroom. The hysteria continues. I come into the lounge room to check that she is OK and she is standing in the doorway, the front door WIDE OPEN... and there I am in the nuddy. Shit!

Luckily our front door only opens onto the private lift lobby room shared by us and our next door neighbours in No. 14. They are an old couple whom we don't see very much. It would have been my luck to have old Bob come out at that moment to go for one of his bike rides.

Hastily semi-hiding my bits with one arm (a lot of bits and not enough arm) I crab walk to the door and pry it out of her little hands. She fights like a wild cat, tears spurting, screaming non-stop. The minute I get her away from the door she is back to it, trying to open it again. I have no option but to lock her (momentarily) in her room. She continues to scream and bang on the door.

Quickly I dress and come back to her. She has quietened down. I offer a cuddle and happily she sits on my lap while I get my daily morning fix of Jon and Kate plus 8. Daddy is forgotten.

How was your morning?

Parenting is really, really, really hard. I would give anything to get it right, or at least to get it better.

Marianna's favourite word right now is POO. She just can't get enough of it. The funniest thing is how she includes it in her favourite songs by using POO instead of another word, e.g. Twinkle twinkle little POO (which has to be shouted for special effect).

So last night as I was saying "good night" to her I asked her what book daddy had read to her (Jason is currently reading to her every night while I read The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, chapter by chapter, to Will). She was all snuggled into her pillow with her quilt pulled up near her chin. She whispered something I couldn't hear.

"What was that?" I asked.

"POO!" she said.

"Dad read you a book about POO?"

"About POO... and WILLIES... and BUM BUMS!" she said, trying not to giggle and with a very evil glint in her eyes.

"Oh, that sounds nice," I said, backing out of the room trying so hard not to laugh out loud.

Just in case you thought we weren't doing a very good job in the parenting department.

I want to make a conscious effort to record the cute, funny and down-right kid-like things the munchkins say and do. I feel I spend a lot of my time being cranky with them and I want to remember the great moments.

For example, this morning. Marianna was having a good morning until it was time to head out the door. She decided she wanted to take Teddy to day care, which was fine with me. However as we were about to walk out the door she threw him on the floor and said "you carry him". Of course I said "NO" because not only will I not pander to her silly little whims but I also had my arms full with a Tupperware container full of muffins I made for the office, my lunch, my handbag, keys and garage remote.

She went ballistic, screaming and sobbing as if she was being murdered. I was running late so I simply dragged her out the door towards the lift. She lay screaming on the ground while we waited for the lift. [Poor Will wanted to help carry Teddy but she wouldn't let him. It's her way or no way.] The lift came and I had to drag her inside. Then drag her out again when we got to the basement.

I left her screaming in the little lift lobby while I opened the garage and the car and got Will inside and put all my stuff in the car. Then I came back for her and carried her screaming and hysterical to the car and tried to strap her in her seat. Have you ever tried strapping an octopus on speed into a baby seat?

She continued to scream and yell "I want my Teddy" at the top of her lungs for about 15 minutes into our trip (that's stamina for you). Finally she calmed down and the rest of the car trip was peaceful and uneventful.

Upon arriving at day care I unstrapped her and as I was holding her to put her on the ground she smiled sweetly at me and said "I'm happy with you mum". Then she happily walked into the centre and the day went on.

Parenting is the hardest and the best job in the world.