It's like those dreams where you're in the parent teacher interview and suddenly realise you're nude.

Emma from Reality Raver writes for The Punch, a recent News Ltd current affairs news site which I am somewhat addicted to.

So addicted in fact that the desire to have some of my own writing published on it was one of the final arse-kicks that got me writing again - 500 word vignettes into parenting four boys (a sort of Marley & Me but without having to pick up dog shit or pay vet bills) that I gave the umbrella title 'Domestic Oblivion'.

I sent one off about a week and a half ago but haven't followed up on it, because following up on things tends to make me hot and not in a good way.

Yeah I know, idiot.

I could have sent them the other two I've written as well I guess, but my whole axiety-laden aversion to pitching myself, cold-calling and self-promotion is one of the big reasons I'm sitting here in true domestic oblivion not polishing my framed literature awards and trophies.

Anyway, Emma wrote a piece for The Punch on the rise of the mummy blogger today and she.mentioned.me.

I had to blog about it because Chef just kinda looked at me and my associated excitement with a mixture of being creeped out and that just smile and indulge her sentiment. Bless him.

It's Friday right?

1. My sinusitis has not improved despite antibiotics
2. Oscar has it too but thankfully not as badly
3. Saw our wonderful GP today (we're averaging two visits a week at the mo) and he's given me a script for a stronger antibiotic to take once this course is through
4. The hacking cough does not bode well with my lazy pelvic floor
5. Mum is coming home early to look after me
6. Chef is so excited about his new job, he's doing a few dinner shifts this week and next, before starting there officially. After my operation
7. The gall bladder is coming out on 12 August
8. Hence the need to be well and truly over this sinus hell toot sweet
9. Tonight is Friday night footy - the menu is chocolate, chips, gourmet sausages, bread rolls, salad and some kipfler potatoes
10. Oh, and an apple and raspberry pie I baked last night.

Points of interest - UPDATED!

Point 1

I think I've found a designer to make a dress for me for the tres chic wedding I have coming up in February. A wedding! How excitement. A dress, made just for me! How excitement twice over.

For those curious as to what pushes my buttons in terms of 'look' this is what makes my heart race at the moment. These are all by Trelise Cooper, a New Zealand designer whose pieces, from what I can gather, start at around $700 for half a sleeve.

But look at this, how kicky. How utterly ridiculous to have a coat for a February wedding.

Colour explosion! Believe it or not, but I could probably pull these colours off, though not the stance or the trout pout. But again, layers. In February. Stupid.

This, however, makes me fall down faint due to it's all round floaty girly loveliness.

This designer I'm talking has suggested a tailored coat type dress with a sleeve (there is a wicked bingo wing issue over here people, seriously, they could take out an eye if I get too excited in coversation and start flapping wildly) and a collar detail. I'm intrigued and encouraged. I had visions of ending up wearing some hideous Osti like number and feeling like I should be sitting at the table with the grandparents.

Point 2

Felix seems to have decided that teenage-like behaviours such as finding everything 'boring', 'gay', 'dumb' or otherwise of such onerous nature he might well as fall down on the floor in a slump are worth investing in so it's been a challenge of late to try and get him excited about anything.

Perhaps this is just a boy thing. Perhaps it's just an inherited trait from his father (food, technology, US baseball, Nascar, AFL, cricket) and Uncle (planes, cricket) and Grandfather (golf, AFL) who have passions but display them with such non-ness you could miss them all together. Who knows. But it shits me to tears. I mean come on, show some GODDAMN ENTHUSIASM.

Sorry, where was I?

Oh yes, Felix. So it was quite a tickle to watch him over the last few days get very excited about a rugby league (hugh-pah) gala day he was a part of today. First was being selected for the team in the first place. A boon considering he's never played thugby before. Then there was trying on the jersey and socks earlier this week when they came home (we've got to take them back on Monday Mum, but they have to be washed. Oh thank you for clarifying that for me son.). Then the trip to the chemist to get a new mouthguard (because goodness knows where his one from last year has ended up) and then the getting ready this morning.

There was much talk about one of the other teams and about how easy it was to beat them (oh boys, what they lack in public displays of enthusiasm they make up for tenfold in ego). How he likes playing wing because he gets the ball a lot and can score tries. This, is what it is all about for Felix, forget the being a part of a team, it is all about the singular glory of scoring goals/tries/points. That's ma boy.

Because the principal of the boys' school is a legend, he had noticed Oscar's new obsession last term of a touch footy ball and kicking tee, so he had suggested late last term that perhaps Oscar go along as the tee-man for the school.

So as a chorus to Felix's excitement was Oscar's. That he had to take lots of drinks. That today they had to get up, have a big breakfast, get dressed, put their lots of drinks and food into their bags and get to school early. Early mum. Did I tell you we have to be there early? Mum, we have to be at school early tomorrow. Tomorrow, for footy. We have to be early.

Insert vivid images of my brain exploding and shooting out various orifices here.

So cue the school morning scene in this household this morning. Both boys up, fully dressed (including shoes) and ready by ... drumroll ... 6.20am.

Now imagine every other morning where I'm screaming at them at about 7.45 to FOR THE LOVE OF MY SANITY GO AND GET READY FOR SCHOOL and you kind of get the gravity of the excitement.

When someone learns how to bottle this make sure to let me know.

Point 3

A few weeks back our favourite cafe advertised for a head chef. Chef naturally went for it even though he hadn't been looking for a new gig. It came down to him and one other and - obviously as I haven't blogged about it and if I haven't blogged about it then it surely hasn't happened - he didn't get it.

He was pretty gutted as we all are when you put your hand up but give the wrong answer but as he was happy in his current gig life went on accordingly.

Then the other night he mentioned he'd sent his CV to a long-established well-regarded restaurant on our side of town. Can I just say, he mentioned this only because I asked the specific question 'have you sent your CV to anyone else' as we were discussing some possibilities that had come through Twitter (I KNOW!). You see, that's another male trait in the Berry family - unless you ask the specific question, don't expect to be told. It's like they'd be excellent characters in a John Le Carre book.

He went for an interview which went well. He was going to do some trial dinner shifts next week. Then the owner rang and asked if he could do one this week instead. So he went last night.

At about 7.30 I sent him a text wishing him luck and that he was a legend and should just be himself.

At 8.46 he sent a reply saying, 'Wow they offered me a job'.

Even more impressive was that I had my phone set to silent and didn't realise he'd sent it. When he got home I was all, how did it go, and he was all, good and then he just sat down. The first episode of The State of Tara was on so granted I was a little distracted but after a few minutes I asked what did they say and he of course said didn't you get my text.

At which point there was much joy and merriment.

It's a smidge more money which will make a difference to the current ridiculous state of our budgetary woes and it will see him back working more nights than not, but it is closer to home, back in the role of head chef and a whole new bunch of fresh challenges for him.

And ain't that better than a hole in the head.

Point 4

I never EVER win anything and this week I won TWO things.

One - the most exquisitely made hat by Sooz. Seriously, her sewing, fabric choice and did I mention her sewing are simply, breath-takingly first rate.

Two - THE book from Meet Me At Mikes. THE book I have coveted since it was published but have not bought due to our dire finances not allowing it combined with my serious self-doubt at my sewing/crafting abilities (which I am more and more coming to realise are probably more related to a lack of space than a lack of interest/intent). I am SO excited.

Point 5

All this good news/luck/happiness has seen a return to us walking to and from school and me buying lottery tickets.

Point 6

A friend from school mentioned she's started quilting. I have wanted to embark on quilting since I was a teenager but again, see issues in Point 4. I just doubt my ability to do so and also my ability to stick with it. There is still a remarkably intricate and adorable cross-stitch sitting in the top of the linen cupboard which I got about a quarter of the way through while on bed-rest during Oscar's pregnancy. Anyway, if I do embrace the crafter in me and get quilting, it'll be using fabrics from somewhere like this. And - of course - Ikea.

Random

Yesterday, which was Tuesday as it turns out and not Monday as I would have had you believe, Grover and I set out to pick the boys up from school. What glorious weather Sydney is turning on at the moment - think expansive blue as blue skies and temperatures hovering in the high teens - and I was just thinking this to myself* when we walked past one of the new McSortaMansions on the street parallel to us.

The owner was walking around on the yet to be landscaped dirt sprinkling something from a plastic container. For a moment I thought it was seeds but then realised it was water. She stopped me, this lovely petite Indian(?**) woman and said she had been to church that day and was sprinkly some blessed water around to bring good health and luck to her family.

It turns out she'd had some health scares and a series of mammograms and had just received some positive results*** so was giving thanks and sprinkling the water for the future and for her whole family.

I wished her well and we were on our way.

I really do love where we live.

*I'm blaming this happy shit on the new drugs

** Isn't that dreadful, that I couldn't tell. Maybe she was Singaporean? She didn't have a very strong accent but there was an accent, it was confusing.

*** From how she was telling me I kinda presumed she meant positive results meant negative results, if you get what a I mean.

Monday. In brief.

• So I have a wicked head cold which Mum is convinced is going to my chest
• The chest x-ray I had today will serve to prove or disprove that
• Another round of blood tests this morning meant for another period of fasting and well, me + fasting = one.hot.mess
• Is there anything worse than a viscious head cold and scratchy sore throat for which you can take no water, no panadol, no respite? Well, sure, there is heaps worse but when you're hungry and me and stubborn enough to still start the school term with walking boys to and from school then it feels pretty darn foul
• I'm watching The Crucible with Daniel Day Lewis and Winona Ryder - I can't stand these sorts of movies - where you see such wrong being done even though you know the ending is good it is still unbearable
• I have a head ache
• Grover is sleeping
• The good in the challenging? That school is back today and Jasper is at kindy
• New meds are interesting, it appears that without at least eight hours of unbroken sleep they are rendered useless
• A relative of sorts was scheduled a few weeks back after threatening to kill herself. She's young. How my heart breaks for her and the journey she must now embark upon. I fear her immediate circle do not truly understand the gravity of it all but that it is not my load to bear
• Oscar requested a hair cut yesterday so of course the little boys wanted one too and for reasons only explicable to tiredness and being momentarily distracted I agreed and now I have two small children resembling either fat holocaust survivors or toddler deliquents
• Even though I've been silent here I've been writing a series of 500 words pieces about parenting
• Now I need to find someone to publish them
• Because dudes, as much as I need a box of tissues, saline nasal spray and a good lie down at the moment, I also need to do something to contribute to our cash flow.

eins, zwei, drei!

Awesome

So the flu that Oscar had last week and is still recovering from?

Has now befallen Felix.

Which means the plans for this week - a day at the Zig Zag railway and then on to my bf's place in the country for a few days - are now no more.

I'm worried about Felix, he says everything is spinning and everytime he lies down he feels like he's falling and he's just got a temperature that just won't go away.

I took him to the doctor this afternoon but it wasn't our doctor. I'm going to take him back tomorrow - to our doctor - and hopefully won't see the other doctor in the waiting room.

Our doctor gave us Tamiflu for Oscar - rather than a script for it, which costs $50. The doc today wouldn't give it to Felix, just the script. This sounds pathetic, but we don't have $50 for medications at the moment. I asked him if he could give it to us and he was all oh no no no, we're only allowed to give it to high risk cases. Excuse me, I thought all children were classified as high risk.

He said it probably was pig flu but that it was actually milder than influenza A so you're better off getting the former than the latter.

Get this - they suspect that everyone in Sydney will have had it by Christmas.

I believe this is commonly referred to as an "unfortunate coincidence"

When the 10 day plan of reducing meds results in the one day of 'clear out' - meaning no meds - arrives on Day 3 coupled with a gall bladder flare-up, the like of which I haven't had for about 2-3 weeks and two little boys intent on playing with the same car come hell or whoever screams the loudest.

Oi.

The darndest thing

You know, if you suffer depression and suddenly your meds aren't as effective as they have been?

And how you and your shrink look at what is contributing to it and as part of that discussion look at the meds you are taking and play with the dosage?

And that the natural reaction is to increase the dose?

But then, that doesn't help and in fact seems to make everything worse?

As well as seeming to contribute to a few other issues that weren't such big issues previously?

So you start weaning off your meds to go onto a new one?

But on a much lower dose suddenly you feel normal again?

And it turns out that perhaps you were getting side-effects from too higher dose rather than the meds not being effective any more.

Ain't that a kicker.

Well that was the fastest two years of my life

Do you guys remember this?

Which, somewhat terrifyingly, was taken a whole month before this:

Which happened in the wee hours of Monday morning (3am on the dot) on 2 July 2007.

Our Super Grover turned 2 last Thursday. Forgive this post being a few days late but I'm still trying to get my head around the fact he's here at all.

Seriously, half the time it feels like I just had Jasper so how the hell I had another pregnancy and produced another sprogget is simply beyond me.

I often think about delivering this little chap. That's probably a bit weird isnt' it. But it was the first (and yes, it will be the only) labour and delivery which went how I wanted them all to go. All of my labours, bar that of Oscar which was a complete dogs breakfast, had my waters break (granted, with Felix they did that for me) and then little niggles for three hours and then bang, game on and all over in 45 minutes with actual delivery only ever taking about 7 to 10 minutes. Granted I'm guessing that would have happened with Felix as I got to two hours after breaking my waters and they stuck the drip in, but still, he was in the world in 45 minutes too and we all know how I like order in my world.

But with Grover I had my favourite midwife who had known us since the harrowing pregnancy that was Oscar's. So connected were we she came in even though it was her rostered day off. Such a quiet force of a woman she was always present but not on centre stage. Just off to the left, watching me, responding when I said something. This is a true midwife, a woman so experienced she just lets women do what their bodies need them to do. When I said to her that I needed to push but wasn't sure if I really did or if I just wanted it over she quietly told me to just go with my body. I was standing for the entire labour, standing for the delivery and absolutely starkers for the lot of it. I used a TENS machine for pain management and wished I had for each of them. The adrenalin and euphoria of a delivery with no drugs is breath-taking in its wonderment. Felix was there and not the least bit freaked out. He cut the umbilical cord of his youngest brother.

I have no idea why I'm telling you all this. I guess because in a way I miss I won't go through that again. Granted, I have no desire for the lazy uterus afterwards that required a gyno to stick her entire hand up my fanny and scrape out massive blood clots but still, I miss the fact I will never give birth again. There you go.

But were was I.

My monkey boy.

The one who gets into everything.

Like finding a skewer and sticking it in the USB drive on my laptop causing a power surge from 'unknown source'.

Who adores textas and will draw on himself, the walls, the cupboards, the speakers, the floor, the anything when they are found.

The one who is so self-assured, so confident, so L.O.U.D.

But who loves nothing more than a snuggle on the lounge.

The first child of mine to watch children's television and do the actions.

The one whose mere appearance threw this family into a tailspin of lawsey mercy four really is a lot of children.

But who cracks us all up at least once a day.

The one who Felix referred to the other day with 'imagine if Grover hadn't been born' and when I replied that I'd still be working prompted the response, 'well thank goodness Grover was born'.

Who says 'I don't know' with the sweetest intonation known to man, or who calls out hello to Grandmama every time he walks through the front door, who must go out the front to wave goodbye to whoever has visited us, who says 'dub' for yes and 'nooooooh' for no. Who lies face down on the floor 'hiding' when it's time to go to bed/change a nappy/get dressed. Who insists on inspecting the nappy after he's done a poo. Who called a poo 'wee-wee' for months and months as if that somehow made it less gross.

Who stands up for himself to other kids regardless of their age or size.

Who is a force to be reckoned with.

Who, as if he knew I would start sticking sharp sticks in my eyes and ears with another child totally obsessed with Thomas the Effing Engine, has been the first to be truly obsessed by cars, buses, trucks and most of all, eeeor eeeors. Also known as ambulances and fire engines. Bless him.

But enough. Pictures say so much more don't you think?

And from his birthday last week

So here we are once more...

So for the last three months or so I haven't been travelling so well. There have been a number of stresses which each on their own were quite manageable but mooshed up all together started to swallow me whole. Mum's health issues (which have blessedly been largely resolved), our ongoing financial plight (which I know is only a product of this time of young children and will pass - eventually), everything to do with Oscar - his foot/feet, behaviour, bed-wetting and on and on it goes and being back in that phase which is having children aged between two and four.

On top of that I was trying to lose weight and had embarked on quite the exercise regime. There was the walking the boys to and from school each day which meant I was walking 8kms most days of the week, Jillian Michaels' 30 day shred, the gym and other sundry activities. I didn't lose a pound.

That reality was actually the straw which I think sent me spiralling downward. The paranoia started to creep back, the finding myself shaking my hands as if trying to rid my body of excess anxiety/stress/sadness/anger (you know, I'm always telling Oscar to stop flapping while I know this is how he handles his body trying to process what is going on around him), the inability to go to bed - not to get to sleep mind you just the actual act of going to bed -, poor quality sleep, negative thoughts, self-sabotaging behaviours, lots and LOTS of chronic sighing and - the kicker for me - anger. So much anger. And yelling. And starting to smack the kids. And more yelling.

Interestingly, it was during that three month period that was our school Term 1 I started having a glass (or 2) of wine almost every night. I really hadn't been drinking like that since before I had Jasper - so a good four years or so. I did twig to the relationship between the lack of weight loss and spiralling mood and increased alcohol intake.

Don't get me wrong, I'm certainly no teetotaller but I do know that if I can have one drink I might as well have two, or three, or ten. I was drinking really heavily when Oscar and Felix were young and it wasn't until I saw an Oprah (I KNOW!) episode on SAHM's who were worried they drank too much than I kinda thought hmmm. In fact, there was one woman who recounted a situation where one of the kids got sick during the night and there was no way she could have driven him to the hospital. Let's call that a lightbulb moment. But apart from that, there was - and is - the cold hard reality that getting on the turps has negative side-effects which ultimately override the lovely ones you have while imbibing your beverage of choice. Throw anti-depressants into that mix and what you get is a whole lot of trouble.

Technically, if you're on anti-depressants you should not be drinking at all. But then hello, I live in the real world and if someone is offering me a glass of sparkling shiraz I'm not about to go no thanks.

SO

I've been seeing a new psychiatrist for about nine months now and I really like him. Like my previous one (who I'd seen for almost 10 years) he is a straight talker, very matter-of-fact and pragmatic. I had got the impression from him that he wanted to change my meds but - and this is one of the reasons I have warmed to him - he didn't go all bull-at-a-gate about it. I was travelling fairly well then I stumbled and for the last six weeks I've been on a different dosage of the same meds.

It didn't work. I can feel the seeds of anxiety, I've been having crazy dreams - think of the day you've had then put that into a Salvador Dali painting and you're getting the picture, then put it on fast forward and bingo, that's my nightly viewing pleasure - and this nagging saddness that presents itself as general inactivity with resultant lack of productivity and ultimately anger. At myself and those around me.

It makes me unpredictable and not in a good way. I don't think it's fair on loved ones and in particular children to face each day with a 'I wonder if Mum's having a good day or bad day today' mindset.

I am from that parenting camp where we try to limit the no's and increase the why don't yous. So you know, if the three year old now has a reflex reaction to push their two year old brother to the ground every time he comes near, instead of don't push, don't do that, no we go nice hands, loving caring brothers, cuddles and kisses and so on (GOD suddenly I sound like a hippie).

When I'm not firing on all cylinders there is a lot of NO a lot of STOP PUSHING HIM and ultimately a drag off to the bedroom where my grip is a little too tight on his arm, the putting him onto his bed more of a throw and sometimes a smack. I am all for the times when certain behaviours are simply not tolerated and suitably punished but if I'm not showing and teaching my child how to treat someone - rather just berating them for what they are doing - how does that make me the best parent I can be?

In the midst of this is that ongoing internal dialogue questioning how 'real' or how 'legit' all of this is. I mean COME ON, talk about first world worries. It's always going to be hard being at home with two toddlers, it's always going to be hard with a child with special needs which seem to get worse the older he gets rather than less, it's always going to be hard ensuring the four children you wanted to have get the attention and input they each deserve, it's always going to be hard to give those children the opportunities and experiences you want them to have when money is tight and time ellusive. So suck it up baby, these here are tough times and they're what make the good times all the sweeter.

And on it goes.

But you know what, I don't care if there are those who think what I am experiencing is simply life and that I don't have the ticker to live the good, the bad and the ugly it sends my way. This is about my ability to live the good, the bad and the ugly and rise to it each and every day.

So over the next month I'm weaning off the Zoloft to move onto the Effexor and returning to my original dose of Epilum. I stopped drinking every night about eight weeks ago and definitely feel better for it. Curiously, this term I have done virtually no exercise (such was my level of pissed-offedness and my body) but focused on my diet and have lost 3 kilos.

My shrink asked me on Monday what this depression felt like - was it physical or more internal and I thought what a good way of looking at it. I was also a bit shocked because while I've been the first to say I wasn't 'too good' I had certainly not thought of it in terms of depression. How weird is that. Anyway, in the past most of my depressive episodes have been very internal - all of that self-doubt and internal monologuing about people looking at me, not being good enough and so on. But this one has been a weight, a sense of the roof being too low, you know, like that scene in the Gene Wilder version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory where they're all crammed into that tiny space near the beginning. He reckons some of that has come from the drug dosage we were trying out but also the nature of this depression. Interesting.

So ...

I just had this dream (on Chef's day off he let me have a nanna nap as I'm in the process of changing one of my meds and the old switcherooo is giving me dizzy spells of impressive proportions) which involved us living near the US-Canadian border.

We had Oscar and Felix who seemed to be teenagers and a group of Felix's friends. It was snowing.

We joined and indeed incited this group to embark in a game of highly illegal and awful high-jinx involving one going into a shop and requesting something that required the assistant to go out the back and look for it for some time while everyone else then snuck in and stole a range of items.

I pocketed a silencer while AB secured the most massive and black and shiny and dare I say handsome? rifle or some othe firearm which he hid inside his shirt and down the leg of his jeans.

Then - almost peeing ourselves with that laughter that comes from adrenalin and stupidity - we high-tailed it out of there and back over the border into Canada, with AB lying back in the passenger seat due to being unable to bend.

This is what happens when you start changing your meds, talking about moving overseas (dreaming people, we don't even have enough cash to get to the airport let alone pay for airfares anywhere), looking at options for managing possums in the backyard and realising your second son is as tall as your shoulders.