Heartbeat

We've been struggling this week.

I've been in bed mostly, with a nasty case of the gastro which made me very weak, dizzy, and gave me vertigo. Not funny. I couldn't do a thing. I would lie in bed, holding on to the wooden sides of the bed frames. Of course I knew I was in bed and wouldn't fall, but I couldn't help myself. At times, I thought I would faint. Seriously not funny. I spend three days in bed, with Hubby, Jessie and Oma and Opa coming to the rescue, looking after my house and family for me. I don't know what I would have done without their combined efforts... And many many thanks are due.

Hubby is stressed at work (all these stock marked crashes aren't helping, so can you all stop selling now please?). The stress gave him insomnia. The insomnia made his heart race.

Hubby went to the doctor, who agreed that it was stress. Still, best to do some basic tests on the heart - you never know. Two out of three kids with a disability, big mortgage, running his own small business - does sound a bit like a heart attack stuff, doesn't it?

But not to worry, all was fine. Blood tests fine, heart scan and monitoring fine. All hunky dory. Just stress.

When Hubby went for his last test, they hooked him up to some equipment. Suddenly he heard his heartbeat. And promptly burst into tears.

The technician came up to check if he was all right. Yeah, yeah, he was fine.

Thing is, when he heard his heartbeat, it took him straight back to that very first moment at the midwife's. That first time you hear your children's heartbeat. That very first real connection (well, for men, certainly. Most of us women have been heaving for a few weeks by then and have a real connection thank you very much). Hearing his own heart beat brought back the memory of hearing his children's' for the first time. And my lovely sweet husband burst into tears.

Ah, that sooo sweet, said the technician. Make sure you tell your wife

He told me.

And I'm telling all of you. Because it really is sooo sweet.

Mixed up

Life at the age of nearly eight must be confusing.

The boys go to a school that is a bit unusual. It's run by a lovely mob called The School of Philosophy and I could probably best summarise them as Christians that follow a Guru from India. Combining the best of the East and West, and all that. So the boys have been introduced to this concept of "God" and some various off-shoots such as Jesus, Mary, Noah, and Moses and such figures. All of which get mixed up (once Possum insisted that Mary was God's mother and Moses was his brother. Hm).

At home we are Buddhists, and as such, we don't believe in an external entity called "God". We strongly believe in Karma, and off course Reincarnation.

We talk about religion regularly. At school the kids read the Bible and the Badvad Gita , and regularly encounter stories from the Aboriginal Dreamtime. We explain to them that there are many other religions. Beaver has a godmother who is Tibetan Buddhist and a godfather who is Jewish, and Possum has Tibetan Buddhism and Amanda Margi followers as godparents. We're trying to find a Christian and/or Muslim to take on a similar role for Boo Boo - but that's another story for another time. We tell the kids the Divine is a treasure, and there are many different treasure maps for people to find their way, and they will all have to find their own in life. This in fact is very easy to explain when you have walkers, wobbly walkers and wheelchair users in your family. One can just run up, the other needs to take the stairs with railings, and the other takes the ramp, all to get to the same place, all in a way suited to who they are.

The boys have a bit of a thing about arguing who and what they believe in. Generally Beaver is a God follower, while Possum goes for Buddha. Except if their brother states a strong opinion on the other idea, in which case they are both happy to switch sides just to be in opposition to their sibling. Yep. Sibling rivalry trumps religious loyalty every time.

Anyway.

Beaver has been thinking about the whole "why do I have CP " thing a fair bit again. Since I told him in our latest discussion that it's not his fault he has CP he's been very interested in finding out whose fault it is then. He wasn't too happy with the explanation that in a way it was Mummy and Daddy's fault, because he knows we didn't consciously chose this for him, and if we could take it away, or take it ourselves, we would.

So yesterday in the car, Beaver said to Possum"

"It's God's fault that I have CP. He made me like this. I do hope that he will not give me CP in my next life though, I'm really fed up with this CP thing."

Who said all these various religions can't happily co-exits? Even in the mind of a nearly 8 year old...

Surreal

Last week, my sweet little possum had a friend over for a play date.



The boys had fun. At one point, they were busy in the sandpit, making a castle.

Suddenly, Possum came out with the opening lines of his role in the coming Shakespeare play.

And his mate responded with the next lines. Possum joined in. These are not their lines, they belong to some girls in the class. But the children have practiced their play for the school's big Shakespeare Festival in November so often, that the kids pretty much know the whole piece.

And so, we were treated to two five year old boys, sitting in a sandpit, reciting an abridged version of "A Midsummer Nights' Dream".

Wonderfully surreal!

Puddle

What does a two year old do when they see a puddle? Jump into it.

What does a two year old who uses a wheelchair do when they see a puddle?

As you can see from the tyre tracks, many many times.

In and out of the puddle. Fun!

Yee Haa !

Break

It's been a busy first week of the school holidays.

Yesterday, I went to the NSW parliament, a visit which made it into our newspaper.

After that, Hubby and I went off on our own. We put the kids to bed and left them in the capable care of my parents, while we had our second night away from the children in the last 8 years. The last time we had a night away we made Boo Boo, so we've been a bit reluctant to do this sort of thing again but we're safe now, so off we went. It's a bit sad, isn't it. I've had 4 nights away from my children in the last 8 year, two of which were with my beloved, the other two with a dear friend. We resolved yesterday that we would aim to make this an annual event.

One of the reasons we would like to do this again lies in the venue. You see, we have long known about the gem that is the Q Station (as the project is in the hands of a friend of Hubby's sister) but had never got round to visiting the place. Well, all you Sydneysiders out there, it's a must do.

The place is spectacular, a wonderful restoration of a heritage place (the old Quarantine Station where new immigrants were kept for weeks on end to keep diseases out of the country) and the view is stunning.

Have a look at this picture of Hubby outside our room door. That is Sydney harbour reflected in the window of our room, and Manly behind Hubby.

Go. Book now.

And tomorrow, we're off with the whole tribe - us five plus all the grandparents and aunties and uncles and cousins - for 5 days to the Kangaroo Valley.

I can't wait.

I have to admit, we've had a hard year. Moving house, renovating a house, buying expensive equipment, and in amongst all that some worries with Hubby's business. We are all exhausted.

So.

See you all next week....