Waldorf Fail

We are by no means Waldorf purists, but we do derive much inspiration from the approach when it can be practically incorporated into our days. Even by our decidedly slapdash standards, however, Wednesday marked a rather distinct Waldorf fail. I was becoming sick. The baby (or rather, toddler) had been sick and was only just becoming well. Our needs met in the middle and demanded drastic action. So I sighed; cut myself a whopping great slice of slack and put a DVD on my laptop for her.

When she was a tiny newborn, I watched as her eyes were drawn inexorably to the television in the corner. It's a simple fact that my children, like many of their peers, are drawn to brightly glowing screens like moths to...well, brightly glowing screens. I thought about Ni (nine at the time) and the way screens have been a double edged sword throughout the first decade of her life. I thought about how I had used the television as a background to my evenings; a way to fill the room and make it feel warmer; to help keep the loneliness at bay as well as something to focus on just enough that I could better filter the sensory overload constituted by beautifully boisterous and demanding Ni. I thought that, quite honestly, I'm not sure how I would have coped with that brilliant, voracious, never-sleeping first born, hungry for constant engagement with her solo parent, had it not been for Bananas in Pyjamas, Playschool and Bob the Builder. And then I took a breath and put the television away in my wardrobe. It's still connected to Ni's Wii, so that she can play when she has the occasional urge, but I've removed the antenna.

Surprisingly (or perhaps not), we haven't really missed it at all. In recent years, Ni's screen-based interests have switched to the more satisfyingly interactive world that her computer offers, so it wasn't a great leap for her at all. At first I planned to keep up with favourite shows online, but so far, it is only Doctor Who that has seemed worthy of the effort.

I hasten to tell people, when we have the television conversation, that plenty of (too much) screen use still goes on in our house, lest we begin to take on that saintly or elitist air that those who have managed to do away with that great altar of consumerism often adopt or have thrust upon them. Even in the less than mainstream circles in which we move, eschewing television seems to be quite often viewed as a radical act; something desirable, perhaps, but beyond the reach of the ordinary family for a multitude of perfectly valid reasons.

Ly was delighted by the children's DVD I slipped into the laptop for her. It featured a puppy that looked like one of her favourite toys. She did wander back to it periodically to point at the puppy and declare, "Oof! Oof!", but after a few minutes of watching, she was demanding that I read to her.

Having watched that old DVD of Ni's with new eyes, I probably won't put that particular show on again, but when another day arrives that demands I pull a rabbit out of my ailing hat, I may well allow myself the option of another DVD. I will be ever aware, however, that with that DVD I stand at the peak of a very slippery slope.

A Waldorf spoodle utterly mesmerised by his first exposure to video.

{this moment} - The Conversation

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. 

Inspired by SouleMama. 

{this moment} - Story Time

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. 

Inspired by SouleMama. 

The First Bite - The Call

The last couple of years have been filled with one life-altering event after another. I took a break from this blog for over a year when I found that there were just too many things to say and not enough words to say them. I am by no means a prolific writer and I became overwhelmed by all the stories I wanted to tell. They seemed to form a bottle neck as they tried to escape and I found myself muted. Here's my attempt to take a single, initial bite of the elephant.

I think it all begins with my body clock. A few years ago, an alarm began to sound that seemed to become increasingly shrill with every passing moment. I've told the story of my conversation with Hammond. Astoundingly, he gave the answer I really hadn't even given myself leave to hope for.

I knew from the outset, that given Hammond's crippling mental illness, I would probably have to deal with the requirements of pregnancy; child birth and ultimately, child-raising, alone. I was well aware that I was asking a lot of myself. I had done it before, after all. Except that the first time I did all of those things in a state of perpetual grief, since doing it alone was by no means the path of my choosing.

So our love-making took on a greater purpose, at least for me, while my body clock filled my head with it's obnoxious ringing. I could see too that Hammond did not seem to be traveling well. I knew from the very bitterest experience that I was helpless to do anything but watch the storm as it clouded his mind.

There was also, ultimately, the question of my own health. My symptoms were as varied as they were vague and ranged from joint pain to moodiness; from gut pain to extreme tiredness, from chronic sinusitis to severe anxiety. They had been accruing quite literally throughout my life, but I now felt an impending sense of doom as they all seemed to be engulfing me at last. After putting it off for as long as I could, I finally dragged myself along to see a GP, convinced that I had cancer of one sort or another or at the very least an iron deficiency that could explain the preternatural tiredness I was experiencing.

The doctor ordered a few tests, and reassured me immediately on a couple of counts. A week later, the tests ruled out ovarian cancer, cervical cancer and an iron deficiency. "This," the doctor told me, "is just where you're at right now." Of course, my doubts remained, but she told me that I was in good shape for pregnancy and that, at least, was great news.

And then nothing happened. Nothing happened for quite some time, in fact. Except a few more symptoms tacked themselves on to the list; others worsened and that alarm continued its shrill and urgent call. I still felt tired and increasingly emotional. Each month began a new cycle of hope and disappointment. The worst months were those where there was nothing to hope for, when I had called Hammond only to find that he was interstate, too busy with work or not well enough to visit. There were other months where I would suffer very heavy, late periods, accompanied by nausea, aches, weird pains and unusually bad cramps. I became convinced I was having very early miscarriages and although there was no way of knowing for sure, it left me feeling sad and vulnerable.

In the meantime, I had decided that my gut symptoms might be caused by Irritable Bowel Syndrome. It seemed my best prospect was to manage the problem as well as I could.

Then we caught up with a good friend and her two children. She told about their visit to a naturopath who recommended that she and her son avoid gluten and how much better they were both feeling as a result. Many of their symptoms sounded familiar. Later, after they left, I began to research gluten and the many symptoms it can cause in those with any level of sensitivity to it. It pretty much had me covered, right down to infertility and miscarriage...

{this moment} - On My Knees

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. 

Inspired by SouleMama. 

{this moment} - Unrequited Love

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. 

Inspired by SouleMama.