Month: January 2018

Every blanket I crochet has a story, a reason, a purpose. For me, the very idea of a world without crochet is like a fish without water … it isn’t worth thinking about.  Crocheting has become a definite part of who I am. I am now known in some circles for my crocheting. Weird! Who would have seen that coming? The results are always different. To date, I’ve made 6  blankets. Currently, I have 3 on the go. Each time it hasn’t always been about the final result but more about the journey (although the results always leave me feeling quite satisfied).  Crocheting is not a dying art. It is very much in our midst.

The first blanket I ever crocheted was for Sean when he was born. It was in rainbow colours and I was pretty chuffed with the outcome. Years later when our gorgeous Hayden (Sean’s cousin) was born, he got to use that very same blanket. That filled my heart with so much joy.

The second blanket I made was for the gorgeous Micah. I had actually started it when Nicolette was pregnant with Micah. It was supposed to be her baby blanket. However, like so many projects, they take time and life takes over and that is exactly what happened with Micah’s blanket. However, when she turned 2, I was finally able to give it to her for her birthday. Better late than never I say. And it’s purple … my favourite colour.

The third blanket was really just a personal project. I wanted to see if I remembered what to do. Turns out I did. I loved matching colours. I loved the brightness. I was having a whole heap of fun being creative. Then we needed to fundraise for Shahni to go to Brazil. And the wonderful Donna suggested that we fundraise the blanket. It took a while to decide to raffle the blanket. I kept thinking about all the time, love, energy and then decided … yes some one needs this blanket in their lives! Well, then there was a Facebook page and there was a raffle and a police draw and the blanket was won by the lovely Lizzie. It was a mammoth task, but I got there with a whole lot of patience, perseverance and loads of love from my many supporters.

Blanket number 4 was out of the blue really. Donna was busy knitting a blanket for her grandson and I suggested maybe I help, maybe we crochet it and then it was a crocheted blanket and it turned out fabulously. It was huge and would have probably squashed Lockie at the time as he was so little but very cool all the same.

 

Number 5 crocheted blanket was for India. I had agreed to make all the kids one. They just needed to let me know the colours and I would crochet them. India chose her colours and set out a little plan for me to follow. It turned out huge. At least the same size as a queen sized bed. The colours looked so good together.

Then there was the waffle blanket. Blanket 6. I had taught myself how to crochet a waffle stitch using You Tube. At first I didn’t think I could do it but after a few attempts, unraveling and redoing I got the gist. And it truly looked like a waffle. Lisa really enjoyed the waffle stitch and I remember thinking that I would give her the blanket if I ever managed to finish it. It was a long waffle journey (another blog for another day) but I got there. Blanket number 5, done and dusted!

I still have 3 blankets on the go. Poor Zeb has been waiting for his blue blanket for a very long time now … and it’s coming along … just not fast enough. It probably doesn’t help that I started a blanket for me using a new stitch that I learned from You Tube and then I started a blanket for Donna … however, they will all get done!

    

Crocheting has really been my sanity. It gives me the opportunity to be creative. I’m forever learning something new. It is a great conversation starter and it adds so much colour to my life. It gives me an opportunity to relax and it’s all about me and no one else.  I would love to be able to teach the kids to crochet. Even just one of them. They’ve all watched, tried but not persevered. There is no quick fix in crocheting.

I am really struggling to say this word correctly. I had to say it out loud about 9 times while I was in the shower and still I don’t think I’ve mastered it. Let alone not even really knowing how to spell it or what it means. So one of today’s little missions … learn how to spell it, say it and know what it means.

Quick Google search proved I had originally spelt it wrong. With that cleared up, what does it mean?

“existential – relating to existence.
PHILOSOPHY
concerned with existentialism.
LOGIC
(of a proposition) affirming or implying the existence of a thing”.

“existential. The definition of existential is something related to existence. A philosophy designed to understand and consider existence and the meaning of existence is an example of something that would be described as existential”.

What is the meaning of existence? How am I going to use the word existential in a meaningful sentence today?

I think I am having an existential crisis.

If there is one thing that I am with my children, it is honest. I don’t have many (if any) secrets. As my Mum would always say, “my life is an open book”.

Dinner discussions are certainly interesting in our household. There is the normal “what did you do today?” “what did you enjoy?”. There is also the topics of interest ranging from drugs, alcohol, sex, menstruation, pregnancy … you name it, we discuss it. Yes, masturbation has been mentioned at the dinner table. Yes, the children have discussed virginity, the loss of, where, with whom. There is a no holds barred rule. If you think about it, we can discuss it. I prefer it this way. How else will I get to know my children? Really get to know them. Not just surface stuff. I want them to be open, honest and truthful. Dinner is the best place for it. It is the one time that we are all at home together, device-free, safe and at ease.

So it is only normal that discussions lead to how all my pregnancies came about. The kids like to tease each other about who was planned and who wasn’t. Who was born a bastard and who wasn’t (ie, in or out of wedlock). Again I’ve been very upfront about who, when, where and not so much of the how. Let’s be real, who needs those details. No kid wants those details about their Mum and Dad. I know they like to wind each other up, the banter is a lot of fun. So this is for my 4 wonderful children …

Each and every one of you were made out of love. You were wanted, needed and loved right from the very moment I knew you existed.

Shahni, as you know, I got pregnant with you in my second year of university. Surprise! I was living in Hamilton, Dad was living in Gisborne. And as you know (and so will everyone else now, those people that you haven’t told) you were conceived during a camping trip to Lake Waikaremoana. God Bless the outdoors! Dad and I did not sit down and say “hey let’s have a baby”. Still, there you were. I walked in to the on-campus doctor thinking I had food poisoned myself and walked out a mum-to-be. What the actual fuck? I’ll be honest, I cried. I had my bestie Fun Del with me, trying to comfort me best way she knew how. I cried because I was overjoyed, scared, overwhelmed, freaking out, worried but mostly because I knew I had a bubba in my puku. OMG I was going to be a Mum! A series of events followed, another story, another blog. No Shahni, you weren’t planned but oh my gee you were so so so loved and so so so wanted. We needed you in our lives. All of us. Not just Dad and I. Nana Lynn, Aunty Lisa, Nana and Poppa … you were meant to be.

When Shahni turned 1 we decided we’d like to try for another baby. My motto … “when you’re home with 1 you may as well be home with 10”. To our excitement (and some medical intervention due to secondary infertility) we became pregnant again. Shahni was 21 months old. Unfortunately that wee bubba was not meant to be. Not long after losing the baby our relationship ended. I was told without medical intervention I wouldn’t get pregnant again. So the future was uncertain. The one thing I was sure of, I had Shahni.

Noah, you came along at the beginning of our relationship. You were a surprise! Almost a miracle, though I shouldn’t use that term lightly. I wasn’t supposed to get pregnant without medical intervention. I think I can pinpoint your conception. Let’s just say Scotts Ferry, Bulls. (At this point I would like to take the time to apologise to my brother and sister-in-law. Sorry guys!) We had so much to be grateful for. Shahni was so excited to be a big sister. Your dad was excited to finally be having his own little baby. I was going to be a Mum to 2. I loved being a Mum. Aunty Lisa was pregnant with Eilish so like our pregnancies with Shahni and Natalya, we were on a “pregnant journey” together. All the grandparents were excited. There was a lot of joy and happiness surrounding us. Another little bubba that was very much wanted and loved.

I was seeing a specialist regularly since I became pregnant with Noah. Mostly because of the miscarriage but also because my pregnancy with Noah was and little troublesome. So once Noah was born I continued to see the specialist for a few more months. Noah was 5 months old and I was at my regular specialist appointment. My lovely doctor was scanning all my womanly bits and happened to mention that she could see an egg about to be released, so if I was thinking about getting pregnant again I should probably try that day and the next. I certainly didn’t race home and demand to be impregnated but certainly did start that conversation.

India, I know the date you were conceived. April 10 2002. I doubt I need to go into any details here. Let’s just say I took the specialists advice, I advised your dad and there I was, pregnant with baby number 3! So yes, India you were planned. We went out of our way to get pregnant with you. Noah was 5 months old when I got pregnant. Shahni was 3 and a half. I had wanted to be a Mum all my life. I day-dreamed about the children I would have. So I was ecstatic that yet again I was going to have another baby – you! Noah was too young to understand. Shahni was over the moon, though did order a little sister please. There were celebrations all round. A baby tends to do that. Another baby out of wedlock … but whose counting!? Right?

Zeb, it’s true that you were born in wedlock, so no, you are not a bastard! And remember when I’ve joked about being drunk when you were conceived because “I had no clue how that would have happened”? That isn’t true. I can’t pinpoint your conception and I can’t say you were conceived in the forest or in a different city but I can say that you were conceived while we were living at De Lautour Road. You were to be my last baby so I enjoyed every tiny little thing about being pregnant. I knew I was doing it all for the last time. I even found out I was pregnant with you on my birthday so that was a fabulous birthday present. Zeb, you weren’t a planned baby like India. Do not freak out. I was just waiting for you. I didn’t know when but I knew you would happen.

So you all see, you were all lovely little surprises. I wanted and needed all of you. You are all a blessing with sugar on top. Hopefully you all know just how much you are loved, before you read this. I know you will all continue to take the piss out of each other and that is fine. It’s what we do.

From the get-go it is only fair I confess … I swear.  I have a potty mouth. I pick and choose (obviously) when I ‘m going to blaspheme.  To pretend that I’m an angel that doesn’t swear would be a big fat lie.

As a teacher, I do not swear in the classroom.  For obvious reasons.  I’m the adult that is having a positive influence.  I am the role model. Though that doesn’t stop my little cherubs from throwing some pretty colourful language out there.

As a Mum, I again, try to be that positive role model. My kids aren’t silly, they know better – Mum is no better than the next person. She swears like a trooper!

What does that even mean? Where did that expression even come from? Well, after a quick Google check … “swear like a trooper (uk) to use a lot of offensive language.  He was extremely drunk and swearing like a trooper”.

Makes me sound like a right gem!  To be clear, I’m not drunk while I write this.

I guess I wanted to warn those that are spending time reading my blogs, in up and coming posts, I may use a swear word or two. I don’t want to be judged and yet I guess I will be. It’s hard to explain why I swear –  for emphasis, to add emotion, pure laziness – but I do. My Mum introduced me to some right doozies as a youngster. Some of them stuck! If there was anyone that “swore like a trooper”, it’s my Mum, and she’s proud! It’s second nature … every second word … inhaling and exhaling bad language.

I wanted to share a little something. Something that my mother thought would be hilarious to teach all her grandchildren. Just a quick word here; we are Catholic, my children are all baptised and confirmed Catholics. I had tried to provide a good spiritual foundation for all the children. My Mum was also baptised and confirmed and also provided with a strong  Catholic foundation. From a young age Mum ran in the opposite direction though and has continued to do so.  Her contribution to the grandchildren’s upbringing: “I’m a little Catholic, I don’t swear. Bloody, bitch bastard, I don’t care”.  Harmless, but that was just the beginning. She doesn’t hold back. Not for anyone. Half the time I don’t even think she realises she is swearing. Every second word is fuck, bitch or bastard … quite popular in our household as well.

There is one cussing word that I absolutely cannot stand and will not tolerate. The kids know it and anyone that knows me well, knows it. It is vile and vulgar, repulsive and unpleasant. If I was to ever use the word to describe another human being, they must have done the absolute worst possible thing to me. I would never use the word lightly. Those that do use it in my presence … God help them!  Starts with a C and rhymes with bunt. I don’t even want to write it down. So to be clear, I won’t be using “that” word in any of my blogs, unless I’m quoting someone. Even then, I’ll never write the full word. So many other words in our rich English language …

Swearing … because “gosh darn” and “boogerhead” just don’t cover it! (Unsupervised Mom).