Seven hours later, my tiny girl was born, not screaming, but looking at me with giant eyes, taking everything in.

We all know THAT didn’t last long, as she spent the next 12 months screaming.

We were five generations of women then. We’re not anymore and it still hurts, every day.

So, here we are four years later.

It’s been a long road and parenting Amy is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But some days,  it’s also the most rewarding.

Incidentally, today is also Fathers Day.

So Happy 4th Birthday Amy and Happy Fathers Day Nathan.

Poor Nathan. Today isn’t about him at all.

And while he just looks so cute, you need to cover him up.

With a snuggy. From Mrs Woog (which, snuggies are awesome. It’s one of those things, that once you actually own one, you’re converted to the dark side. I love my snuggy. And so do the kids, if how often they steal it is anything to go by.)

When I’m trying to write, Isaac is playing with his toys, Amy is causing destruction and Maisy is pitching in, like any good puppy, to cause as much mess as possible.

Amy’s a tricky one, because she waits until I’m not watching, before disappearing into the kitchen to make a rice cake and cheese/pour some milk/get out the eggs/look in the fridge/make a godawful mess.

And I’m watching her, I truly am, except for in the 5 seconds when she causes absolute havoc.

So I break off what I’m doing, clean up, kick her out of the kitchen, put the dog outside, make everyone something to eat, before sitting back down again.

Then it all happens again.

We’re put combination locks on all the cupboards and the fridge, which helps. So long as we (meaning Nathan) remember to CLOSE them. I mean, surely it wasn’t Amy’s fault she ate an entire block of chocolate yesterday, silently, so she didn’t wake me. Although, that one, not helped by the combo lock so much, she used a chair to get to the very top (unlocked) cupboard. Sigh.

Mornings are my time to write. By the time bedtime knocks around, I am too tired, and too sore to sit down and type, so I don’t bother.

Unfortunately, Nathan is taking advantage of these last few months before Amy starts school to sleep in as much as possible, leaving me ‘working’ and dealing with children and tidying up and it’s just exhausting.

And yes, I could break off my writing and pay full and absolute attention to my children. Surely they wouldn’t get into mischief then?

Well no. Actually, you’d be wrong.

Even if I’m paying FULL attention to the children, which generally involves having them both hanging off my body, leaving aside the fact that not writing when I need to sends me a little bit batty, Amy still gets into mischief. She just waits until I’m changing Isaac’s bum, putting a load of washing on, turned around or in the toilet. Which you could argue wasn’t me paying FULL attention to her, but shit, I’ve got to do something other that let them sit on me and pull my hair.

She’s such an overwhelming child sometimes, I can’t even begin to explain.

It’s just frustrating to feel like I’m spending the day running three steps behind everyone else. To have dislocatey bits and still be making sure Amy stays in the small yard, keeping Isaac entertained, and keeping the house as least semi-livable.

But then we have moments where the house is mostly tidy, Isaac is napping (a rare experience) and Amy is curled up on the couch next to me, snuggled into my lap while I read a book.

And that’s when I think I’m doing something right, instead of barely holding on.

Of course, that isn’t going to stop the mad dash the day before, braving Father’s Day sales and actual people to pick up the last few bits and pieces, plus food.

It’s insanity, I swear.

The problem with online buying is despite knowing when things are meant to ship, you’re never really certain when they’re going to show up. So it’s a bit of a lucky dip.

Not to mention the excitement when the postman shows up and then the heartbreak when I won’t let her open the parcels RIGHT THEN.

Anyway, online shopping. I think it’s saving my sanity.

I am no good with shopping centres, with crowds, with one child tugging me in one direction while the other wails that we’re not going towards that THING. What thing? THAT THING ARRGGGGGHHHHHH.

Plus, my lovely EDSy issues mean I’m easily exhausted. And really, I’d prefer to use my precious energy on fun things, like the park, not stressful things like hunting down presents.

So, online shopping.

The only problem seems to be, department stores that do online ordering seem to have a teensy weensy selection.

Sigh.

It doesn’t really matter, as this birthday I’m operating on a less-is-more principle. Less presents, better quality, good food and people who love her.

Surely I can’t go wrong with that?

Excuse me while I go write a hundred more lists and work out what food we’re eating.

The things with having chooks, is those chooks (if you’ve got a rooster) eventually have babies.

And baby chickens, as tough as they are, sometimes they don’t do so well.

A week ago, one of my hens hatched some chickens. Once I braved her attacks (she’s fucking vicious! I ended up with bruises everywhere) and took her off the nest to count chicks, I found a dead chicken in the bottom of the nest. Perfectly formed, hatched and squashed. Another chicken didn’t make it all the way out of it’s shell, dying at the finish post.

However, we had 5 live chickens, even if one was a bit iffy. I figured I’d keep an eye on it, and left the mother to her angry clucking.

An hour later, I scooted her off the nest and found the iffy chicken was doing even worse. Younger by almost a full day to it’s siblings, it kept getting squashed and left behind and frankly, the poor thing was half dead and exhausted.

So into my pocket it came and inside for a few hours.

I dripped some sugar water into it’s beak for energy and then tucked it into a nest of tissues with a hot water bottle underneath it for warmth.

It slept for a few hours – after hatching, chickens are exhausted. This little one because it was younger than the rest, wasn’t getting a chance to sleep because it’s siblings wanted to peck and move about. It wasn’t able to walk yet and needed a break. The sugar water and time inside gave it some strength and the warmth and peace enabled it to recuperate.

And while I was hopeful it would survive, nothing is ever certain.

A few hours later, right on dark, I put the chicken back with it’s mother – okay, so I practically threw the chicken at it’s mother, while she tried to attack my hand – and I hoped it would make it through the night.

It did and a week later, we still have the five chicks we had the first day.

The hawks are hanging around and I’ve seen more kookaburras in the last week than I have in the last year, but they haven’t stolen a chicken yet. The mother hen is doing a good job and hasn’t taken the babies out into the open much, staying near cover amongst the stables, chook pen and blackberry bush.

They’re pretty cute though.

These chicks are our next generation. The hens will be kept for eggs and any roosters will eaten (like the egg eating chook from a while back).

I love that at a week old, they’re already getting their feathers. I’m hoping the little stripy one is a hen, because isn’t the patterning gorgeous?

Third from the left is the little chicken that would have died. It hasn’t gotten any adult feathers yet.

They’re pretty cute. Amy is a big fan. So are the cats – although the way the mother hen attacked our tom cat this morning, I don’t think he’ll be contemplating a chicken dinner any time soon.

I give permission for my child’s photo and full name to be used on the school website:  YES/NO.

Immediately alarm bells began to ring and I circled NO.

Because, and here is my reasoning:

I am Amy’s mother and I write about her on the Internet. I don’t use her surname, nor do I mention where we live, or what school she’ll be attending. These are safety things.

But, even though I write about Amy – I don’t want her full name and photo used by the school on their website, EVER. It’s only a small step from someone finding out which school she is at and her full name, to being able to track her down and I don’t want that.

Am I being paranoid? Maybe a little, but look, I earn my money on the ‘nets and I know how insane some people can be here. I don’t want anyone being able to track us down at home, or being able to find Amy at school.

And I’m a little pissed actually, because you’d think that the school would think of that and not use full names and photos of students. That said, I applaud the fact that I can refuse permission for Amy’s photo and work to be available online and I’m glad we have that option. I’ll certainly make full use of that.

I recently found out that you could find my home address online, thanks to a find people for free website. You can bet your arse I was on the phone to my phone provider that day, getting my number delisted. I’m pissed to find that while I’m delisted from the phone book, the website still has my details available.

And god knows, when Amy starts school and I do the obligitory OMG my baby! in uniform! going off to school! post, you can bet money on the fact that the photos will be in black and white and that the school logo will be blurred beyond repair. I’m paranoid enough to not even want the school uniform colours known.

So, my questions:

Do you think I’m being oversensitive?

How does your school handle their online presence and your child’s photos? Did you get a chance to opt out of having photos and work available online?

Have you ever thought about this before – or do you think that, as bloggers, privacy issues and this kind of thing are naturally at the front of our minds?

‘I don’t know? I guess, I’ve got no choice?’

And the reality is, I don’t know. Nathan and I get to the end of some days and look at each other, wondering where we’re going wrong.

Only the thing is, we’re not doing anything wrong.

After discussing Amy today for over an hour and a half, the OT looked at me: ‘So, what do you think is up?’

‘To be honest? I think it might be Aspergers. I think there is something more here.’

Of course, the OT can’t make a diagnosis – we need a Paediatrician and a Psychologist to do that. But she works with autistic children every day and knows what they’re like.

‘Look, I know you can’t diagnose anything, but is it aspergers do you think?’

She looked at me.

‘Well, what we’re seeing is in line with an aspergers diagnosis. It’s all very typical behaviours.’

So that’s that.

***

Amy has some amazing strengths:

She is intelligent, oh so intelligent. She speaks well above her age level and she can problem solve with the best of them.

But, her auditory and visual sensory processing issues are pretty major and we’re not sure just how much of what we’re saying is reaching her. She prefers the dark, she can’t concentrate with background noise around and she melts down often.

She needs to reaffirm everyone’s relationship to her, every single day. ‘You are my Mum. Your name is Veronica. Daddy is my Daddy. His name is Nathan.’ She can’t answer some questions and she walks off in the middle of conversations, because they’re too much for her. She doesn’t understand strangers; everyone is her friend.

She has a lot of social problems and while eye contact wasn’t an issue when she was a baby, it’s getting too much for her now. And the OT suspects that Amy isn’t processing pain signals properly.

On top of so many other things that are aspergers related.

On top of the Ehlers Danlos.

On top of the Coeliacs.

She is beautiful and heartbreakingly difficult.

***

I knew it was coming. I knew.

It doesn’t make it any easier and while I know it changes nothing, except the services we can access, I’m a bit shell shocked today.

The OT (who is lovely btw) is astounded that no one has picked this up sooner. Amy has never been an easy child, she screamed for her first 12 months and things never got any easier. Not really.

And it’s getting harder as she gets older.

Everyone missed this – even when we told the Paeds that Amy was incredibly difficult, that she doesn’t listen, that she does what she likes regardless of what we say or do. They all missed it, even when the desperation must have been audible in our voices.

***

We have a lot of work and a lot of appointments and therapy ahead of us. Amy starts kindergarten in February and it is flying closer, faster than I’d like.

And all I can think is that I miss my grandmother an awful lot today, with an ache that hurts.

Keeping Amy’s bedroom tidy is a nightmare. I could deal with it, if it was just standard 3yo mess, but the lack of shelves/cupboards/organisation is driving me a little bit batshit.

A bit of backstory. In 2008, we bought this house, quite cheap. We were lucky, because then the GFC hit and there would have been NO hope of us getting a homeloan, being low income earners. So, we’re ahead of the game at least.

The house however, is a renovators delight. Or nightmare, I’m not quite sure.

See posts here, here and here.

Go on, read them. I’ll wait.

So, the house, it needs a leeetle bit of work, which is why Amy’s room has no storage.

We did however, put up glow stars and planets for her.

Before we moved in, the panels hiding those gaps had been peeled off, obviously so the previous residents could paint. Of course, they didn’t finish the job, leaving us with a giant mess, that we’ve not had the money to fix yet.

Soon, hopefully soon, the room will be plastered, painted and end up with bookshelves, shelves and a cupboard for her clothes.

And you know, by the time that happens, she might even be old enough to keep her stuff in order without our help!

We’re not even going to talk about how part of the floor is sinking and that it’s a little like walking on a boat.

At least, not today.

I wasn’t part of this one, just a witness after the fact.

Twitter is, by it’s nature, an extension. An extension of us, of our blogs, of our websites. It doesn’t matter how much we might try, we can’t explain ourselves fully in 140 characters. God, I’ve had trouble explaining myself completely in 1000 words!

Another problem with twitter, is that if you’ve been unfollowed, everything you say after that point is moot, because they can’t see it.

I witnessed this this week and thought it interesting, how something so simple, could spiral downhill so quickly.

The tweets following are from @TotalArtSoul and @frogpondsrock respectively.

Please note, I am not taking sides with EITHER person, I just thought it was interesting.

At which point, Total Art Soul blocked and banned @frogpondsrock and left in a huff.

Which proves my point, that 140 characters is not enough to explain yourself, or to ask questions or make statements if someone is having a bad day.

Total Art Soul is a forum for artists. Unfortunately, not everyone who signs up for forums has time to be an active member and I can vouch for Frogpondsrock being a VERY slack member, as I’ve seen it first hand on AMB. Hehe.

However, MY issue with this whole thing is something different:

When does supporting your community and helping out other people on the InterWebs, start being a push/pull shared thing?

Is there a point when you look at what you’re doing for your community and decide that it isn’t worth it? That YOU aren’t getting enough out of it personally to bother promoting anymore?

If you run a forum, you help to publicise your members, you RT links, you share experiences and you do all that without any glory, because it’s part of being a social network owner. Banners on sites aren’t about traffic, so much as brand awareness. Brenda and I don’t expect hundreds of click throughs to AMB based on our badge, because it isn’t about traffic. It’s about having people aware of your logo and knowing instantly, who you are.

Without the goodwill of your members, your social networking site sinks pretty fast.

I’m not saying Total Art Soul was wrong, to be honest, it looked like she was having a bad day, with too much work and not enough appreciation. A flippant comment from frogpondsrock hurt and she got snippy.

But, 140 characters is not enough to explain yourself in and it leaves itself open for misunderstandings, which is where TAS blocked and banned Frogpondsrock and left.

The other problem with twitter, is that if you are too prolific, people will unfollow, not because they don’t care about you, but because you’re cluttering up their timeline with things they aren’t interested in. I’ve had it happen personally and okay, I was a bit stung, but it’s how things work.

There seems to be a problem here on the Internet, with ‘bigger’ bloggers (I use the term both bigger and blogger very lightly) thinking that by every link they RT, by every mention, by every helping hand, that they are doing the ‘smaller’ blogger a giant favour. In reality, unless that ‘bigger’ blogger is in the league of Dooce, it’s very unlikely that your helping hand has been as big as you think it has been. This isn’t aimed directly at TAS, mind you, it’s something I see all around the blogs/forums.

People are by nature, judgemental. You like to look at someone and know how you fit in, in relationship to their life. She’s got better shoes, but your handbag is nicer. Her car is more expensive, but you ate at super exclusive restaurant last night. She has more money, but your kids are cuter. Their house is bigger, but you’re pretty sure you get along better with your husband. Right?

It’s how things work on blogs too. We visit a blog and while we may not notice that we’re doing it, we scroll the sidebar looking for our own link (even if we’re certain it’s not there), we tally up the amount of comments on the last two posts, we check out follower/subscriber numbers and subtly, sometimes without even realising it, we’re deciding whose site is more successful. The more blogs we discover with ‘less’ numbers then ours, the bigger we feel.

When really, we’re not at all.

I’m guilty of this too you know, making a snap decision on whose blog is better. I tend to smack myself up the side of the head though, because it’s not what the Internet is meant to be about – unlike some bloggers I’ve stopped reading, because their opinion of themselves makes me stabby.

So really, no matter how much better your numbers are, don’t feel like you’re doing someone a giant favour by sharing their link. Share their link because you like it, or because you like them. Don’t feel inclined to RT their horoscope, just for the sake of retweeting them. It’s not smart, it’s silly. People will pay more attention if the links you share are quality, not if you share loads of them.

And if that means we get to have favourites, then brilliant. I have my favourite bloggers and I share nearly everything they write. Because I love them and because the quality is there. Not because I’m doing them a favour, but because I want people to see their amazing work and love it like I do.

Maybe that’s what we all should do. Share because we love it, not because we feel obliged to.

White poached chicken. Recipe here.

In another life, I worked in a commercial kitchen. I might even have mentioned it a time, or ten.

However, kitchen work taught me an awful lot of things, the least of which is that the amount of energy that goes into getting your meal on your table at a restaurant is astronomical.

For example, a  brie cheese and herb stuffed chicken breast, with sundried tomato reduction sauce, chat potatoes and baby vegetables.

A popular dish in the kitchen.

So, a few days before you order your meal, I am chopping enough herbs to see us through the next 3 days of prep, generally 500g of each herb, parsley, dill, rosemary, mint and thyme. I have 40 chicken breasts defrosting in water in the kitchen sink and I am prepping vegetables. This included turning 10kg of carrots into batons, 10 broccoli and 10 cauliflower into florets, top and tailing 5kg of snow peas, peeling 10kgs of potatoes and putting them on to parboil whole, before chopping them into a dice, slicing 7-8 large zucchinis and then blanching the lot, before refrigerating everything.

You see, nothing in a commercial kitchen is done small scale, so while the chicken breast and vegetables is not a hard dish to prepare by any means, it is all done in bulk ahead of time, sometimes up to a week ahead. Prepped vegies were used for most meals, so we prepped the above amounts every 3-4 days.

Once the vegies are done, I’m hopeful that the chicken breasts will have defrosted enough to work with. A quick poke in the icy water lets me know I’m good to go, so I start to set up, stalling on needing to julliene a 20 litre bucket of stirfry mix.

First is the bain marie tray I’ll set the chicken in so I can fridge it afterwards. Then the cling wrap, catering size, set at the top of my chopping board. Then comes the brie – I need to cut 40 pieces of brie from the wheel and maybe an extra bit to nibble on. What? It’s a perk.

I set the plastic container of herbs up next to me, with the brie laid out on another piece of clingwrap, spaced out so they don’t stick together. I work fast, moving backwards and forwards, doing 3 things at once. Somewhere, in a trip to the coolroom, I’ve dumped the semi-defrosted chicken into a colander and set it above a bucket to drain while I finish prepping. I beg the apprentice to sharpen my knife because I’m not fantastic at that yet.

Once I start, I need to hit a rhythym, as fast as I can.

Pull out a sheet of clingwrap. Grab a chicken breast and in one motion, remove the tenderloin and any excess fat. Throw the tenderloin into a spare container, slice through the chicken breast to create an internal pocket, dip a piece of brie into the herbs and shove it into the cavity. Then slice the clingwrap off, wrap the breast and pop it into the metal bain marie container.

Repeat. Forty times.

Then scrub your hands, scrub your chopping block and knife, throw any remaining herbs out (chicken blood, cross contamination issues) and put everything in the fridge, well covered.

That’s the chicken done for the next few days service.

When an order comes in for chicken that that week, I don’t cook it. I’m on cold larder/desserts/dishes/general runner (depending on the night and whether the other kitchen hand is working), but I do run to the coolroom and grab the preprepared chicken from the fridge, in between doing everything else I’m doing – which sometimes, depending on the day, would be scrubbing walls with a scourer. Yay.

A chef grabs a handful of cooked diced potato from the bucket and sets it aside, ready to deepfry. The chicken probably takes the longest to cook of any meal, except well done steak because you can’t precook chicken (unlike the roast meals and various other things). The chicken is panfried to crisp the skin, before being thrown into the oven, still in the pan for 30 minutes.

A minute before it comes out of the oven, a chef drops the chat potatoes into the deep fryer, the serve of vegetables into the boiling water to reheat them and mixes a few tablespoons of pureed sundried tomatoes with some cream in a saucepan. All this while the chef is making another 4-5 dishes at once.

The chicken comes out of the oven, is sliced in half, set on the chat potatoes and the sauce poured over. The vegies are salted, buttered and put on the plate too, parsley is sprinkled and the plate is sent.

The customer, usually, appreciates how much work has gone into the dish, they enjoy it, they pay and they leave.

Let’s now look at cooking for children.

With children, the amount of effort I put into a meal directly corrolates to how much is eaten.

If I spend the morning prepping and then spend 2 hours cooking and bringing the meal together, you can guarantee that they won’t eat a mouthful. They’ll hate it, or be too tired, or too hyper, or SOMETHING.

They won’t eat it.

If however, I make a quick tomato sauce, pour it over pasta and serve it with grated cheese, they’ll whinge that there isn’t enough.

While family cooking means that there is always less work to be done than in a commercial kitchen, I sort of miss the satisfied feeling of seeing an empty plate come back and a quick report from the waitress on how much they enjoyed it. Not to mention missing getting to play with food for a living.

Cooking for children is definitely harder than cooking for a restaurant. Trust me.

However, commercial kitchens are more stressful. Give me a screaming baby over a screaming chef any day. At least I have a chance that the baby is screaming because it can, and not because I fucked up.

What would you prefer? Cooking in a restaurant for appreciative customers, or feeding your children day in, day out?