That's if you read the 'how to blog and generate hundreds of hits to your website' type articles, which I do from time to time, because, you know, I like high statistics as much as the next person and after all, why not improve what you're doing if it's easy enough?

It just so happens that very time I read the articles I find out that I'm blogging wrong.

Here's how it's supposed to go:

You're supposed to write on a single issue. So if you're a book reviewer, you review books. If you write on relationships, stick to people stuff. If you do craft, post pictures and tutorials of your latest PVA glued triumph. Yes, okay, there's a little bit of room for some personal bits and pieces here and there, but not too much and definitely don't mix up your genres.

You're supposed to post frequently. Every day is best. Or if infrequently, at least on a schedule, which should be easily accessible so that readers don't get upset and give up and don't come back.

You're supposed to answer comments. (That's presuming people comment. *Hint hint*)

It helps to be funny. If you're not, it helps to be clever. Mundane is not preferred.

You're not supposed to write too much. But you're not supposed to write too little either.

Including headings like '10 ways to be a better whatever' attracts more readership.

You're supposed to be aware of SEO (what is that?) and google search terms so that you can tailor your content appropriately. 

And these days, you're supposed to include pithy quotes that people can tweet to their friends and followers. 

So, yeah... I'm kind of not doing it right. I blog irregularly, on whatever topic is on my mind, at random lengths, with varying levels of humour and quality. I'm what you'd call hotch-potch. 

But that's kind of okay. One day if I get more energy, I might look up what SEO actually means and another day, I might actually decide what topic you could possibly classify this blog under.

In the meantime I'll just keep on writing and see what happens.

What happened today was this: a blog reader sent me a cool CD and a card saying 'thank you' for my writing. So maybe it doesn't matter so much if I'm doing it wrong...

(Oh, and watch this space. Right now I'm working on a brand new blog design. But it's not ready to be revealed yet... so you'll have to be patient.)

Her problems weren't just confined to one sibling, however. The relationship between Nancy and her mother was seriously problematic.

Early on her life, Nancy became her unhappy mother's confidante. She told her all sorts of things, most of which were inappropriate for a child's ears.

Nancy understood very little of it.

What she did understand was that in some intense way her mother needed her. And the need didn't disappear as she grew older.

"My mother bullied me," Nancy writes in her book. "She didn't want me to be independent. I was not allowed to have separate thoughts. She became increasingly clingy as I tried to experience a late adolescence. She voiced her thoughts of losing her role as a mother... I was admonished for thinking about leaving. The innuendo of many conversations was that I was spoiled and unappreciative. Mother kept trying to impress me with my need to be dependent on her... When I tried to talk again about leaving Mother took to her bed and spent a whole afternoon crying."

This is what scares me.

The second I begin to need something emotionally from my children is the instant our relationship heads into unhealthy territory. I can feel it inside when I do it, and I do it more often than I think.

Some of the things I've needed at different times from my children include: their appreciation of how hard I work for them, for them to like the same things I like, their admiration of me and an ability to see how I feel and fix my feelings.

This is more than a simple desire to be treated fairly and kindly. This is a deep-seated, soul-scarring, crazy-making belief that I can only be okay if you act the way I want you to. And if you don't, and I suffer, it's all your fault.

When I feel needy for appreciation and admiration and all the rest, I see myself get resentful, angry, impatient, snarky and rude. I begin to use sarcasm, to try to control, to overtalk and to use emotional blackmail.

All of these things ruin relationships. Which is a bit ironic, really. 

As soon as I begin to need things from my kids, my relationships with them suffer. And I know that if I keep doing it, being needy and manipulative and controlling and using emotional blackmail, eventually I won't have any kind of functional relationship with them at all.

So somehow I have to not be needy.

But what about the needs? I can't just dump them or suppress them and pretend they don't exist, right? That's another super-highway to dysfunction.

Hard as it is, and humbling as I find it, I have to keep going back to God's love.

When I know I'm truly loved, I don't need that admiration. When I remember that I'm treasured, I can take my own feelings to the one who treasures me. When I'm enjoyed just for being who I am, I can set boundaries and work hard without having to be a martyr.

This is not a cliche. It's absolutely true. When I find my emotional needs met by Christ, I love my children more and love them better.

Girl in the Water by Nancy Kilgore, MS, is a harrowing tale of one little girl's ongoing victimization, bullying and near murder at the hands of her older sister, over the span of her entire childhood, right up until her sister married and left home.

The description of the abuse was terrible. 

Perhaps even more moving, however, was the very vivid description of how Nancy 'coped' (although it's probably more accurate to use the term 'survived' because I don't think anyone really 'copes' with evil perpetrated on them), often using dissociation and daydreaming as a means of temporary escape. 

The most intriguing part about it though, was how it was allowed to happen. 

Nancy was the second of four daughters in what appeared, on the outside, to be a reasonably normal family. Her father was in the US Navy, her mother was a stay-at-home caregiver. The family was posted to Europe, back to the US, and to Hawaii. And everything was apparently okay.

Except it wasn't. 

Nancy and her sister often played together and appeared to get on well in public, at least when their parents were watching. But as soon as they were out of sight and back in their shared bedroom, her sister reverted to her position as powerful abuser, using mental, emotional, verbal and physical tortures, designed to keep Nancy in a submissive position. 

When her father was away on naval postings, her mother would go out shopping every couple of weeks, leaving the older sister in charge. These were terrifying ordeals for Nancy, who was frequently suffocated to the point of near death and then resuscitated by her sister, who also pulled the two baby sisters along to witness and join in the victimization of Nancy.

How did no one notice? How did two parents seemingly miss the true cause of Nancy's constant depression, illnesses, failure at school, cutting and self-harm and lack of sociability? 

In this case, as in many, many other cases of abuse inflicted on women and children, people see what they want to see.

Nancy's parents saw what they wanted to see. Her father was oblivious to much of the family's dynamics and her mother ignored what didn't fit into her vision of what her family should be.

It didn't help that her mother could hardly cope with her life. As a victim herself of an unhappy and dysfunctional family, she tended towards isolation, with few friends and no parenting support. Her first two babies were born close together in Europe, away from any source of useful help. The next two babies were conceived within a single year and she appeared to have symptoms of post natal depression. 

Nancy's mother leaned on her daughters heavily for support, especially the older one. From the sound of it, any parenting of Nancy was devolved onto the older sister. "You're in charge," the mother told her daughter, and, "Do what your sister says," she told Nancy. The continual, round the clock, care of two babies and two small girls would have been depressing and hard, and no help came from Nancy's father. Like many men of that generation, he arrived home at night, sat up for his dinner and then watched TV while his wife continued to work in the kitchen and look after the children. Nancy saw her mother's energy run down and her life become smaller and smaller.

At the same time, her sister's responsibilities increased enormously - and with it, a fierce anger towards what she may have seen as the cause of her extra work - Nancy.

Nancy's mother appeared to value very highly the image that she held in her head of the ideal family. She dressed her two elder daughters alike and constantly compared them to each other. "You're the pretty one, and you're the smart one." She told Nancy, "Your sister is kind and loves you." She took photos of them dressed and posed, framed them and looked at them constantly. Her energy was spent planning dinners for family occasions such as Christmas and Thanksgiving.

When Nancy tried to tell her mother that her sister had hurt her, her mother brushed it off and told her she was wrong. "Your sister loves you." A few years down the track, she witnessed a huge temper tantrum by her oldest daughter about Nancy being allowed to sit in the front seat of the car. But rather than deal with it and stand up to her, she smoothed over the ruffled feelings, pretended there was no problem, and simply never let Nancy sit in the front seat again.

"My parents needed me to smile," writes Nancy. "I became a mechanical doll in my own inner horror house. I played an endless soundtrack of laughter for them. I bowed, chuckled and waited for my parents to clap... Smiling took effort. When I did smile my facial expression was equivalent to a push-up bra."

Simply put: her parents refused to deal with the bullying. They denied it, refused to see it and required everyone to pretend that it wasn't happening.

That's the issue here, really.

Bullying, abuse and power plays exist because we don't want to see evil for what it is. We prefer to see the idealized version of what we think is our family, our school, our family, our community, our nation.

To say to an abused person or an traumatized group of people - "Yes, I see you. I hear you. Your feelings are real. Your experiences are valid," - well, that takes courage. Because we might have to change things. We might have to change our beliefs and our actions around. We might have to say, "You know, things are not what I thought they were."

The longer Nancy's abuse went on for, the more difficult it became for her parents to do anything about it. And let's just say right now, they could have done something about it. Rather than watch their second daughter be put to a slow and painful death at the hands of their first daughter, they could have protected her and called out the abuse and torture for what it was.  But the longer it went on, the more they had to lose because they would have had to say, effectively, "We were wrong for years and years and we hurt you dreadfully."

This book makes me aware again that it's worth working hard on effectively parenting my children, especially in their relationships with each other. Teasing isn't cool, speaking rudely isn't an option. And listening, really listening, to their feelings and their thoughts and taking them seriously, could save them from a lifetime of traumatic consequences.

Because sibling bullying doesn't just go away when you grow up. Just because the bullies leave the room doesn't mean they leave your heart.

I was bullied for a year at boarding school and it took me more years than I realised to work out the behaviours and thoughts that were established in me as a result. Nancy has spent her adulthood having to reparent herself, having to learn what love and trust really mean, and having to find a way to get over PTSD and chronic anxiety.

Like all abuse of power, it's worth taking another look at sibling abuse and seeing it for the widespread problem it really is. Personally I'm aware of two people who suffered traumatically at the hands of their siblings and one who was sexually abused by a cousin. I'm sure there are more. (I'd also like to make very clear that I have two fantastic brothers who in no way ever abused me.)

Girl in the Water is well written, although it tended towards the poetic a little too much for my taste, but it is worth a read and a think about.

Click to Tweet: Bullying exists because we don't want to see evil for what it is. We prefer to see our idealized version.

For further resources on the issues of sibling abuse, PTSD and domestic violence, Nancy Kilgore's blog is also useful.

Beaded bubble wands. And below, some bracelets.

_____

Listen to people's stories, experiences and feelings.

Be publicly and privately honest.

Do something about the causes I believe in.

Write, write, write.

Seed, grow and harvest patience, perseverence and kindness.

Attempt contentment.

Grow more food.

Eat less sugar.

See more sunsets and night skies.

Walk the Camino de Santiago with my family.

Visit old friends.

Make new friends.

Write, write, write.

Give up bitterness and being offended.

Follow Jesus.

Face my own fears.

Own my own stuff.

Let other people live their own lives.

Write, write, write.

Love.

______

I definitely find three year olds more challenging, and so did a friend of mine on facebook, who asked recently for some advice on how to be more effective in parenting her three year old. 

The main problem seemed to be that her child was having trouble following instructions and my friend's patience was wearing thin.

Here's the advice I gave her:

You need to ask yourself: what is it you're trying to do? And why? Examine if it's age appropriate, if there's enough internal motivation for the child to do it, and what are your own motivations and feelings around it.

Then calm yourself down and orient your own feelings and breathing. You need time and patience to change things.

And a plan.

Here's your plan:

Keep your communciation very simple. Get rid of extra distractions around the house (eg. put extra toys away and keep things clear and tidy, tv off, radio off etc)

Get down on the child's level and speak simply and clearly. "Now we will do this: let's do it together." Give enough time to process the communciation and add as much physical scaffolding as is needed. (eg. for cleaning up toys, you could pick up the same thing together and put it in the box, or try a 'one for you, one for me game).

You need to reduce demands and simplify them drastically by breaking things down into steps. 

If your 'regular' parenting strategies don't 'work' you may need to take a deeper look at if your child is having trouble processing what's going on - perhaps he or she has auditory or sensory processing disorders.

FInd out how things go at preschool? Are there issues there or is it just that home life has spiralled out of control? 

Finally, examine if the child getting enough 'non-demanding' parenting love. Or is it all "do this, do that, go here, come there"? It's easy to fall into instruction mode as adults and forget our children also need connection.

A little back story first.

I grew up in Pakistan, where our family spent 13 years, the majority of my childhood. In those days (yes, I sound old) there was no email, no skype, no texting, no phone calls. We wrote letters. My mum wrote to her mum every week and her mum wrote back to her. Getting blue overseas mail forms was cause for celebration and joy.

When I was 11 I went to boarding school. We had 19 week terms away from our parents, cut in half by a short four or five day 'long weekend'. Once again, there was no email, no skype, no texting, no phone calls. We wrote letters. My mum wrote to each of her three children three or four times a week. Getting a small white envelope with her handwriting on it was a pleasure unmatched by anything else while I was at school.

And of course, being a person who likes pen on paper, I wrote back, much more frequently than the one required epistle per week. I'm sure that our letters home gave my parents as much joy as theirs did to us.

My mum did something with my letters that for her was very out of character.

She actually kept them. There are few things my mother is sentimental about, and she excels at decluttering. She's been doing it for years, a long time before I even knew there was a word for it.

But she allowed these small, hand-scrawled pieces of paper to stay. Each one was a treasure for her, but she also knew that in years to come, they would become treasures for me. 

And this was her gift. Her collection of my letters from boarding school. 

When I opened the box, I did a heart flutter.

I could hardly look at the letters, let alone read them but I was so delighted to hold them in my hands. These are letters that I will have to read in tiny, emotional bursts.

Will I be able to go back to that terrible-awful-wonderful-awkward-joyous time of life? Will I be able to own my teenage self, now that I finally feel I've moved beyond it? It will be a wonderful, scary challenge.

Tah-dah.

Want the recipe? Here it is.

Hazelnut meringue

There are four of these layers. This is a big cake. For one layer, you need

4 egg whites 

1 cup of sugar

1/2 tsp vinegar

pinch of salt

125g hazelnut meal (buy pre-prepared or do it yourself beforehand - roast in the oven for ten minutes, remove the skins and grind in the TMX).

In the thermomix, use the butterfly and beat the eggs at speed 4 for 4 minutes. Add the sugar, vinegar and salt and beat at speed four for another two minutes until thick and glossy. Fold in the hazelnut meal. 

Pour onto baking paper and spread to about 1 centimetre thick. I cut the paper to fit a pizza tray and spread it out to the edges.

Multiply the quantities by the number of layers you want in the cake. You can get a quadruple quantity in the thermo bowl, but if you want more than that, you'll have to do several batches.

Bake at 160C for about 20 minutes, until golden and firm.

Chocolate cream layer for GFCF Torte

400g coconut cream

200g dark chocolate (I use Lindt 70% as it is basically dairy free and soy free. Read labels!)

Heat the coconut cream for 5 minutes at 60C and speed 2. Add the dark chocolate, broken up roughly so it melts and the two combine.

This quantity did three layers of my cake.

White custard layer for GF CF Torte

400g coconut cream

2 eggs

100g sugar

1 tsp vanilla

2 1/2 leaves of natural gelatin (from a health food shop, or get it here. You may have to experiment with how much gelatin to use depending on the type you use.)

Cook cream, eggs, sugar and vanilla in thermomix at 80C, 5 minutes, speed 4. Prepare the gelatin according to instructions and whisk into the custard mixture.

This quantity spread over one layer of my cake.

Put the torte together

You'll also need 1 1/2 packets of frozen berries (or about 600g of whatever berries you choose to use)

The cream and custard need to be cold and thickening. Don't do this with warm ingredients. I found it best to freeze the bases to make them just a little bit stronger too.

On a tray, lay one of the meringue layers flat and centred. I spread a little chocolate underneath it just to stop it sliding off the plate.

Spread chocolate cream on the bottom layer to your desired thickness, making sure you've got enough for more layers. Lay another base on top. Spread this one with the white custard and sprinkle it with 200g of berries. Now put the third layer on and cover it with chocolate cream. The final layer is also to be covered with chocolate cream. Load the remaining berries on.

Melt about 100-200g dark chocolate and drizzle on top on everything.

And voila - your gluten free dairy free layered hazelnut chocolate berry torte, ready to go. I put it in the freezer until the big day. It's probably best refrigerated for several hours at least before eaten.

Anyway, back to the point.

In The Old Days, photos were not as plentiful. But these days you don't have to worry about wasting film. Even little kids have cameras! And it doesn't matter if you take pictures that don't work out. If you don't like them, you just delete them.

Of course, there's a down-side to making things cheaper and quicker and more plentiful. And in the case of digital photos, the downside is digital clutter.

What do you do with all those pictures?

The point of pictures is to look at them, either today or in the future, as a memory, right? So you need to get them into a place or a format where they can be looked at.

Allow me to present Cecily's four steps to doing this:

The first is to Decide. You'll need to decide if you want to publish them online (Facebook or Instagram or on a blog), keep them on an electronic photo display unit or print them out in some way.

The second step is to Edit and Delete. Seriously, you don't need four nearly identical pictures of your dog licking your cat. Choose the best one and say goodbye to the rest.

Ten years from now you will not thank yourself for keeping a photo of a beautiful view slightly blocked out by the back of someone's head.

And actually, I question the value of keeping most photos of beautiful views unless you're a really fabulous photographer. I have many painful recollections of my dad saying, "Hang on, I'm just taking my 7 thousandth photo of this mountain," and holding us all up. Fast forward 25 years and the only ones we really want to look at are the ones of us in front of the mountain.

Step three is to Publish. Do it. Put them online, upload them to the slideshow device, or get them printed.

If you do go down the printing route, seriously consider making a photo book. It's much less fuss and bother than sticking photos into an album, it takes up less room on the shelf, and it looks very smart. I use www.snapfish.com.au but you can get books done in many places.

Step Four should probably be Step One. It's the most important one. If you don't do this one, you won't do any of the rest. It is: Commit to dealing with your photos. Make time. Set aside a few minutes or hours (depending on the type of publishing you're doing.)

As with anything, if you do a little bit, often, you'll be further ahead than if you let the job grow until it's too big. And if you're dealing with a massive backlog of photos from the last 15 years, forget them. Start with today's pictures today and do tomorrow's tomorrow. You can go back and do the rest once you've got a feeling of accomplishment.

I've heard story after story of people who've misplaced their cameras or phones or had a computer crash. "And it had two years worth of photographs of my kids on it," they've mourned.

Deal with your photos and keep your memories safe.

No, I am not 'Mom Enough'.

 Apparently my husband was pulled aside at a social function today by a reader of this blog. 

"Well?" she asked. "How did it go?"

He looked at her, blank and a little non-plussed. 

"Sorry?" 

"The weaning. Did the toddler wean?"

I'm sure it's a question that's been at the top of everyone's minds. After my post about my intention to wean my nearly three year old a few weeks ago, you're dying to ask me if she's now off breastmilk. You're desperate to know how it worked out. Did I enjoy my time away? Did the husband survive? How much screaming was there?

Here are the gory details (if you care. If not, come back tomorrow when I may or may not have something more interesting to write about):

I went away and had a reasonable time. Got to see The Great Gatsby and have a haircut and sleep in. Completely forgot, of course, about the effect weaning has on my *ahem* chest area. Found that my bras didn't fit for a number of days, kept waking up overnight and couldn't shift a cracking headache.

Hubby stayed home and endured two fairly hectic nights with lots of screaming at different intervals. Days weren't so bad. By night three she was calm and sleeping as long as he was in the room with her. 

Baby herself has doubled her appetite, although she seems to have taken after our other children in not being a terribly good eater. She continued to ask at least once a day for a week for 'minky minky' after I came home and I also ended up having two nights with a big screaming episode. Oddly enough, she seemed to calm down with a very firm pressure hug. (It was just as well. I was nearly about to do violence. 3 am is NOT my preferred time for effective parenting and limit setting.)

And so, she's weaned. And a (long) era is over.