We belong

I've noticed a lot of talk lately about "finding your tribe" and it has me thinking...

Remember that feeling when, in primary school, you were starting back after a long school holiday break? That sense of anticipation that settled in your stomach as anxiety and grew throughout the morning until it was a raging fire by the time you entered the school grounds, wondering which of your friends would be in your new class and how nice - or not - your teacher would be?

By snack though the flames had been doused after you'd reunited with your friends and chatted excitedly like a nest of baby birds.

It was a sense of belonging that had calmed you.

A child's first awareness of belonging is with its family, however that looks, and it is a crucial part of development. Being loved unconditionally instills in them a sense of value, of worth, which grows as self esteem. Not all children are outwardly confident, but if they are happy with who they are it can go a long way in helping them navigate life.

Grace, loves music

As we get older it can be harder to belong, but it's so important to keep looking for that right fit.

My son started playing Australian Rules Football this year, in the under 8's for our local footy club. When I was buying his uniform I paid the optional extra $45 for a fleece jumper with the team logo knowing that all of the other mums were doing the same. The boys had their tops on faster than they could run and joined each other on the field for an impromptu training session. Later, when I told my mum about Zach's excitement I said: "This is the start of his football journey." She replied: "This is the start of him belonging to a team."

When I thought back to his reaction at putting on the team jumper, when he threw his arm around his best buddy and together they strode confidently to the oval, I knew she was right. I also knew then that this was an important moment for him, because this was the team he would belong to for a long time. The club will eventually become his home away from home. His teammates will be his allies. And the game of football will teach him about winning and losing; about sportsmanship; about brushing the dust off and getting back up when you're knocked down. He'll learn about working hard, team work, and
the joys of having a passion for something.

Zach is at home with his teammates

Numerous studies have been done around the world about the impact of sport on juvenile crime and whether belonging to a team can reduce a young persons involvement in wrongdoing. While there is no conclusive scientific evidence that this is the case, there does seem to be a lot of circumstantial evidence that suggests it helps.

Ask a school teacher which of their students is involved in an organised activity outside of the school and they'll name them quick as a flash. They'll most likely also tell you that those children are more settled in the classroom and socially involved in the playground. Being part of a team or a member of a group will give a child a sense of pride and encouragement, it will give them direction, and it keeps them busy - in other words, they won't go looking for things to do out of boredom. It also means they have an inner sanctum, another circle of friends to link arms with.  

Now, think about yourself: where do you feel that you most belong? Where does your support come from? As much as our children need to feel loved, supported and accepted, so do we.

Our families are our number one priority and they are our tribe no doubt about it, no matter how big or small. But it can be lonely, isolating and overwhelming even if we don't take a break from being on call 24 hours a day. Finding an outlet for our creativity and energy and our minds, and surrounding ourselves with another crew to lean on, laugh with, and be heard by, can give us a feeling of validation and purpose.

So what's my point? Well what I'm saying is, get involved. Find something that you love doing, or a group of people you connect with and jump right in. Play a sport, join a book club, or reconnect with your mother's group - even start one for that matter! In recent years I have been part of a writing group, I've played basketball and I'm currently doing pilates with a small group of school mums just once a week.

For your children, whatever the age, they too will need to look beyond you at some stage to find out what inspires them. I love watching my three participate in their various sports and activities. They have very different personalities so Zach's focus is football and basketball, while Lillia's is ballet and drama. Even Grace, at 13-months, is exploring her possibilities at a class for babies where play, movement and music is involved.

Lillia is a ballerina

If your kids need to try different options before landing on one then encourage them, because when they finally get excited and inspired by an activity, it is contagious and so enjoyable to witness. And this is where they will feel that fit, like thick woollen socks that hug your feet, they'll be embraced. They will know, without question, that they belong there. And isn't that what we want for them?

There's always home, for us and our children, but if it takes a village to raise a child then explore it, with them, and see who else is calling your names.

Good luck and enjoy! Let me know how you go…

Christi xo
 (Instagram: @christi.malthouse #myactivechild)                 

   

Motherhood, when questions remain

I came to my desk to write a post about being a mum. About my transition from "career woman" to "stay at home mum." About the work mothers do, the sacrifices we make, the guidance we give, and how it mostly goes unnoticed and unappreciated. I wanted to write that perhaps the pat on the back we need should come from us, that as mums we should give ourselves more credit, everyday, for the toughest of all jobs that we have undertaken in raising our little souls into confident, happy and kind people.

And yet here I sit, feeling miserable. It's as though two hands, one on top of the other, are pushing against my chest. I can feel my heartbeat in my stomach, a soft drumming that grows louder with every thought of my seven-year-old son.

He went to school unhappy this morning. Upset that his school uniform pants felt too big on him, even though I'd taken up the length to his request a day earlier. He doesn't really feel the cold so not wanting to wear long pants or jumpers is a common complaint from him. But a school uniform is a school uniform. That's not what has me doubting myself or my motherly instincts.

Zach and Grace, a beautiful big brother

It's the stage he's going through. The pushing the boundaries stage. The not listening and answering back stage. When he's not being my regular gorgeous boy, he's getting mad about something, or sitting in pensive silence. It doesn't take much at the moment for his anger to hit the floor at my feet, bouncing and landing on my shoulders as guilt.

My friends who are mums of 7-year-old boys all describe the same stage, in varying degrees, being played out in their homes. But Zach is my husband's and my son and our responsibility. His stage is our stage.

Zach is boisterous, energetic, unintentionally rough, and loud. He is a thoughtful and fun big brother. He loves sport and is a natural athlete. He thinks burping is funny, farting is funnier, and outright silly behaviour is the funniest thing of all. He laughs a lot. His round, brown eyes literally twinkle at the hint of a giggle; and he puts all of his crooked teeth on display with an open mouthed, high pitched roar of a laugh. It's infectious. And utterly heartwarming.

Zach and Lillia, their bond is strong

He is also sensitive and self conscious. We remind him often to think for himself and lead, which he does naturally on the footy field and basketball court, but far less in the classroom and playground. He gains confidence from his sporting abilities, and I'm sure too from the words of encouragement he hears at home. 'Proud' is a word used a lot in our house.

And yet, his self esteem seems so fragile at times. Like a branch bending under the weight of a climbing child, self doubt pulls at the edges of his smile and colours his cheeks and for a brief moment he is a baby learning to walk again, wanting to take a step but so cautious of the consequences of letting go of my hand. His doubt becomes embarrassment which in turn leads to anger, frustration, or silliness. It's his default mechanism and I don't think I give it enough credit.    

And perhaps this is why I am feeling so awful today.

With Mother's Day approaching, like any significant day of celebration, comes reflection. Am I doing enough of the right things, or too many of the wrong things? When I send him to sit on his bed to think about things, or when I confiscate something from him; when I lose my patience and raise my voice, should I be wrapping him up in my arms instead? When I hug him and tell him how much I love him and ask him to talk to me about what's going on inside of that little boy mind of his, should I be disciplining him instead?

I can see that he is trying to work out his role in our family, now that he is the oldest of three children. He wants to be the big brother but he also wants to be my baby. It's an inner conflict that he can't express through words, that he wouldn't consciously even understand. But I can. And as his mum I need to because it breaks my heart to watch his struggle.

Getting ready for footy training

My mum has a saying spoken by her own mum: This too shall pass. And I know it will. When he was a 6-month-old baby recovering from major kidney and bladder surgery, waking 8 to 10 times a night wanting just to be comforted, I thought those months of hell would never end, but they did. When we welcomed baby Lillia to the family with her allergies and reflux and Zach was in the midst of the terrible twos, I thought I'd never leave the house again, but I did. When he started Grade 1 and the jump from Prep seemed too big to handle, I thought I'd never get him to school again, but I did.

This stage, that's making me question myself again, will also pass. When I'm feeling overwhelmed, or guilty, or lost, I need to remember that. Perhaps we all do. 

Maybe, when we receive our presents from the school Mother's Day stall on Sunday morning, we should give ourselves the present of acceptance. We are doing our best, being the best mums that we can be, and as I tell my children: it's not someone else's best I ask for, only yours. 

You know, maybe our best is pretty good. Perhaps if we realise that we wouldn't worry so much. And perhaps if we give ourselves some more credit for the job that we are doing, these stages would pass faster. Our children are a gift. Motherhood is a gift. So lets receive it, unwrap it, and cherish it like any present; without judgement, without trial, without guilt. Lets just say thank you.     

Happy Mother's Day mamas. Keep doing your best and be kind to yourself everyday.

Christi xo   

Beating cancer, a gracefully brave journey

My mum has breast cancer. My. Mum. Has. Breast. Cancer. Five words no daughter ever wants to say. Five words no son ever wants to think about.

I've been procrastinating about starting a blog since the beginning of the year, children and life though getting in the way, and then a cancer diagnosis put my whole world on hold. This is not what I wanted to write about, not at all what I thought my first blog would be about, but for months now this has been my family's reality. Breast cancer. Surgery, doctors appointments, daily treatment, ultrasounds, oncologists, drugs and side effects.

I named my youngest child after my mum and at 12-months she is proving to be just as clever and determined, if not as patient and gentle. Her name is Grace, which is the meaning of the name Nanette, and mum is the epitome of grace and elegance. In the last few months she's also proven how positive and tough she is, as if we ever had any doubt.

Her diagnosis came from a scheduled mammogram, an appointment that was actually moved from its original date in November (as it clashed with my birthday) to early February. In a way it's kind of lucky that it was moved, because her cancer was found early - which means her cancer was small, perhaps too small to detect had she kept her appointment last year and then gone on with life oblivious to the time bomb growing inside her. We don't want to think about that scenario. 

This year was supposed to be a year of joy, celebration and relaxation for our family after a tumultuous 2015. We had my brother's wedding to look forward to and a big family Easter with all 16 of us - my parents, my three siblings, our partners and children - together under one roof. Plus more time spent at the beach house as dad slowly wound down from a 43-year career in the Australian Football League.

We all needed this year to be better than the last one, because apart from the birth of my youngest child and my nephew, it was one hell of a year. 

But almost 12 months to the day that mum was, ironically, undergoing major surgery to answer the question of whether or not she had intestinal cancer, and less than a year since dad was so publicly sacked as coach of the Carlton Football Club, on the day that he started a new, less stressful job, we were dealt the harshest of blows.

When I think back to last year, mum and dad were like two Sycamore trees instantaneously stripped bare of their leaves. However, as they struggled through the months, together, with our support and that of other family and friends, they had both finally started to bloom again. They were a new, different happy.

Then breast cancer.

I don't know how many tears were shed with the diagnosis, I think we were so wound up with fear that sorrow remained concealed. Mostly. Dad worked through his anxiety with action, as men do, becoming more attentive than ever, hovering almost, around his wife and best friend of 41 years.  

In the hands of a wonderful breast cancer team we heard the words: good prognosis, and high survival rate, and we braced ourselves. Mum, in the true sense of the word 'Mother' worried how we were all coping, playing the positive card to convince us, as she had already convinced herself, that she would be OK. She drew a circle around the date of my brother's wedding and told her team that she had to be OK by then. They listened.

It was hard though, seeing her wake up from surgery, awake enough to smile at Gracie but too groggy to really hear the surgeon tell her she was confident she'd removed all the cancer. It was hard seeing the worry on her face; hard not to notice the concern in dad's eyes; hard to comprehend all the preparation that goes into radiotherapy before it even starts; and harder still not to go with her every day while she underwent her treatment. It was hard to see her getting tired despite her protestation that she wasn't. And I hated watching her try on dresses for the wedding, trying to cover up the itchy and sore burn marks that covered her chest from the radiation.

Mum with my daughters Lillia and Grace, today

The hard part is over now. Thankfully. It was only when dad spoke of mum in his wedding speech, his voice breaking slightly, that the tears that had been threatening to spill for months finally escaped and we all exhaled. 

Her doctors won't tell her that she is cancer free for a long while, not until she's finished her five year course of breast cancer medication. They can't yet tell her what side effects that will have. They also can't give her a 100 percent guarantee that it won't ever return. But for now they've given her her life back. And her beautiful smile.

It's Mother's Day soon and though she won't ask for gifts, we will be spoiling her. And we will say thank you for giving us all a lesson in how to be independent, brave and courageous, strong and defiant, positive and graceful. Mum has shown us how to stare down adversity when it looks you in the eye and slaps you in the face. 

She is winning. But it feels like our family has already won.  

Happy Mother's Day for next weekend mamas! 

Remember to have regular breast screens and mammograms. 

Christi xo