Win a New Ford Territory for a Year and $5,000

The tears don’t stop flowing.

Washing up, when the boys fight, staring at a computer screen, when someone tries to help.

None of it helps.

Five hours in emergency at Mona Vale Hospital, about forty five minutes in the back of an ambulance (they’re surprisingly roomy), four hours in emergency at Sydney Children’s Hospital and then 24 hours in the oncology ward (only place with a bed, plus neither of us had a cough, cold, runny nose, recent exposure to contagious viruses or … lice!) .

Felix and I have just spent an unexpected two days in hopsital due to him having appendicitis.

A normal Friday morning after a horrible night of being up to Grover twice, Felix twice and Jasper once saw Felix got up in tears complaining of a really sore tummy on the lower right side. I just knew it was appendicitis. Like those new cars with the inbuilt sensors to tell you you’re about to rear-end that even more fancy car behind you in the school pick-up line, mother’s just ‘know’ these things.

Oh sure, there are the times your batteries are running low and your inbuilt sensor is out of whack and you just think your kid is such a whinger when indeed they have actually broken their finger/toe/arm, but mother’s just know this stuff.

But the tears, my sense of being about to lose it, have caught me off guard.

It has been an unexpected reminder of just how stressful and adrenalin-orientated having a child in hospital is.

I have cleaned and rearranged the back room, trying to stamp my presence back on the family unit.

I’ve repacked the dishwasher – what is it with people being so useless at stacking a dishwasher the right way – and cleaned up the kitchen. I’ve made the kids breakfast just the way I know they like it and all through it have found floods of tears coming from nowhere.

And then I find I am crying for everything.

For how many times I have been through this with Oscar and how ‘used’ to it I have become. How dented, scratched and scraped I’ve been over the years as we go through another procedure, another surgery, another appointment, another another another. I cry that now I’m too tough on Oscar, not showing enough care, love, sympathy for each knock along the way. Heartless.

For how having another child in hospital with something as mainstream as appendicitis feels like the first scratch on a brand new car and I cry for realising how weathered, how damaged I am. I don’t notice the dents and scratches anymore except for the occasional run of the hand over the memories and trying to recall which incident caused what scar.

For everything that has gone on here in the last month I am now too scared to tell you all for fear of even more judgment from those who are supposed to know me best but from their comments, texts, emails and assumptions know me so little.

For the upheaval that is ahead of us that I have no idea of  how we will manage.

For the promise of a whole new chapter for Chef and I and our boys that has, yet again, been cut from the story. Put on hold for maybe a spot later in the book. But who knows. Maybe that chapter will never fit this story.

For what I feel is blind corner after blind corner on the road I’m travelling when just a few weeks ago I felt like the road was finally straight and the sun shining warmly on my face.

For while I should be focused on my boy with the sore belly I am having to deal with managing the expectations and needs of others – like when you know you’re just driving to the shop but have to keep checking your mirrors and intersections for those motorists who are not.

 

And when I feel I can’t stand it anymore I realise I am still going.

Still driving.

Still willing myself and my family forward.

 

I want to scream at some people, stomp my foot, cry and wail and shut the door on the world.

But no. I go on. Ferrying this family of mine as safely as I can through whatever weather is outside.

Drive Kim, drive.

 

My old school motto keeps coming into my head: strive for the highest. A saying our principal used to say to the swimming team before a competition is not far behind it: swim up and over the edge girls, up and over the edge.

 

Felix is fine. On the mend. A little teary as such a shock and an anaesthetic can make you.

He has also finally showered. Small blessings.

The rest of the boys are fine. Glad he is home. Glad I am back. Playing and fighting as if it had never happened.

 

I realise that the car may be scratched and dented, the floor marked by myriad journeys and questionable food stuffs and sand, so much sand, but it still goes. It’s perpetual motion is not in question.

I will be fine. The tears will subside, I will dust myself off and keep moving.

 

Onward.

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  • Whats that line from a Beatles song.??
    *life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans*
    how true.
    You are a great mumma to your boys and I have no doubt you will continue to be,.no matter what life throws your way.

    hugs
    pixie recently posted..My children

    • Thank you – and yes, it is isn’t it. Life, that thing that goes and does what it bloody well wants when you think you’re heading in the completely other direction.

  • I read your posts and wonder at my own whinging. Thank you for honesty, rawness, sharing with us some of your amazing and challenging journey. You rock. Even when that little voice in your head says you’re a loser – you rock. Strong Warrior Mother Lover keep going.
    @jayjaycee1 recently posted..Pasting and clipping and identifying naturebooks outdoorfun

  • Oh, this spoke to me, this post.
    I know. I know it all so well and it may be different, your journey to mine
    All of those feelings they are the same.
    I’m so glad the boy is safe. I’m so sorry you are hurting and you will for a while, I know that too and also that you will have to pick up and go again before everything is processed. Before you are ready because it never stops, this life.

    I guess it’s what we do. We just keep on going.

    You are amazing, you know. You may feel hardened but you are like the warmest, softest blanket for your family.

    Also: for me it’s the washing. I come home and wash like a mad woman: five loads washed and hung out already this morning, four yesterday and the day before and my tears, they save themselves for the most inappropriate times, like meetings with school principals or phone calls with angry nurses, who think they are doing you a service by giving you one horrible appointment time or another equally as terrible as a compromise.

    Love to you, dear one.
    Tiff recently posted..“Arrrrrrrrrr” you awake

    • You were top of mind when writing it – that we are part of some awful club of mothers who ‘just know’.
      And TOTALLY get the washing – I would be doing it too was it not for Mum having kept on top of it. Still, I’m eyeing the sheets and towels. They should all be very scared.
      Also contemplating mopping.
      An intervention may be needed.

      And yes, those bloody tears.

  • Linda

    oh Kim…..

    sometimes the tears are the pressure release

    don’t fight them…let them flow…

    when your soul is ready the tears will stop and you will regroup and you will continue…onward!

    • I have been thinking this, that the tears are not just for the sudden adrenalin rush of a sick child but for all that has been going on – so much of it from left-field and completely unexpected.

  • Leanne

    Hugs for you, lots and lots of hugs 🙂

  • Di

    Sounds to me like you need a Sunday nap. Hope the drive smooths out for you in the coming hours/days/weeks.
    Di recently posted..A playmat photo session

  • I’ll stop whinging about my own stoopid problems. Mine are nothing.
    (& btw, hope you win the prize)
    ((hugs)) and I’ll have a vino this afternoon in your honour. Cause I can (& I totally understand about the dishwasher thing!)
    Melody recently posted..Ski Dubai

    • No, your problems are not stoopid – I am firmly of the belief that we each carry out load and whatever the issues have validity and weight because they’re yours!

      And yes, drink away my friend!

  • I think I am looking at the winner here…you are AMAZING..make sure you take me for a drive in YOUR car ♥

    • *snort* I severely doubt that. I suspect Ford is looking at me with four boys and quaking, QUAKING at what we could do to it. Although you know what, I so know the boys will be BLOWN away by it and treat it like their very own PRESHOUS. I do know that even if I’m selected in one of the five to drive one for a month, there will be a strict NO FOOD IN THE CAR policy.

  • An amazing piece. beautiful. Glad Felix is on the mend. You sound like you could do with a buff and polish. full valet service perhaps. Or just a really good coffee.

    • hehe – a buff and polish. You know, I’m fairly certain Chef would have the perfect comeback to that involving him, me and some special cuddles.

  • Gawd strewth woman – how you are not curled up in a corner sucking your thumb I don’t know.

    As someone else has said I think those tears are important healing ones …

    and I am glad Felix is OK.

    Does this mean your plans to move are shelved for the moment?
    mary Canning recently posted..The Winner

    • No, I’ve just been standing in the pantry shovelling in crap instead. Felix is OK, he has been a star patient I must say. And yes, the tree change plans have been shelved. SOB.

  • All you can really do is just keep on keeping on. Smile when you can, bawl your eyes out when you have to.
    river recently posted..On behalf of River

    • I think I’ve cried more howling sobs in the last month than in the last three years. Seriously!

  • Good luck with the no food in the car policy. And good luck generally. And thank you generally too, for keeping it true, and expressing it so eloquently.
    Julie recently posted..Crossing Over

    • I know, I’m so dreaming aren’t I. I give the no food policy three days. Tops.

  • Just voted for you in the Kidspot Top 50. Good Luck!!

  • xx

  • Holy heck, woman. I’ve been living under a large rock for some time so have only just caught up. Some of the stuff you said, socked me straight in the guts. Curve balls from left field involving family and communication and depression in a nearest and dearest are bloody heavy burdens. One foot in front of the other, excellent lady.

    • that’s it isn’t it. ‘just keep swimming, just keep swimming’.

  • You know I know. And it is the shower for me… Damn bleach fumes…

    Love you gorgeous girl xx
    Kelley recently posted..she died today

  • Paola

    You are way stronger than you think.
    I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again.
    I admire you.

  • I
    do
    so
    love you.

  • I’m glad Felix is doing OK. I hope things improve for you soon too xo
    Tenille @ Help!Mum recently posted..Spinach &amp Ricotta Cannelloni

  • now im a blubbering mess. Your amazing with your words of truth and I feel your sun is always shining even on the overcast days and you cant see it, everyone who reads your blog can and we all love you!!
    twomonkeys recently posted..Welcome to Two Monkeys

  • Oh Kim, this was terribly moving. I have had you in my thoughts this weekend.

  • Nothing I can say will change the shit… but I’m here, reading, thinking holy fark… I have you in my thoughts.
    Naomi recently posted..Confession time