The picture in my head vs reality

I had this lovely picture in my head of how tonight would go. 

You see, the boys had been really good all day. Little Brother had a great night and two long naps today. He was in flying form. Big Brother had an early start, but played well all day. On his own and with his brother. 

So tonight the boys would go to bed, The Husband would go to mountain rescue training and I would have time to write a blog, do some research on various subjects and I would crochet a little gift for my friend's baby. 

Well. 

The reality was that I forgot The Husband had to leave the house before seven. Which meant I had to put Big Brother to bed as well. So when Little Brother finally settled, after a bedtime bottle battle I had to race downstairs so The Husband could leave. Big Brother took 45 minutes to settle and just as I left his room little Brother started crying again. I burped, rocked, sang, patted, fed and after 40 minutes he was quiet. 

I then realised the dogs needed feeding. And when I finally sat down with a cup of tea Little Brother started again. 

All in all:

Bedtime took just over TWO HOURS.  

I managed 20 minutes of research. 

No crochet. 

I'm squeezing out this post with my eyes wanting to close. 

And. My tea was cold, again. 

One Euro

It is November again which means it's time for the yearly fundraising event for The Husband's Mountain Rescue Team. 

For three years I was part of the organisation; endless night sending countless emails, filling in spreadsheets, planning teams and buses and keeping an eye on the finances.I never dared to even attempt to count the hours The Husband and I spend on this event. So last year I realised: this isn't possible in 2013. I mean, let's be honest; toddler + baby + house + life = busy. Too busy to also spend weeks working on this event. I wouldn't be able to give the commitment it needs, the commitment I think it needs. And so I announced 2012 was my last year. That was a shock to the system, both mine and the remaining organiser's. But I received a lovely bunch of flowers and a Dundrum gift card and the decision was final. 

But I kept thinking about it. 

'Maybe I can just give it a go?'

'What if there would be two of us?'

No no no. 

It was just a bad idea. 

And the only way I wouldn't be tempted again was to sign up as a participant. 

And so I did. 

I roped two brothers-in-law and some friends in and registered my team. 

Saturday I will be walking 24,5 kilometers in the Wicklow Mountains, in the dark!

So, on the off chance you might have one Euro to spare this week, just one Euro.

Please click here and donate that one Euro. 

Cause every little helps when it comes to saving lives.

I couldn't

My sister came over for a few days.
It was lovely; we chatted, drank tea, went shopping, watched movies.
Normal sister-stuff. It's those things you miss when you live in different countries.

My sister is pregnant.
Which is amazing!
And I'm thrilled to become a real-real aunty for the first time.
(Yes I have a niece and nephew on The Husband's side, but this is real-real.)

So I went shopping with my pregnant sister.
She bought baby-stuff; some lovely little newborn vests, sleepsuits, a cardigan, tiny bibs and a cute hat.
She's also been sending me photos of the nursery they've chosen, the highchair they like, links to the daycare they are looking at and the pram mam and dad are buying them. 
For the baby in her tummy that will be born in about 24 weeks time.

I didn't do that stuff.
I couldn't.
My heart and head didn't allow me.

I lost three babies before getting pregnant with Big Brother.
And with those babies I lost the trust in my body.
The trust in my body, that it would do what it was, allegedly, designed to do.
It failed me, over and over and over again.
Why would it work out this time?
Why would it be different?

But as the weeks passed that baby stuck.
And grew.
And the realisaton that we might just be bringing this baby home started to come.
So we had to get ready.

I can still remember the first thing I bought for Big Brother: five vests, in Dunnes, with Humpty Dumpty on them.
I cried. In the shop. In the car. And at home.
I also cried when I bought the first pack of nappies.
There were a lot of tears.

I didn't enjoy my pregnancies. Not Big Brother's pregnancy and not Little Brother's pregnancy.
It was survival.
Hoping, but no allowing yourself too much hope.
Trying to look ahead, but not too far.
One day at a time.
I wasn't happy until I held that baby.

Both boys were born full term, healthy, happy, doing great.
So I can't complain. I shouldn't complain.

But sometimes it hurts.
That I couldn't be as thrilled about a baby in my tummy as my sister is.
That I couldn't get excited about cribs and cots and baby baths and changing tables and nursery colors and nappy bags.
That I couldn't buy lovely little newborn vests, sleepsuits, a cardigan, tiny bibs and a cute hat.
For a baby that would be born 24 weeks later. 

Daily life

Playing is important. 

So is drinking milk. 

Trying to do it at the same time is just not going to work out when you're two years of age. 

The views around here, they're just beautiful. Can't wait for the trees to get those Autumn colors. 

Big Brother enjoys a bit of painting every now and then. And of course Little Brother wants to watch. What better place to sit than on top of the table? 

Dublin Zoo; what's not to love?

Most popular animals? Giraffes, tigers and elephants! 

Autumn's coming!

We went looking for pine comes. Found some but only small ones. I guess we'll have to try again next week. 

5Km? Check!

That was the goal: run for 5 kilometers. 

I followed the training programme although I usually only managed to go twice a week instead if the recommended three times. But let's be honest: who has time for three runs a week when you have a baby and a toddler? 

But I stuck with it. Got new shoes (best thing I ever did as my poor hip had started to give out). Enjoyed it. 

Until a Wednesday morning, two weeks ago. We woke up, I fed Little Brother, dressed the boys, ate a banana and off I went. 

It was awful. The first kilometer was fine. The second kilometer my stomach started to complain, my legs were heavy, my breathing all over the place. What was going on? I wasn't even running uphill. And I knew I still had to do that to get back to my car. I felt sick and had to stop. Left my banana in the ditch (sorry TMI) and walked to the car. Annoyed, so bloody annoyed. 

Probably shouldn't have had that banana before I went out. 

But I had had enough. How come I couldn't do this? I thought it was ridiculous. I am 28, healthy, have been following a programme, got brand new shoes. I should be well able. And that was it. 

On Sunday morning I put on my shoes and ran. 5 kilometers. And on Thursday I did it again. 

I shouldn't talk about it. I shouldn't think about it or try to analyse it. I should just do it. 

And I did. 

Source: Pinterest.com 

Dutch apple pie

Time to harvest your apples! 

And now. 

Let's make a real Dutch apple pie. 

1 kg cooking apples

225 grams plain flour

150 grams unsalted butter at room temperature

1 egg

A good handful of raisins

Sugar

Cinnamon

Mix the egg through the flour. 

Add the butter and about a tablespoon of sugar and mix until it's all combined. 

Butter your cake tin and cover the bottom and side with the dough. Make sure it only thin! 

You should keep a little bit of dough to make the topping at the end. 

Core and peel the apples and cut them up. Whatever way you fancy; in slices, in small cubes, whatever. 

Mix them with the raisins and sprinkle with a good bit of sugar and cinnamon. Put the apple mixture in the cake tin and preheat your oven to 180 degrees. 

Roll the left over dough into thin strips and lay them, in a cris-cros pattern, over the apple. Brush with a bit of egg and bake for 35-40 minutes. 

Let it cool a bit before serving. 

Needless to say: cream is a necessity. 

Soldier on

I thought you were suppose to be well rested and rejuvenated when returning from holidays. How wrong was I. 

Where I went wrong? I took Big Brother and Little Brother (and The Husband) with me. Fool. 

No seriously. We had a lovely time. 

Swimming, playgrounds, the beach, picturesque villages, relaxing breakfasts, easy meals and even sunshine! It was lovely. 

But we had two children with us that don't sleep well at the best of times. Put them in a new environment, beds that aren't their own in rooms without blackout blinds and being up only half the night begins to sound appealing. Not one morning did The Husband and I wake up in the same bed. 

We don't do 'crying it out', we don't do schedules, we don't do waking sleeping babies for feeds. But at times like these I start to doubt our choices, our parenting style. As a baby I was left to cry it out and I grew up to be a happy person. So really, how bad can it all be? 

But I can't. We can't. Crying is a baby's only way to communicate. Ignoring it is so wrong. Yes some babies need to cry a bit to shut down, but endless screaming is just not fair. 

And so we soldier on. 

Hoping to sleep for more than 2 hours in a row. 

Soon. 

September to get sane

Remember how I said taking a break from a blog you've only started would be weird? Yeah. Well. 

You see, August was a mental month. With Dutch visitors every weekend, Little Brother's Christening, Big Brother's birthday and loads of gardening. And life, you know, family life. 

What I'm trying to say:

I was busy, entertaining, making endless cups of tea and coffee, cooking for large quantities of people. 

But September is looking a lot calmer. Thank God. 

We're starting with a little break away, just the four of us. 

And after that we can get back into a, yes I'm going to say it, routine again. 

I'm ready. 

Finding the drive and discovering you have gears

Today, a guest blog from my friend Deirdre.
Deirdre the runner. 
Who would have thought? 
Here's how it happened:

-------------------------------------------------

I really wanted to be a runner, so I needed to find the drive from within cause when it comes to running wanting it and actually doing it are two very separate things.  I surprised myself to learn that my drive can go from cruise control to burn rubber. I’ll explain.

Last October I read an ad in the local news paper inviting all levels of runners to an informal running group on a Tuesday night in a local farmers field. There was a particular emphasis that beginners were welcome.  So armed with only the will to run I met with the running group for the first time. The trainer went around ascertaining the levels she was dealing with and while all others claimed to be beginners, I knew by the look that I was the only one who could truly hold that title. We did our warm up and then got ready to run the training route; 2km.  Some of the ‘beginners’ did it once, others twice and I got sight of one or two ‘beginners’ doing it three times. That’s 6km!  The trainer and I agreed that maybe for my first time I should stay in the field and just do the best I could.  So I did. I ran around a field on my own, laughing to myself at the absurdity of the situation and slagged myself saying ‘oh you’re a runner now’, ‘this is you living the dream’ but I knew I had to start somewhere so that’s where I started. Clearly the laughter proved too distracting as I fell more than once that first night, fortunately the others didn’t see me.

As the winter drew in I kept going on a Tuesday night, other ‘real beginners’ heard that there was actually complete novices, (well one, me), at the group and they joined so I did have company running around the field.  When the nights got dark we moved to a different field that had some lighting, and we ran around that.  This was farming ground which would have sheep on it throughout the day, so sometimes the sheep in the field would run with us, sometimes they weren’t bothering. As the weather got colder, windier and rainy, even the sheep would stay in the shelter and just look at us running around the field on a Tuesday evening.  We ran no matter what the weather, we would run and chat.  The running was hard, physically. Every Tuesday night I just wanted to quit, stop running and walk.  Sometimes in the early days I would stop, or we would run so slow we were barely moving. We were so chuffed with ourselves for just being there on a Tuesday night that we took it easy around the field.  We just did it but felt totally great for doing it as who else would be out in the pitch dark, with snow falling to run around a field.

Spring came and we moved back over to the original field, more people joined, all wanting to get fit for summer, bikinis, holidays etc. The newbie’s were running up the hills, looking fresher, and making it look easy as I trudged through every step of the same run. My head just went into overload. How could this be? They hadn’t trained all winter. They weren’t there in snow, rain, cold. There was one time we could barely run from the wind so how could they be lapping me? How could they be running up a steep hill that I struggled to walk? But it got worse. I felt like I hadn’t improved at all. What was the point of all the winter training, the getting out there and doing it, the will to be a runner, when I just hadn’t improved at all? Every run was physically hurting my body, I just hadn’t the will to run anymore. At the end of that Tuesday, I went home disappointed, demotivated, and completely distraught to the pit of my stomach.  I just felt like I would never crack this running. It's just too hard and it's not for me, maybe I’m not built to be a runner. I felt how unfair it was for newbie’s to find it easier than me.

Bizarrely and completely unexpected that’s when it happened, that’s when I found my drive to run. My real drive, my top gear. The drive that never let me walk a hill again. The drive that when my legs are tired I’ll push it that bit extra. The drive that doesn’t let me give up or stop or give in to the ache in my body or the stiffness in my legs EVER. This drive comes from within. It’s a deep emotional motivation that I didn’t know I had. It’s not about how well others are doing, faster, further, fitter. I don’t care what anyone else does as long as I’ve pushed myself, I’ve done the best I can do, and I am not disappointed in my own performance.

Yep showing up that first Tuesday took drive and courage to be there, completely out of my comfort zone and on my own. Then to continue to show up every Tuesday; hail, rain or snow in the debts of winter also took motivation, drive and commitment.  I’m not disputing that, yes they all got me to my 4^th gear drive. The one that will not let me fail. It took months and naturally I thought the fact that I was attending a running class was the most driven thing I had achieved but it wasn’t. The trigger for my 4^th gear was emotional failure. I hit a wall that night. I now call it black Tuesday. And I know now that if  I stop or give up what that can feel like. The bitter sting of personal disappointment in my gut is far worse than any muscle ache I feel when I’m out running.  

That’s how I found my drive.

What drives you?

I'm getting old

I am, kind of, checking out the job market. Because, hey, a bit of money is nice. And quite necessary. And my brain would like to use the information I spend 4,5 college years putting into it. Plus, I don't like the idea of the big gaping hole on my CV to get too big. But that CV, as it turns out, is not that important anymore. 

I ventured onto jobs.ie and one of the adverts there asked for your Linkedin, Twitter or Facebook account details. And specified NOT to send your CV. 

Say what?

I just think that's weird. 

But, I'm getting old, as it turns out. 

Apparently this is the new way to go.

Spending hours making your CV short but sweet, standing out from all the others, is now over.

You just plonk your diplomas, certificates, work experience and interests on a website and keep your fingers crossed. 

I don't have Facebook, and no urge to start. 

No future employer will get excited when reading my ramblings on Twitter.

And Linkedin I know nothing about. 

I can't believe I first have to upgrade my social media skills before I can start applying for jobs. 

Wish me luck.

Daily life

Nothing like taking photos following a certain theme.

Susannah Conway has launched The August Break; to give us bloggers a break from blogging and just post one photo a day. But let's be honest: taking a break if you've only just started is a bit weird so I am just following the themes to give you an idea of our daily life. 

(I wouldn't be me if I didn't forget the first day. So no breakfast photo.)

2. Circles

3. Yellow

4. Love

5. Close up

6. Diagonals 

7. Skyline

8. A selfie

Beach time

Every summer we spend a couple of days with The Husband's family in County Donegal. 

Yesterday afternoon we got lucky with the weather and enjoyed a lovely couple of hours at the beach. In the sunshine! 

The Inbetweener

In the world of mothers there are two types; The Earthy Mother and The Schedule Mother. (Yes I made that up myself. Yes this is how I see it and not necessarily 100% correct. Yes it's quite black and white. But hey, it's my blog, so...) 

The Earthy Mother is 100% mother and ok with that. Breast feeds (for a long time). Feeds on demand. Co-sleeps. Is a mother and only a mother. Is ok with endless nursing, rocking, sleepless nights. Can completely accept spending every second of every day with her baby. 

The Schedule Mother is a mother, but wants to be more than that. Wants to have a life besides the baby. Feeds baby (a bottle) every four hours. Has routine for everything: nap-time, bed-time, bottle-time. 

And you know what? 

It works. 

Both options work. 

Because both mothers have a 'package' with elements that together make for one smooth ride. 

Ok, I didn't tell the truth in the first paragraph. There are actually three types of mothers; The Earthy Mother, The Schedule Mother and then there is me. The one that can't make up her mind, that's not the one nor the other. But somewhere in between. 

I breast feed. Because I know that is the best option for my baby. But the randomness of the feeding times, the lack of schedule is something I struggle with. 

I don't want to let my baby cry. But sitting with him in a darkened room helping him to sleep 5 times a day is something I find hard. 

The thought of someone other than me (or The Husband) looking after my baby scares me and I know that being at home with us is the best thing for them. But being only a mother makes me feel limited and not myself. 

So every day I try to figure out what is best for my baby and for me. And we'll get there, one day at a time. 

The lonely (wannabe) runner

About three weeks ago I started running again. (When I say running I mean following a couch to 5K training programme which doesn't involve a whole lot if running in those first weeks.) With Little Brother being about 6 weeks old I was dying to start moving again and having the odd hour for just doing something for me.  

I'm new to running. In Spring of last year, when Big Brother was about 8 months old, I decided running was a good way to get back into shape and build up my fitness level. So I started following the programme. But it didn't quite work out. I didn't have enough motivation, was working a stressful job and when I resigned there I was back to full time mothering while The Husband worked 24/7 to get our extension as finished as possible. When things started to settle down at the end of August I picked it up again and 2 weeks later was the proud owner of a positive pregnancy test. With a history of miscarriages I didn't want to risk anything and quit running. 

People around me kept running, making it to 5K, then to 10K (Hi Dee! Hi Cli! I know you're reading this) and I was a bit jealous.  So when Little Brother was born I wanted to restart the programme and this time stick to it. 

I run alone. There are people that think that is a lot harder than doing it with a group. (Hi Dee! ;-)) But to me, and I'm sure loads of other people, running is not only a physical challenge but also a mental challenge. I'm not very good at failing and the idea of failing (not being fast enough, not being able to do the intervals) when part of a group scares me. 

So I run alone. With my Runkeeper app telling me what to do and playing the music I selected. And at those point where I think I'm about to die I remind myself that there are people out there who would love to run, but can't. And that there are millions of people who once were wannabe runners and now easily do 5K, 10K, half marathons, full marathons and so on. 

I do need to get a new pair of shoes though. 

Daily life

Let's start with a daily life photos post. Just so you get an idea of who we are and what we do. 

We live quite close to Glendalough. I don't have to explain that on a day like today it gets ridiculously busy. Needless to say it is a lot nicer when it's quiet. And so I found myself pulling into the carpark before 9am this morning. We toured the settlement and took a stroll towards the lakes. Toddler-legs don't go far so we played on the grass for a while and left just as the tour busses started arriving.

After self-building an extension to our house for the last two years we are now finally creating a garden. Living on the side of a hill makes levelling a bit of a challenge, but we're getting there. And when I say "WE're getting there" of course I mean The Husband and his machinery. I just give instructions. 

I've recently put on my running shoes again. I'm following one of the famous couch to 5K programmes. But finding the time with a toddler and a 2 month old baby to take care of proves to be a work out in itself. And, in case you haven't noticed, it's warm. 

See, I'm making excuses.

Need. To. Run. Tomorrow. 

The heather is in full bloom, thanks to that yellow thing in the sky. For me it is a yearly reminder of our wedding in September 2009 when we used it for decorating the church and centre pieces for the dinner tables. 2009, time flies. 

Let's get this blog on the road

I'm not exactly new to blogging. I've been writing into cyber space since moving to Ireland in 2008. What started off as a way to keep my Dutch family and friends up to date about my new life slowly turned into sort of a hobby. Writing about Irish country life, living away from my homeland, my adventures in the kitchen and with my sewing machine. 

Between my blog and Twitter I 'met' loads of lovely people. A handful I have met in real life. It's amazing how much you start caring about the ups and downs in the life of someone you've never met. 

But let's be honest, not a whole lot of people can read or speak Dutch. So I've been playing with the idea of starting an English blog. To maybe meet even more lovely people, on the World Wide Web and, with a bit of luck, in real life. 

So here we are: Clogs in the country.