We've been eating eggplant in everything this week.

It still amazes me that our garden is actually yielding edible, beautiful fresh produce. At twilight, when the house is quiet and still, children all tucked snugly under covers, I wander through the abundance and marvel at the magnificence of life. Lifting leaves, discovering smooth aubergine balls emerging as if by magic from the slender stems.

I wonder if I would be able to witness the cucumbers expanding before my eyes if I had either the patience or inclination, as each night yields a bounty that was seemingly invisible the evening before.

And then there are the failures. The snow peas that were carefully tended and bursting forth with tender pockets of bright green crunch... until brown began creeping up from the roots, gradually strangling life and leaving hollow husks that crackle in the wind.

Eli has begun 'big boy' Kinder. At first eagerly, rushing out of his bedroom in the morning, fully-dressed (including shoes!) and raring to go. For a kid who insists on living solely in undies no matter what the temperature, that is no small feat. It almost felt as if I were the child, as Eli confidently dragged me by the hand, looking for his name on the lockers, and then suggesting we just talk to the teacher when it failed to materialise.

As the parents were kindly ushered out by the teachers, all the while being reassured that our little ones would be well taken care of, I was reminded of the moment I left Hudson on the operating table out cold. Staring forlornly through the glass separating me from my boy, the one who has seldom left my side these four and a half years since making his entrance... it felt as if I'd left a piece of me beyond those doors.

He came home bursting with stories, beaming with pride and excitement. Which made the next session's hysterical drop off all the more unsettling. Nevertheless, he recovered quickly and found his niche as the Teacher's helper, and had the good fortune of making a friend that day. 'We had good chats about life and people and food, Mum'.

Sometimes I find parenting as elusive as tending a garden.

Feeding, watering, plucking weeds, nurturing, waiting, discovering, protecting. Sometimes to great success, as the fruit bursts forth unexpectedly. Sudden first steps, seemingly out of nowhere from our cheeky, blossoming girl. Snatches of wisdom internalised: 'Dress ups go in the toy room', Eli says in a singsong voice to himself as he picks up the offending items and drops them off in the right zone. 'No, Ivy, those toys don't go outside!' Hudson declares passionately to his wayward sister. 'I found my friend because she was playing by herself and had no one to play with', Eli confides as we lay in the dark sharing stories together. Sentiments I have declared repeatedly to the boys, often feeling as if the words would vanish into the air....water evaporating into mist even before it hits the scorched earth.

And then are the moments which are inexplicable. Textbook adherence to the 'right' things, and yet.... Outbursts that appear out of nowhere, right hooks to a brother's face, heavy wooden doll houses carelessly yanked off shelves to plummet to a destructive death below.

The flame of anger blossoms quickly. Clenched fists, wave of heat, rigid stance. Perspective vanishes and I burst forth in fiery words. Though recently I have actually found an antidote to this landslide. I grit my teeth, pull out a pen and claw open the Gratitude Journal. The first entry is the hardest. '#168: For oxygen"... or on another occasion, unable to even get to that point: '#172: F%&^ING HELL'. I continue to scrawl until the writhing ball in my gut is a whisper.

I made the mistake of telling Eli my new practice. 'You need to go and write in your book, Mum', he tells me... often.

Gratitude. It's the only thing left in my arsenal to deal with those moments, but it is surprisingly powerful.

My little plot reveals how little control I hold over the bounty that can blossom. And perhaps it is best that way. In hindsight I realise how little I do grasp- of the incredible lives forming before my eyes and what they truly need to flourish. It's my job to keep lovingly tending them. And I'm learning to be OK with that.

My standards are slipping.

Normally, before I even consider sitting down to do something 'for myself', I do a round of the house- putting everything in its place, sweeping the floors, hanging up washing... Right now, the pantry door is wide open, there is a lone green texta on the floor to my left accompanying a crumpled orange pipe cleaner, there is washing to be hung, floors to be mopped and vacuumed, dishes to be put away, clean clothes to be delivered to rooms and an array of items with no home cluttering up the kitchen. But I'm (almost) OK with it.

Dave has taken all the kids (including Eli's best friend Chase who came over for a sleepover last night) to McDonalds and then for a drive to drop Chase off. The silence is eerie and odd. Just yesterday I was again overwhelmed by the general chaos and unpredictability that is raising two energetic and emotional pre-schoolers and a very curious and mobile infant, not quite able to last the distance to the end of the school year, even though it was mere hours away. Choosing to start toilet training AND eliminate nap time for Hudson in those last few days may not have been my brightest idea.

I've been devouring reading material about parenting in the last few months, having now finished 'The Explosive Child: A New Approach for Understanding and Parenting Easily Frustrated, Chronically Inflexible Children' by Ross W Greene (PhD) and in the middle of 'Raising Your Spirited Child: A Guide for Parents Whose Child Is More Intense, Sensitive, Perceptive, Persistent, and Energetic' by Mary Sheedy Kurcinka. There have been many lightbulb moments, and frustrating experiences of application of principles only to find they don't magically solve every problem the first time, then more realisations of unrealistic expectations, and then moments that show things ARE actually changing and the messages are being received somehow.

Over dinner this week I was explaining to Eli the principle of 'Red Zones' and 'Green Zones' for emotional management. I talked about how when we go into the (fight or flight) Red Zone of anger and lose control of our emotions we do silly and hurtful things that we regret later, but if we can take a deep breath and stay in the Green Zone everyone will be a lot more happy and we can solve the problems together.

After bathtime that evening I was frantically trying to clean the playroom and asking Eli to help me numerous times to no avail. He ended up shutting the door and accidentally striking my knuckles and then closed the door on me so that he didn't have to listen or participate. I didn't take it well and began yelling at him to come back or he would lose the privilege of using the room tomorrow. I can't even really remember what other threats were angrily issued until a small, calm voice asked me 'Are you in the Red Zone right now, Mum?' Dammit. Instantly, I began laughing and the fierce anger of a moment prior dissipated. Dave overheard the exchange from another room and the sounds of him chuckling away to himself carried through the walls.

We have had some more positive days this week, including one day where neither Eli or I lost it over anything and we both managed to have good humour and patience in response to every situation that came our way. At bedtime I was encouraging him (and myself) and he enthusiastically replied 'We are the best people in the whole world, Mum!' I think he may have inherited my propensity for heightened reaction based upon emotions somehow... When things are going well, I can't even imagine ever have having struggled.... but look out when I'm wrestling with some kind of issue!

Looking back, it is easy to see progress and growth. Videos of only a year ago show the passage of time so keenly, the chubbiness and cute inflections now exchanged for tanned, lean bodies and an exponentially increased vocabulary. Emotionally, I have to check myself from looking for decline in responses and outlook and see instead where I am learning to process failure more quickly, coming to realisations about why Thursdays are usually such a hard day for me (all my 'breakdowns' seem to coincide with this particular day of the week) and identifying pressure points that often precede an outburst. My Gratitude Journal and subscription to feeds like Humans of New York work quickly now to bring me out of a slump of being overly internally focused and raise my eyes to the stories surrounding me.

Last night Alex and Monica came over with their kids, and Allie and her two joined the party too. Usually I would have attempted to prepare as much as possible before the festivities, often to the detriment of the level of peace in my household. This time I simply didn't have the space to do that, after a chaotic morning, then out to prepare the curriculum for the kids gathering this Sunday and then grocery shopping for the fortnight after that. I had only just put away the last item when people started to arrive. Actually, having to rely on helping hands increased the enjoyment of the evening and I came to a happy realisation that I don't need to have it as 'together' as I might think. The kids were hilarious in the snatches of overheard conversations and their hyperactive excitement at being together.

The house was completely upturned by the occasion, but I chose to see the chaos as evidence of a happy and hospitable home, rather than a failure to 'keep it together'. The merry nature of doing messy life together just felt so 'right', as Dave and I were reflecting afterwards.

It is a big journey for me, but I'm learning to let go, see the good and celebrate the progress... and hopefully teaching my kids as we learn through the experience together.

Now, to fixing this mess that is still surrounding (and shouting at) me! Baby steps...

You know that nightmare where you desperately need to use the bathroom but all the toilet doors are missing? Well, that kind of happened to me this week.

We were at the airport to welcome our dear friends Alex and Monica (and their three amazing boys) back to Australia. Last year we had tearfully fare-welled them, thinking it would be unlikely that we would even get to see them again for at least five years, but in a bittersweet twist (for them) the location of realistic job prospects took them too far away from family to justify the move half a world away. Ever since they informed us that they had booked tickets to come home I had imagined going in to meet them. Eli had particularly struggled with the loss of his best friend, Chase, and has had a difficult year with friends and connecting with people since that time. In anticipation of their return, he has been busily collecting toys and presents to give to Chase, even writing a handful of notes to each person in the family, stuffing them into an empty wine bottle and asking if we could throw it into the ocean to send it to them.

We kept our plan a surprise and woke the kids up early to join the Monash parking lot, picking up a special takeaway breakfast on the way. We made it to the airport by 9:00am and the kids were remarkably patient as we stood with Alex's parents, waiting to catch the first glimpse. When the screens flashed up the familiar faces we made our way over for the first tear-stained hugs and greetings in what felt like an age. Thirty hours of travelling is enough to break anyone, let alone trying to do it with two preschoolers and a five month old, but the troopers were still standing amidst an enormous pile of luggage, delirious with relief that they had made it.

After packing them into the Combi so that they could head back to their temporary home with family, I decided to head back into the airport to use the facilities. Eli decided at the last minute to join me, not realising it was a significant walk back inside the terminal. By the time we made it through the front doors, he was regretting his choice and told me he wanted to go back. I informed him that was not possible so we pushed on. When we finally found the bathrooms, the strong smell of cleaning products acted as a forcefield that repelled Eli, him running out the door every time I tried to enter. Frustrated, we headed into the disabled toilets at the suggestion of the friendly cleaner, but the allure of those door operating buttons compelled Eli to press the shiny green one just as I had settled down.

The door began to swing open, the aspect not only towards the ladies bathrooms, but also facing directly onto the busy corridor. I leaped up to push the door shut, but it was on a course of its own design and was unresponsive to my desperate attempts. Flushed and embarrassed, I gave up, going back to the original plan of the normal facilities, but the forcefield remained strong. The incredible cleaning lady came to my rescue yet again, ushering us into the family room where we finally met with success.

On our way back to the car, Eli decided he wanted chicken nuggets, but I was in no mood to indulge after the recent battles and chaos ensued. I ended up carrying his writhing, screaming body all the way across the road, up the stairs and into the carpark. It was not one of our finest moments and the heightened emotions continued from the back seat (including several unbuckling moments while we were in a moving vehicle) for another hour.

After my 'spiritual awakening' (to borrow a Brene Brown term for breakdown) of last week, I have actually felt a lot more free. It is uncanny how simply naming the internal turmoil and expressing it can release one from its' fierce grip. Not that anything has been magically fixed or changed, but at the very least I no longer have the battle raging in my mind. It has also been a massive case of the shedding of my persona/stage mask to reveal the 'shadow self' underneath.

I've accepted help from all avenues, from extra outings for Eli with our friends Dwain and Jane, going out for wine with Allie, to crashing at Mum's all day Tuesday, even getting to go out for coffee with my two sisters during crazy hour while Mum and Dad wrangled the kids. Pat came over on Friday night so that Dave and I could have a date night to see 'Mockingjay: Part 2', and I had a moment during the movie when I realised that Dave knew every single one of my 'deep, dark secrets' and still loved me and wanted to be around me. It was a pretty incredible feeling.

There are still many conversations to be had, passions to be discovered and pursued, structures to be put in place to avoid reaching empty again, counselling to be participated in and unrealistic aims to be surrendered. This week I had the realisation that I pin my identity to being the person who shows up no matter what, whether sick, exhausted or frustrated. When others don't hold to that mentality, I (unfairly) take it as an attack on my identity when it is actually just a reflection of the state that they are in at the time. Hopefully, my responses to people not showing up can be more grace-filled and understanding moving forward.

Also, I think I'm realising that meltdowns (from the kids and myself) are pretty much a given in parenting. I'm deluding myself if I think I can control the parameters to such an extent that true, raw emotion never bursts through. It was also reassuring last night, chatting to Alex and Monica about parenting and realising our stories really are so similar with the particular struggles and challenges we face. It also helped that the kids played for hours without (major) incident- creating worlds in the Combi, mud pits in the outdoor kitchen and funny games in the bath - just like old times. I'm so overjoyed to have our friends back, to have a family so perfectly matched in terms of structure, ideals and values about life... and to know that our kids will share a magical childhood together... gives me so much hope.