Gus has recently decided that he is an outdoor dog.

After a decade of lounging on various cushions, beds or rugs, he has suddenly regained his youth and spiritedly races around the yard issuing stern warnings to all who could possibly hold any ill intent as they pass peaceably by his vantage point in the fence. It could possibly be an escape attempt from the levels of craziness that regularly escalate within these walls, but we'll go with the rejuvenation story.

I'm beginning to admit to myself that I would like to be a writer.

After a decade of dulling down the creative elements to my character, resigning myself to the fact that law, motherhood or teaching would be the only realistic outlets to pursue as an adult, I'm now growing more and more unsettled with restlessness.

For Dave and I, our interactions this week could more aptly be described as 'handovers'. Blessed with cognitive ability first thing in the morning, Dave rises with the kids and throws together his daily salad while I blearily attempt to adjust to the haze outside of dreamland. As I stagger unsteadily into the kitchen, he blows farewell kisses to us all, leaving me to gather my wits and struggle to parent.

The days have admittedly reached a better rhythm since Eli's foray into Kinder. We have regular reasons to venture beyond the walls which results in better mental health opportunities for us all, and Eli is relishing his newfound discovery that making friends is not as hard as he had thought. He comes home daily exclaiming with wonder at the conversations had and connections made. 

Following the whirlwind of dinner being served to 'suddenly full' tummies, the commotion of bathing three wriggly bodies, and the mountains of books unravelled to spellbound listeners; we begin the process again- one heading out to various social engagements or planned meetings, one manning the fort at home.

Dave channels his energy like one possessed as soon as I close the front door- thrusting his mind into ideas of virtue ethics, narrative identity and mimesis. He is consumed by the heady nature of ideas coming together, forming intriguing new angles in the field. He follows the White Rabbit wherever it leads. Sometimes, my arrival home barely registers as he has waded inextricably far into the rabbit hole to return with ease.

I wish for that kind of inspiration. It has not visited me lately.

I've practiced avoidance with expert skill, in the pages hurriedly skimmed over, the shows devoured, the short fuses exploded and the glasses poured. The conversations glossed over and the weak offerings of 'I'm just tired'.

My personal YouTube Yoga master, Adriene, exhorted the affirmation for today as 'presence'. It was the very last thing I wanted to acknowledge... 'I am present...in my frustration....in my dissatisfaction....in my lack of inspiration...in my wallowing'. The act of accepting these squirm-inducing feelings surprisingly releasing some of the angst.

I haven't been 'fixed' necessarily, or caught up in the throes of inspiration, but I'm learning to accept the discomfort of being in this realm. I'm a stay at home mother of three pre-school children, each of whom have very distinct ideas of how they think our day should proceed. The majority of my waking hours are spent in diplomacy, yelling, maintenance, huffing, catering, exhorting free spirits to put clothes and shoes on, swearing, cuddling, dealing with human excretions, medicine administration, sorting, teaching, explaining, chauffeuring, encouraging and applauding little steps of progress. It is an incredibly rewarding (and frustrating) vocation, but one that has little to 'show' for it right now.

Writing helps me make sense of life and my own convoluted mind. My fingers etch characters onto the screen and revelation hits mid sentence, almost in spite of me. I hope that one day I will be able to craft something of significance, even if it is unrealistic to think that such a project could be endeavoured now... in between drop offs, pick ups and PhDs. And in the meantime, I'm so thankful for this blog, for the opportunity to sift through chaotic thoughts and hone my skills, connecting with others who resonate with ideas of authenticity and vulnerability.

I guess I'm choosing to be present in my restless gratitude.

So it turns out the Brene Brown is quite persuasive and impacting. I just finished her book 'The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are' in two days.

She has this way of communicating concepts so profoundly that once you digest the message, you find it hard to believe you ever thought any differently. Like how important 'play' is to one's mental state, how to recognise the insidious voice of shame so that you can expose it, and that creativity is something that cannot be stifled without negative internal results.

So last night I picked up Dave's guitar and began writing songs again. It feels so weird but so good to be expressing that part of me that has lain dormant for so long. This time around I certainly harbour no illusions of grandeur, but it is so healing to my soul to be using creativity in this way.

For a long time I've 'skipped over' sentences in blogs or books that speak about practicing yoga, but I've finally become a convert. It actually really does work, for slowing down breathing, taking away the physical aches that I had just become accustomed to, keeping you grounded in what matters and adding to the reserves of calm that are usually hovering just above Empty. I just have to figure out a way to make it more boring so that the kids don't use my 'downward dog' as 'TUNNEL TIME'!

Not that adding these elements to my life has 'cured' my anger or made me into some kind of angel... I may or may not have taken it out on the chalkboard easel last night when the damn thing refused to respond to my fixing attempts after a particularly active game of 'peek-a-boo' by Eli had pulled it apart. Dave has a newfound annoying response to me anytime I snap at the kids or him: "That's not very zen yoga of you!"

It does feel at times like when life is going well I cannot even imagine feeling any struggle or negativity. And then, when the dark cloud has settled and the shame is hovering, I fail to be able to picture myself ever having a positive experience again. Perhaps a little overstated, but it does capture the see saw nature of my emotional responses to life as a mother!

I can see progress though, ever so slowly, but my first instinct is not to gravitate towards the dirty dishes straight after breakfast, or 'get things done' as soon as the last child is tucked into rest time. I'm learning to respond to what is important at the time, not what seems urgent to my overloaded brain. I also had an epiphany after yoga the other morning, when I was sitting on the couch surrounded by a jumble of toys and beginning to plot my clean up route- it is my choice to internalise the external chaos and get agitated by the disarray. While  my 'clean first, relax later' philosophy was formerly a purely positive one, life with kids simply doesn't afford that option without parting with your sanity... or at least that has been my experience!

It blows my mind how much there is to learn about life and 'being'. It also excites me, but that might just be because I'm in one of the sunny zones of feeling on top of the world (it helps that the house is silent with sleeping kids and I've been able to think and breathe just for myself this past hour!). Ask me in half an hour when the usual pantomime of interactions resumes (ie. Eli provoking Hudson by walking past his favourite toy police car and saying 'MINE' slyly, with Hudson's predictable reaction of throwing himself on the floor and crying even if he had no intentions of playing with the car in the first place). Right now, however, it's all roses....