Love Many. Trust Few.

One of the things that comes when you are growing into yourself, is an awareness of your vulnerabilities and your strengths. It’s strange that the two can be closely intertwined but they are.

My Vulnerability:

I have been exposed to narcissism all my life. Narcissism is an extreme selfishness - but can often be manifested in many different ways. Sometimes the narcissist is obvious - the charismatic leader who draws people to themselves, but where everything is engineered to feed their great need for the world to revolve around them. Sometimes the narcissist is not so obvious - you might think of them as a giving person - unselfish - but their unselfishness feeds their need to be needed, and they often control those who revolve in their world. 

Narcissism is a personality disorder. Most likely the person you know with this is not even aware they have it. Narcissism also means that the person who has it has most likely had some terrible hurt in their lives and this is their way of coping.

My narcissism radar is on high alert these days. It’s easy to see a narcissist behind every lamp post so I have to be careful who I label with this in my mind, as it sets a prejudice, and I do not want that, but in my journey to healing from having my life impacted by narcissism, I have been pondering over something that a wise person said to me recently. And that is that once you have had a narcissist in your life, you can spot it a mile away.  This wise lady told me that she never allows herself to get involved with a narcissist. Ever. Not even in the smallest way. You run. You protect yourself. You set the boundary.

My Strength:

My strength - and that is my intuition. That ‘still, small voice’ that sends out little alarms. I am still learning to use it - I am trying to embrace it. It’s always been there, but I’ve never had the confidence in it before. Now, I do.

We who have the Myers-Briggs personality type of INFJ (Introvert/Intuitive/Feeling/Justice), have this thing called the ‘INFJ Door Slam’. To me this is setting boundaries which I no longer allow people to cross over to manipulate me. It goes completely against how I have behaved up until this age. I have always been open, friendly, welcoming and accepting of people - a little naive perhaps, but through the last few years as I have learned about my vulnerabilities and strengths, I realise that this is not altogether healthy. People can and will take advantage of that. Manipulators can and will take advantage of that, which is why it’s important to recognise your vulnerabilities and then to use your strengths to counteract that.

Narcissism radar and INFJ door slam - I welcome you. It’s a new day for me. I’m no longer a door mat. I am learning to be confident in myself and to choose who I welcome into my life.

The Characteristics of a Sexual Groomer

"It was in an evil hour that you ever came here!" 

from David Copperfield by Charles Dickens.

When I think back over my life, and what happened to me when I was 20, when I met Bill Gothard, I think of this quote from the character of Rosa Dartle in David Copperfield. 

With my good, acute memory that never allows me to forget, I can put myself back in that room, that hour, the one that changed the course of my life, and I now think of it as an evil hour. It brought harm to me, to my family, and to my friends.

My predator issued a new-ish statement this morning on his website, and for a brief moment I thought about issuing my own retaliatory statement here on my blog in response to his very personal attack towards me and the other women who bravely shared the secrets he was hoping we would keep. He continues to deceive in his veiled sentences with their double meanings and the pious use of God's language, in his attempt to make everyone believe he is still a holy man.

But it is futile to try and argue with a narcissist, in what could end up being an endless slinging match of she said/he said. So, instead of focussing on the personal element this is to me, I am choosing to use this opportunity to bring awareness to how a sexual predator works. Even in Bill's new statement and the 'testimonies' from the eight women that accompany it, I am very concerned to still clearly see the elements of grooming in his letter and in some of their letters. 

Let me lay it out here - there is a clear process of sexual grooming that a predator uses. Every woman I have spoken with who has experienced some form of sexual harassment or abuse agrees that these are predominant aspects of a groomer. At some point in this process, your groomer will start touching you - at first it will be very mild, very innocent, very grandfatherly. As it was for me; a pat on the hand, a side-hug, a special 'look' that exchanges between you. If you have been selected by the predator, this will progress to full bodily hugs, to holding hands, to rubbing his leg up and down your leg, to caressing your hand and your fingers, to putting his face close to yours. This can progress to further violation.

This is the method that seldom fails when a predator selects their target.

Maybe you can see them also.

Kindness
Predators are good listeners. They will spend hours talking with you, paying attention to your words and your story. They will ask questions, they will empathize. And they are sincere. So very sincere. You will feel grateful to them, and humbled that they have shown such interest in you.

Special
A predator will make you feel special and favoured by them. They will use words like this:
"I have probably spent more one on one time with you than any other young woman you would know."
They will make you feel that you are the only person in the world that makes them happy. They will tell you that you give them energy. 
If you have a faith of any kind, they will use God's name to reinforce that. They will say things like, "God has brought you here," or "I have been waiting for God to bring someone like you to me/this ministry," or "what a blessing from God you are to me."

Secrets
At this point in the relationship they will feel safe enough to start probing for your secrets. If you open up to them, trusting them because they have been kind to you and you believe you are special to them, you will share your secrets. My groomer would say things like, "can I ask you a personal question?" This would be followed by questions along the lines of, "have you ever done something you're ashamed about," or "are you a virgin?'  With the initial, qualifying question making it feel like you have a choice whether to answer or not, lulls you into believing it is safe to share.

They may even share a secret or two with you from their life. It is unlikely they will share anything too personal - remembering that a narcissist/sociopath has denied their authentic self and is living a double-life. Any secret they share will be innocuous. My groomer shared a 'secret' with me when he admitted that he sometimes felt nervous speaking in front of thousands of people. I felt privileged that he would share that with me and nobody else, but what is that secret compared with 'are you a virgin?'

Gifts
To cement this growing relationship your predator will start giving you things. It depends on the circumstances you are in at the time, but for me, I was given a bedroom makeover, clothing, gifts of money, phone calls to my family overseas paid for by my groomer. The gifts are a way of reinforcing to you that they have been kind to you, that you are special to them, that you share a secret bond.

Fear
Fear can come in many forms when you are in a relationship with a groomer. But ultimately this step is designed to make you fear that one day the relationship will come to an end. Your groomer will start dropping subtle nuances about this. His fear will seem very real to you but it is designed to make you worry about losing them. 
This will make you work harder to please them.

Isolation
The next step is to isolate you from family and friends. If this cannot be done physically, it will be mentally. Your groomer will start confiding in you about other people and their faults. They will use words like 'trust'. My groomer said things like, "other girls will want to be your friend just to get close to me." This made me look on my peers with mistrust, believing they had alterior motives to befriending me. It also devalues my worth in my own eyes. It says, I am not worthy of being a friend. They don't really like me, they like him."

Soul ties
By now you and your predator think as one person. 
Well, you believe you do. 
He is the center of your world.

Absolute Loyalty
Do not listen to others who tell you they have concerns about your relationship with this person. 
They don't know him! They don't know how sincere and kind and special he is. They don't know his generous heart and his vulnerability. 

When you find yourself thinking this, you have fallen into his web of lies and deceit. 
Your groomer has won your heart, he has won your trust, he has won your mind.

In my case, I was fortunate enough that I had an intervention in the form of the USA Immigration Service - God bless their honest red tape!

If my story and the lost twenty years of loyalty to my groomer has any redeeming fact, I hope that it has this - to bring greater awareness to the process of predatory grooming. 

Let us cast light into the corners of those shadows. Let us drive out the evil lurking in our churches and schools and homes and communities and our lives.

In your hour of evil, 

when the shadow darkens your door,

remember my story, and remember my words of warning.

The Duggars and Bill Gothard. Is God Cleaning the House?

If you're not tired yet of reading hundreds of blog posts about the Duggars, here's another one.

I have thought long and hard about posting on this controversy on my personal blog. It is not easy for me to do that, but with all the news that has come out lately about the Duggar sexual molestation scandal I felt that I had a right to weigh in on this and voice my opinions, because even though I do not know the Duggar family personally, we have many mutual friends, because the Duggars and I have a mutual personal connection, and that connection is Bill Gothard.

I have waded through dozens of blog posts and news articles with varying opinions and some have made me want to stand up and cheer and applaud, and others have left me shaking my head and burying my face in my hands for shame.

I never thought the day would come where I would be thankful for whoever it is that chooses the television programmes for New Zealand, but for whatever reason 19 Kids and Counting is relatively unknown in this country, so I don't have to see it flash across my tv screen bringing with it the triggers of my experiences with the cult that the Duggars are in, nor specifically my experiences with the man who ran the cult. If you are not familiar with my story, here is the link again. Some of us even pleaded with the Duggar family to make a public statement about Bill Gothard.

I am not a teacher or a person who is a great studier. I don't spend hours and hours looking up Bible verses and figuring out the root meanings of the words, but since the beginning of all this controversy in the christian world - from Doug Phillips to Bill Gothard to the Duggar Family, I have had a deep belief that God is cleaning house. (1 Peter 4v17).

God is cleaning house.

I have always thought that the Duggars seemed like nice people. Misguided as we all were when we were involved in ATI and IBLP. Conned by what other people have termed the 'greatest threat to modern day christianity' - Patriarchy and fundamentalism. Bill Gothard and his powerful personality and persuasion. He influenced a whole generation of christians. He sounded good, it sounded right, but it wasn't. His version of God took us far, far away from the real God.

I have been stunned at how many christians are saying that what the Duggars are going through is persecution. Persecution! You are kidding me, right? Persecution is what the christians in Iraq are going through. Or the christians in North Korea. They are persecuted because they are christians. Not because they are sexual predators.

The Duggars brand of 'persecution' is self inflicted. They invited the media into their home. They've been in bed with publicity and television cameras and newspaper headlines for years. What is more astonishing is that they knew they had this skeleton in their family closet, and they still went ahead with the reality tv programme. Either they are incredibly naive, self-serving or they were ill-informed.

Many people say that the world is being hard on them because they are christians and they stood for what is right and moral and good. But many of these people don't understand that the brand of christianity that the Duggars follow is a performance brand. I know this because I worked for Bill Gothard for many years and followed the same brand. The basis of his teaching was that if you lived a certain way - that is, kept sin out as much as humanly possible, then God will bless you, your life will be successful and you will never have to deal with hard things, like sexual abuse in your family.

See how that worked out for the Duggars.

I imagine they were left reeling in shock when this happened to their family. Nobody wants that. So the Bill Gothard way is to try harder. Make the girls less tempting by covering up their bodies as much as possible. Side hugs only. No kissing. The list goes on and on. It's why they were so rigid with their courtship/dating stance. It's why they homeschool. It's why they have so many children. It's why the girls dress the way they do. Please God. Please God. Please God and He might not let anything bad happen. He will bless you.
Ugh.
A different God.

My heart breaks for those sweet, beautiful Duggar girls. I even had some sympathy for their brother, because I know what they have grown up in - repression and shame. They have not been allowed to grow and develop normally. Yes, our world is full of sin and evil, and yes, children should be sheltered when they are young, but christianity is not about hiding ourselves away from the world. We can't. We are in it. We are no different to any other person walking the face of this planet. The only difference is that we found Jesus who will cover our sins with His blood when we stand before God because we acknowledged our ability to be evil and we asked him to protect us from dying eternally because of it. That's it. That's all it is.

But my husband, who has worked with criminals for over 30 years in law enforcement, and many of those criminals are sex offenders, did not have much sympathy. It is not normal for a 14 year old boy to grope his sister. It's not even normal for him to do it once to one sister. But it seems this was done over a period of time and to at least five. It is normal for boys and girls to experiment, to be curious, but it is not normal for them to do what Josh Duggar did.

And what happened - he got shipped off to one of Bill Gothard's training centers, where he teaches that sometimes the victim is the one to blame.

What can we do about the Duggars?

I think it is a time for christians to show them love. To show them the real love of God. I think it is a time when we can reach out to them and say, 'hey, we love you, we are praying for you." This has to be a dreadful time for them. It will not hurt us to show compassion.

But it is also not a time to defend them, or to cry persecution.

It's a time to look inward. To our churches, to our belief structure, to find out if the God we have been following is the real God, or a man-made one. Is the basis of our faith one of performance or one of grace?

The conversation is healthy all while being heart-wrenching.

I do believe the time has come to clean up the house.

Downton Abbey - my advice to Julian Fellowes

Dear Mr. Fellowes,

Thank you for creating Downton Abbey.

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Thank you for providing a reason... a very valid reason.... for me to not do my housework so I can catch up on episodes, and to go out and buy pretty dresses, and to dream of hiring servants, and to pretend for a fleeting moment that the basement in my house is my very own Downstairs and that dinner will be served promptly.

And thank you for making me feel good about not hiring a Nanny.

I have forgiven you for killing Matthew. It took me two whole seasons, but I have. Truly.

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As one of your millions of viewers, I wondered if you'd be interested in my humble opinions

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Downton Abbey gives us a little escape from the madness that is the modern world. It sweeps us through the ages gone, back to a time in the world in which my grandfather always described to me as a 'golden era to grow up.' The 1920's.

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Have you ever given any thought to what era in history you would like to live, if you had the chance to choose?

For me it would be the 1920's, based purely on my grandfather's recommendation, and the clothes that they wore. I realize that, given our current time in history, we know that the second world war was just around the corner for those who lived then, but is any time in world history safe? Maybe those born in the 1950s and 1960s have had the most peaceful and comfortable time in history, but those children may yet live to see their grandchildren caught up in a terror fight against the evil that is rampaging across the middle east at the moment.

So please don't stop writing this loveliness that is Downton Abbey.

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So Downton Abbey gives us a blissful escape back into a world of order and beauty and we love it for the sheer humanness of it, where the struggles of the people then are similar to the struggles we have now. Human nature never changes. We still want love and happiness.

So Mr. Fellowes, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts for creating this series, this escapism, these indulgent hours.

But (and there's always a but, isn't there), here is some free advice for series 6.

1. Please, please, please can we dispense with the storyline that sees Anna and Mr Bates heading off to jail at every other episode. It's getting very tiresome. I think they are due some happiness, and if they are not, can you please find something different to torment them with.  It is done now, Mr. Fellowes. It is so done.

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2. Could someone, anyone, please give Mary some better lines. Poor girl always looks like someone's holding a gun to her back for every word she speaks. The lines need to be longer than one sentence, also.

3. Please don't kill off anymore spouses. Each one of those three little kiddos has a parent who has been killed off. The odds of that happening in one family, in real life, are pretty rare, so it's starting to look a little ridiculous.

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4. Please don't ever, ever kill off Mrs. Hughes. I will stop watching it, if you do. She is by far the best character in this entire thing. And don't kill off the Dowager Lady Grantham either, if you don't mind.

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5. It would be nice to see Mrs. Crawley find romance. She does it so well.

6. To be honest, it's getting rather predictable with all the love affairs and love children that keep popping out of the woodwork. Could we think of some more original story-lines now that those have been done to death? If you're heading into WWII you could really have some fun with thinking up new plot ideas. Lady Mary could join the Resistance. I bet she'd make a super spy making love to the enemy while stabbing him in the back at the same time. She wouldn't even wince.

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And one final thought Mr. Fellowes....

What happened to Mrs. Patmore's bad eyesight? She never wears her glasses anymore.

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The Snobbery of School Yard Parents

I'm always telling my kids, when they come home with tales of mean children in their class, "don't worry - school is not the real world."

School years are a fun, but short time in their lives. That one day they'll be out in the real world, and will be able to choose their friends, and choose their teachers, and choose where they want to live and go to a much larger pool than the classroom. That the school environment is really a false environment that is not reflective of what their lives will be once they finish.

But..... I am wrong. I'm not going to say that anymore.

Like the reality tv programme Survivor, school is actually a little mini-world of the real world.

In homeschooling groups, it is popular to say that school is such a false environment. It's not the real world. I've done home-schooling and I've done public school, and I think that's a wrong assumption. School life is very much reflective of life outside.

After watching 28 episodes of Survivor, and seeing the many parallels between the game and real life, I am convinced that the social game is the one that will get you the furtherest in life. Learn how to mix with the people around you and life will be easier.

As an introvert, one of my favourite things to do is people watch. I've been to a few schools, and quite a few school functions in the last few years, and I've noticed one factor that is always the same, no matter which school it is, or which event I'm at.

The behaviour of children at school is reflective of the behaviour of their parents.

I was just at the Athletics Day for my son today, and I observed it yet again. See if you can make the same parallels between parent social groups and children's social groups.

The 'Popular' Parent Group. 

These are the ones who know each other well.
At my school (a private christian school), they probably go to church together, or know each other outside of school somehow. Maybe they grew up together. Some people never leave the place they were born in, so they usually are well-known. They seldom make an effort to welcome newcomers, or if they do, it's very superficial and only if your child becomes friends with theirs. As a christian myself, and knowing who the christians are at this school, I find that totally unacceptable (read, unChrist-like), and snobbish.
In a private school, you also get the highly-paid parents whose careers define who they are. The Mrs. Heart-Surgeons, and the Mrs.LocalMemberofParliament or just the "my-husband-got-rich-on-the-stock-market" wives who speak with a South Auckland accent. They turn up with their $500 handbags and their immaculately manicured fingernails in their large black Remuera tractors.

The Over Achievers Group.

The ones who are busy, busy, busy. And if they're not busy, they find something to make them look busy. Cell phones to their ears, striding purposefully across the paddock/carpark/playground.  They're involved in so many school activities it makes your head swim. If a teacher asks for help, they're always the first ones to put their hands up.

The Loners.

This morning I saw two parents standing by themselves, while the other little groups stood in semi-circles, chatting and laughing. I always make a point of talking to them, if I know them, or introducing myself if I don't, because I've been there before. I've been the parent standing by myself and I know what it feels like, especially if you're new to the school. And my mother always taught us to be friendly to the ones who didn't have friends. I don't think that's taught much these days, to be honest.

I saw a boy at the starting line of the 60metre dash today push the cone out of the way, so his foot could get a few inches start on the other boys, and I heard his father laugh and say, "that's my boy - that's what I taught him," which really shows that getting ahead seems to be the priority of many, rather than just enjoying the journey.


The Normal Ones

These are the parents that are worth gold. These are the ones you want to make friends with. They're the ones who can't always make school events, but if they can, they will. If they know you, they'll make a point of coming and saying hi and being friendly and passing the time of day. They'll be the first to offer help if you need it. I know a couple of these parents at my school.
But they are rare.
Rare!
If you find them, hold onto them.

So do you think school life is reflective of real life? Can you identify any of these groups in your world? Are you someone who welcomes newcomers, or are you more happy to hang with your familiar group?

It is a challenge to myself as well, and I've been on both sides of this fence. I've been the loner and I've been part of the popular. I want to be the normal, friendly, kind one. As a shy, quiet person that takes an effort on my part, but some of my loveliest friends are those that I've met from just swallowing my insecurity (which is really just pride in disguise), and striking up random conversations with strangers.

That is my goal and my purpose and it is what I hope to pass on to my children too. There are too many selfish people in the world already. We all know it, and I suspect we've all experienced the isolation that comes from being around selfish people.

So, if we can't change the whole world, maybe we can change this one thing in our local world.

Be friendly to strangers. Make an effort. Be the change.

A Private Moment of Triumph

When I travelled to New Caledonia recently, something happened to me that hasn't happened in a very long time.

I left the shores of my homeland.

I conquered my fear of foreign borders.

Most of you know my story and experiences with the American immigration.
It put me off travel for a long time. Nearly 25 years.
Stay in New Zealand. Stay safe. They can't kick you out of here.

We had a rather harrowing flight into New Caledonia. It was very turbulant., or as the captain would say in his lovely French accent..... "turbulonce." (spelled how it sounded).
They even stopped serving drinks, and the seatbelt sign was on pretty much for the entire flight. For the few minutes they turned it off, the queue for the toilets was almost the length of the plane.

I hate flying, so I was saying over and over to myself, 'turbulance isn't (usually) dangerous.'

So when the jewelled reef of Nouvelle Caledonie appeared in our windows, there was an almost audible sigh of relief, and everyone got very chatty again, after quite a quiet flight.

But I was euphoric for other reasons.

A quiet moment of private triumph.

I was in foreign parts.

Maybe I've been bitten by the travel bug again. I certainly had it once, many years ago.

But after that flight into Noumea I thought I would probably take a lot of convincing to get back on a plane, but the excitement of seeing new things and experiencing a new culture, and hearing a different language, all with a bunch of wonderful teenagers, made that experience fade into the past.

The journey home was quite different. Smooth, sunny and quick. We were halfway home before we'd barely settled into our seats.

There's something rather wonderful about flying back into New Zealand. As I said once to an American girl who has come to live here, the rugged cliffs of our Pacific Coast and the rolling green hills of our farmland viewed from the air, make it feel like the country stretches out it's arms in a warm embrace, welcoming you back into the fold. Going away makes you appreciate coming back.

I'm sure every wandering kiwi has experienced that moment of a full heart of love when our coast comes into sight as you fly back home from other worlds.

It's almost the best part of the entire trip.

The funny thing is, almost like a test, when I went through border control at Auckland airport after we landed, the electronic machine spat my passport back out and refused to let me enter, saying I had to go and speak to a customs official.

For a split second, I had flashbacks to 1993. My nightmare coming true. Again.
But, it was a fleeting moment.

And I didn't even get a heart palpitation.

It happened, as I heard later, that they were having trouble with the machines.

So, as I think back on my visit to New Caledonia, I think I will always view it fondly.

It was responsible for giving me back a part of myself that I had lost.

Merci, belles iles.

Neurological Pathways and Epilepsy... our journey

As many of you know, who have followed us on this journey, when our boy Teddy was 4 years old he was diagnosed with epilepsy.

We were sitting at the dinner table one evening finishing off our summer salad when I looked over towards him and noticed his head turning ever so slowly to the left, his eyes following. It was such an unusual action for him, that I patted him on the hand, which was resting on the table, to get his attention.

There was no response.

We called his name. We waved our hands in front of him and still, no response. That is when I jumped up from my chair and ran for the phone and called the ambulance.

By the time they arrived he was coming out of this absence seizure, but bless their hearts, the paramedics thought it would be a good idea to send him into the main hospital for a check up. When we arrived it was a quiet night. We all gathered in a little room, with our now bright and cheerful son. There were about 3 paediatricians chatting with us, along with two nurses. Teddy was sitting on my knee when he suddenly raised his arms above his head and I felt his whole body stiffen.

I shouted to the doctors to come and get him, and they laid him down on the table while his little body was racked with the shaking and convulsions of a full-blown grande mal seizure.

It was horrible and ghastly, but looking back on it now, one of the best things that could have happened at the time. As one of the paediatricians said to me that night, it's not often they actually get to witness something like that. They are usually called in after the fact.

Teddy having had this massive seizure in front of so many experts meant that he was fast-tracked through the system. And because I was 37 weeks pregnant with Miss A, they took pity on me, wanting to get all the hospital procedures out of the way before our next baby arrived. With an overnight stay, Teddy had blood tests, CT scans and most importantly, a neurologist referral. Everything came back clear, but our journey was far from over.

It took nearly 18 months to get Teddy stable on his medications. Sometimes during that time, he would have dozens of absence seizures over a matter of minutes. He would be playing outside in the long grass when he would disappear from sight and we'd run up and find him seizing. One horrible day he had seizure after seizure. One seizure would exhaust his little body, and he would go into a deep sleep for about 40 minutes following each one. Then he would pop up from the couch where he was lying with a smile on his face. Then half an hour later..... down again. I didn't want him growing up and knowing that it was a handicap - I wanted him to experience life just like any other kid, so that meant getting in the swimming pool with him, it meant standing under him on the playground in case he had a seizure while on the monkey bars. It meant switching from baths to showers. It meant teaching my older children emergency procedures - how to turn him onto his side before even calling for help. We learned how the tongue-choking myth is, mostly,  just a myth. We learned that disorders like this are not environmental, and sometimes the brain won't tell you why it's doing this. We learned how to value each day.

It was a horrible and torrid time. He had lots of prayer from our church family. He had an amazing neurologist who was gentle with him and his approach to medications. He started him on a very mild anti-seizure drug until we found the one that was just right for him. In the end, he was on a high dose of Epilim and a low dose of Ethosuxymide. But at last the seizures were gone.

Finally, we had them under control, and our lives began to return to normal. Teddy was able to go to school, but he had started late. To this day, we are unsure whether the delay in his learning is because he lost a year of crucial milestones - the age of 4 years old when a toddler's learning curve is huge, or if it was due to the toxicity of the medications. Teddy would often talk about feeling 'foggy' in his head. Teddy struggles to follow instructions that are not of the most simplistic. This is something that 4 year olds learn during that formative year. Instead of 'go to your bedroom and bring me your shoes' they learn more complicated instructions like, 'go to your bedroom and put your socks on and then bring me your shoes and your jersey." Teddy missed this development during that year.
He struggles to concentrate for longer than a 5 minute period at school or follow complex instructions.

Thankfully, he is now off all medications. It will be nearly 2 years since his last dose of Epilim. Every day we thank God for this blessing and every day we hold our breath. Thankfulness and fear running on the same tracks.

With teacher aide help and getting him into a good school here in our local town, he has come a long way with his learning. He is just managing to keep his head above water academically, but we have been looking for ways to increase his abilities so that as he grows and merges into the more senior school, where the work is harder and faster, so he will be able to cope and grow and succeed.

This year, he has a young, newly qualified teacher who has been amazing with him. And we have sought expert help outside of school to assist him. We have ruled out dyslexia and ADD and ADHD. He has no behavioural issues, is a social boy with lots of friends, but for some reason he just gets stuck when it comes to executive skills and academia. Sometimes it is hard to know if it's just a boy thing (you know, boys hate sitting still), but we have discovered that it is more than that now - there is a definite delay, not disorder, just that he has a lot of catching up to do.

We have been learning that the brain, no matter how old, can learn new pathways. Our greatest need at the moment is to extend our boy's concentration, so the expert advised getting him book activities that he can work on at home, that spark his interests.

Teddy has an obsession with cars at the moment. Every day he asks me some technical question about 4-wheel drives, or Bugatti Veyron's, and every time I say to him, "I know nothing about this. You're asking the wrong person! Ask Dad when he gets home." But he doesn't give up.

So I did some searching on Amazon and found several books that I hope will help him, and thrill him.

Exotic Cars by John Lamm.
A beautiful, full colour book with written detail about each car. It will be a challenge for Teddy to read this - even though the written portion on each car is minimal, the print is small, but I know he will be keen to read this, and I can see him sitting on the couch reading to us every night. There are facts about each car including the history, the price, the speed, the type of engine, the interiors.... he's going to love it!

And I found him some colouring-in books that also encourage reading and concentration.

Luxury Cars and American Muscle Cars by Bruce LaFontaine, and another soon to arrive on how to Draw Cars by Doug DuBosque. I know he's going to love these books, and hopefully, it will be a small step into extending his concentrations times that will help him at school, and on the way to giving his brain a new pathway.

In learning about these new brain pathways, I have found the book Smart but Scattered really interesting and valuable. It teaches about the importance of structure and environmental security and predictability, helping your child get organised, to follow through on tasks, learn from mistakes and stay in control of emotions.

Some of these books are available through my Amazon Associates link on the side bar, if anyone is interested in them.

If you know of something similar that you think Teddy would be interested in, please let me know! I am always on the look out now, for things that might help extend his learning neurological pathways.

Dear Kate - Your Hyperemisis Gravidarum Sisters Understand

I have always said I would rather go through labour and birth a hundred times over without pain-relief, than to have morning sickness once.

And I would know - I have had it five times. Even with the baby I lost at 14 weeks, I had severe morning sickness - or hyperemisis gravidarum - as its medical term is called. Each time I found out I had another baby on the way, which was usually just after the 4 week mark, I would spend the next week or so frantically trying to get meals in the freezer and get the house in order, because I knew that once week 6 hit, I would be down and out.

It's such an all-encompassing feeling. I tried to explain it to my husband once in terms he would understand....

"it's like being stuck in a stifling engine room on the Cook Strait ferry in a very, very bad storm for 12 weeks with no let up in the weather."

This. In fact, this picture describes hyperemisis gravidarum perfectly. Now just imagine yourself in the bowels of that ship.

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With the new royal baby on the way, once again the spotlight falls onto this little-understood condition. I hate seeing all the criticism and mocking of Kate over this - it's just ignorant ranting by people who don't have a clue about this. You can't just 'get over it,' or 'suck it up, honey,' or 'find something to distract you,' or 'eat a cracker' or 'drink plenty of water.'
That advice is laughable.

It just doesn't work. It might be very treatable, as one midwife suggested in the New Zealand Herald today, but often those treatments just make them feel better, not the sufferer. An intravenous drip might save the mother from dehydration, but it won't take away the relentless, unmerciful nausea. There's nothing that makes this better, except giving birth.

The last thing you want to do is eat and drink, because every. single. breath. makes your stomach want to heave. Every drop of water or smell or taste will make you throw up, and if there's nothing in your stomach, then you'll just dry-retch all day long. The only release is sleep. I used to hate waking up in the morning because it meant a whole day of misery and getting acquainted with the toilet. At one point, my dehydration was so bad, that (look away if this is too much information), my urine turned brown.

I was the only one in my family to experience it this severe too; and sometimes, even women who have had morning sickness don't understand it. They liken it to their own experiences, which maybe was horrible enough to complain about, but not horrible enough that they couldn't carry on with their daily activities.

This kind of morning sickness that Kate has, and the one that I had, and what many women go through, is the kind where you absolutely cannot do anything, except lie as still as you can because even turning your head a little on the pillow will make you throw up.

Thankfully, I had a husband who was able to get time off work, but as our family grew, by the time I was pregnant with my fourth baby it was getting harder to manage, so my mother arranged for a young friend to come and live with us during the really bad weeks to look after the children, which was an absolute life-saver.

As the weeks progressed for me it gradually dissipated, though I do know of some women who have it the entire 9 months. I can't even imagine how awful that must be. They are truly heroic. I at least knew that by 22-24 weeks the worst would be over.

During my last pregnancy with Miss A, I had a tally each day. "Today I've only thrown up xx amount of times. That's one less time than yesterday." Progress!
We go through it because we know that the sweet baby at the end will be worth the weeks of hell. It's a short time in our lives for the reward of that precious life.

So, believe me when I say that childbirth is a picnic compared to the relentless assault of hyperemisis gravidarum.

photo credit: Defence Images via photopin cc

To grey naturally..... or not?

When you get to a certain age, as I am.... which is just over the top of 40, the issue of hair becomes a little more problematic.

Do you give way to the grey?

I have naturally really dark hair, which means that when my first grey hair appeared in my 30's, it was so glaringly obvious I yanked that thing out before I had a heart attack from the shock. But it didn't stop there as I soon saw with a sinking heart - they just kept coming and coming, until one evening standing in front of a mirror very pregnant pulling out grey hairs absent-mindedly while my midwife was chatting away to me in the background she said to me, "you might as well give that up. You're not going to win the battle," and I realised that the day would soon come where youth would give way to middle age and I would have to make the decision.

I have friends who have made the decision to grey naturally and gracefully, and I so admire that and they look good! Amazing actually. I thought about it, really I did. For one quick minute. Then that moment passed. It was fleeting.

I just can't do it. You see my hair is high maintenance. It's curly, it's frizzy and I have lots of it. One drop of rain on my hair or one percent hike in the humidity and whoosh - my hair is twice the size and I look like I have an affro. (Can I just stop here and say, God Bless the inventor of the flat iron).

So this year that time of decision came. I had to do something about it, because it was getting to a point where I'd be having a conversation with someone, and their eyes would drift up to my fringe or the top of my head and I knew they had been distracted by a silver, shiny thing, and I just couldn't pull them out fast enough! So I began to colour hair - for the first time in my life, and even though it has increased the amount of money I spend on my hair, it is so worth it.  This photo is 3 days (and one wash) after my most recent colour.

At first I was so afraid of the hair dyes. I have inherited my grandmother's lovely soft, English, white, sensitive skin. Even fragrance in my moisturiser will turn my face into a tomato, so I had nightmares of ending up in hospital after an allergic reaction to the dyes. You know the stories. Just google hair dye allergy. You'll run screaming.

It has taken me awhile to settle in with a hairdresser here in Tauranga, after my wonderful stylist in Christchurch. After a year of going from one to the other, I came back to one of my original choices, Adoux Hair.

They reassured me in regards to the colour in my hair, gave me a couple of patch tests which yielded no startling results, and so I booked in for my first semi-permanent using a colour closely resembling my own natural colour.

I love my hair colour. I don't want to try anything else. If I was tempted to be daring and go for something completely different it would be red. I love red hair. I think it's amazingly beautiful.

The great thing with a semi is that it's very light. It doesn't actually give full coverage, so it appears more natural. I don't think it lasts as long as a permanent, but I just book in every 6 weeks or so. Towards the end of the time, I just use one of these colour crayons to touch up the bad patches. These are available in department stores, and are a lifesaver!

I'm loving my hair stylist Kathleen from Adoux. She is not only fun to talk to for the almost 2 hours it takes to cut, colour and style my hair, but she really knows what she's doing, so I feel like I'm in safe hands.

What do you think? Hair is one of those things that we women agonise over. Colour, style, frizz, volume, health. I've gone through stages where I've wanted to change it up, and I really want to grow it longer, but with my naturally curly hair that takes forever! But I'm getting there slowly. I don't think I'll ever cut it short - it just goes really wiry and out of control. Long suits me best, and right now I'm loving the length, the very subtle layering and the side fringe. I keep thinking I'll change it and do something wild and different, but in the end I keep coming back to this.

Perfect is Boring

Sometimes I think the words Perfection and Fear should go hand in hand.

There's a revolution happening among some of my friends. There's a revolution happening with me. Years ago we were involved with a christian organisation that taught that if you made the right choices in every area of your life, you would gain true success in life. Success in marriage, career, family, finances, that it would even make you closer to God, favoured by God.

But I've been learning these last few months that the mirage of a perfect person and a perfect life is as fragile and hallucinogenic as shifting sands. It's there right before you, within your grasp, shimmering and beguiling and always, always out of reach.
And I don't believe God ever intended it to be that way for any of us.

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Because life is not really perfect, is it?

I don't have to be perfect to be happy.
My life doesn't have to be perfect to be fulfilled.
I don't have to make perfect choices to be successful.

We've all been there. We're afraid to make the wrong choices. We're afraid to anger God. We're afraid to spoil our reputation. We're afraid that someone might say, "she's complicated" or "she has issues" or "needy."

Ugly words. Words with stigma.

Ok, so I'm not deliberately going to go out there and make a mess of my life, and deliberately choose the wrong choice, just so I can get life experience. No! God forbid!
I don't think anyone chooses to be knocked down, or in difficulties. No. What I'm saying is that sometimes, even with the best of intentions we're going to do the wrong thing. But it's the lesson learned that counts, and it's what we do with that lesson.

We want to appear perfect. We want everyone to think we have it all together.
Our perfect Christmas cards, our perfect hair. Our perfect figure. Our perfect homes. Our perfect, prestigious job. Our perfect lives. Our perfect choices. We want to show the world that we are successful, and that success has come to us because we made the right choices about everything.

In the christian world, these issues of perfection are even more exacerbated. In the church, where, of all places, it shouldn't be prevalent. We go to God because we know we're not perfect. He is our safe place. He's always there for us when we make the wrong choice, and we realise all over again our vulnerability, our failure, our humanness.

Nobody can achieve perfection. Nobody.
We all have something to cope with in life.... our own cross to bear, because life is not perfect, and it never will be. Sometimes these bad things come to us through no fault of our own, but sometimes you have to accept that you are going to make wrong choices, you are going to make mistakes, you are going to be foolish. But from that comes beauty and an interesting life, a person with depth and courage and wisdom.

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If you could go back to your childhood self, what would you say? What advice would you give, knowing that whatever you said would stay with you through to your adult years?

I would like to go back and tell myself that it's ok to make the wrong choice sometimes.
That from the wrong choice would come Wisdom. Experience. Personal growth.

Trying to achieve perfection without the lessons along the way is fruitless and will probably end you up in therapy.

The richness of life, the value of lessons learned comes through sometimes getting it wrong. We shouldn't be afraid to be wrong. To be a fool.

Perfect is Boring.

photo credit: bobrayner via photopin cc

photo credit: peasap via photopin cc