Does anyone else think sleep is kinda interesting?

The dog is whimpering, her feet are trotting, she's huffing and puffing, twitching, her ears moving back and forth. What on earth is she dreaming about? "Chasing rabbits", we used to say about our old labrador. Probably was. And for this dog it's probably chasing balls. And the backyard cockies.

I just want to say that I think sleep is pretty bloody interesting. And so is dreaming. We don't really know why we do it, but we all do it, without question. We understand why we eat and drink, what's happening inside our digestive tract and how food creates energy. But what do we understand about the physiology of sleep? Not very much, is my guess.

It gets dark, we say goodnight to one another, lay down in our warm beds, across the country, the streets empty, the lights go out and it is quiet. We all sleep. And then the sun comes up and we all stir, climb out from under our blankets, rub our eyes and say 'good morning' and off we go again. Have any of you ever thought - say, in the middle of the night - that pretty much everyone in your town is lying still right now, asleep? Like we've all agreed that's what we do at night. Like robots; machines shutting down for regular maintenance.

Birds do it: my chickens put themselves to bed at twilight every night. If we disturb them (say to grab the eggs from underneath their warm bellies) they hardly stir, like they're totally away in another zone. Chimps make make fresh beds every night out of leaves and curl up in them. But do bees sleep? And sharks? Don't they need to keep moving to stay alive? Cows and horses sleep standing up - how does that work? Why don't their legs collapse under them?

And what's the go with anaesthetic? Why is it that you can sleep and realise time has passed, but if you go under an anaesthetic it's like you awoke an instant after you nodded off. The doctor says: "I'm going to count down from ten and you probably won't hear me when I get to one: ten, nine, eight, so how was that? The surgery all went really well, how are you feeling?". So what's different about sleeping under anaesthetic?

I know we need sleep, that we function like drunks without it, but what is our body actually doing? What's the process that's going on when we lay down, close our eyes and drift away? Are our cells repairing damage? Can they only do that when we stop most of our other functions? What is going on in there?

And dreams? Are we sorting the day's events into memory folders, is it just leftover random noise from our busy minds all folding together to make a weirdly disjointed stageshow in our heads?

So many questions and I don't really have any answers. If I could choose another career (and I've already swapped about a few times, so I think I probably won't), I'd definitely look into sleep. That is all.

The stories of our parents' lives - so much we don't know

I've decided to embark on a new project, and I thought I'd share it with you - that way I've said it out loud and feel more accountable for making it happen.

I figure everyone has at least one story in them, probably many more than one. And so often those stories go untold. My mum has spent the past couple of years piecing together our family tree. In the process, she's discovering snippets about her rellies, little bits of information that let her build a picture of who each person was. It even seems a couple of the sly dogs had more than one wife (at a time)! Scandalous!

All this picture-building got me thinking about my own parents' stories. What did they do with themselves before I came along, what were their aspirations, their favourite ways to spend time, where did they travel, and why? What made them choose a particular path over another? I also feel the need to know my husband's parents' stories. These people are so integral to our lives, so special to us, but there are a million things we don't know about them, their lives. What made them who they are?

So, here's my project: I'd like to spend a whole bunch of time with each of them and record their stories. I think it's called taking an 'oral history'. With their permissions, I'd like to share a few highlights here.

So watch this space.

The comfort of physics - just in case I pop my clogs

I shared this on facebook, it was posted on a 'Science is Awesome' page, and I thought it might be worth adding it here so that someone could read it at my funeral - nothing imminent (so far as I know), but I think it's good to share your wishes in advance...

 

You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy..., every vibration, every Btu of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.

And at one point you'd hope that the physicist would step down from the pulpit and walk to your brokenhearted spouse there in the pew and tell him that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you. And as your widow rocks in the arms of a loving family, may the physicist let her know that all the photons that bounced from you were gathered in the particle detectors that are her eyes, that those photons created within her constellations of electromagnetically charged neurons whose energy will go on forever.

And the physicist will remind the congregation of how much of all our energy is given off as heat. There may be a few fanning themselves with their programs as he says it. And he will tell them that the warmth that flowed through you in life is still here, still part of all that we are, even as we who mourn continue the heat of our own lives.

And you'll want the physicist to explain to those who loved you that they need not have faith; indeed, they should not have faith. Let them know that they can measure, that scientists have measured precisely the conservation of energy and found it accurate, verifiable and consistent across space and time. You can hope your family will examine the evidence and satisfy themselves that the science is sound and that they'll be comforted to know your energy's still around. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you're just less orderly. Amen.

-Aaron Freeman.

The buzz of connecting women: a thank you to Helensburgh

So much is written about how it takes a village to raise a child, with plentiful nodding about the community spirit of days-gone-by. And I feel constantly bombarded with modern-day problems arising from people living in their own isolated houses, struggling with their own private issues and not knowing how to reach out for support. Well I want to have a little rave about Helensburgh, NSW, the town in which I live, and especially its women. Something must be in the water. This place is abuzz with connectivity, like neurons firing in a toddler's brain.

This town of maybe 6000 people, surrounded by national parks and an escarpment that drops off to the seaside, is to me an oasis not touched by nearby urban sprawl. I guess affordable property has attracted more than your average proportion of young families. Houses have grassy yards and hills hoists, bushwalking is minutes away, as are sandcastles and ocean pools. And perhaps this has brought together a high proportion of families with a common ethos: escape the rat-race, spend time in fresh air. Grow.

I have no doubt that this connectivity has sprung from an online hub where more and more of us womenfolk are regularly going to check in, to give out, to ask for input. This local facebook group (called 'The Mama Tree') brings (mostly) mothers together so we can share, well, anything really: promote your small business or community initiative, ask a question about a child's rash or seek a recommendation for a plumber/electrician/removalist, etc. Just in the past month I've noticed a mothers' circus group, a local meal-sharing initiative, a 'mumpreneur's business expo', community markets, an art group for littlies to experience art and nature. And there seems to be more and more every day. Whatever the reason, my community experiences in 'the Burgh' are nothing like anywhere I've ever lived. This town is buzzing with women, mothers, reaching out to each other, helping, sharing and building a rich and vibrant community.

I've been thinking about how lucky I am to live in such a motivated and warm community and today I read an article in the Sun-Herald that prompted me to share my gratitude about the local buzz. The article described the problems society is facing as people 'pursue happiness', and talks about Hugh McKay's latest book (The Good Life: What Makes a Life Worth Living?). The basic point is that, by people making their own personal happiness their lifetime goal, their birthright, they're missing something richer. It's ironic, but McKay argues that instead of putting yourself and your needs first, if you seek a wholeness with your community, you end up finding that yearned-for personal happiness.

So, Helensburgh, thank you for giving me wholeness. My life and my household is zinging with connectivity. How funny that the internet that has taken people away from face-to-face encounters is now fostering just that. This is its unstoppable evolution - we need to be connected.

And (while I'm talking up community engagement), here's a plug: if you're in the Burgh and fancy swapping a meal so you get a night off cooking - go to 'Megabatch! 2508' on facebook (and just to be clear, I have no personal vested interest in Megabatch!, I just love love love the idea - and that connectedness brings my personal gain).

Reconsidering single-tasking: mindful multi-tasking works better for me

In an earlier post (too many cold cups of tea) I wrote about being trapped by my multi-tasking world. I found myself moving through my house in circles, picking things up and taking them to another room, only to be distracted by something there that I needed to do, and on and on. The result: days filled with half-done jobs. And cold cups of tea. In that post I wrote that multi-tasking was an addiction I wanted to kick. I yearned for a simpler 'one-thing-at-a-time' time. With space in between jobs. For. Quiet. Being.

But - it's now months later and I can't stop!!! I need to unpack the dishwasher while the kettle boils. Who did I think I was kidding? Do I live in a cave in the Himalayas? No! Do I only have three or four things to do in a day? No! I'm a working mum with two pre-schoolers, four chickens, two cats, a dog and a husband. I honestly do not think I can finish one job before I start another. Not. Going. To. Happen.

So, should I abandon all hope? Throw my hands in the air and say 'stuff it, inner peace will just have to wait until I've got more time'? No! I really don't think Himalayan monks have the franchise on quiet being. Instead, I see another path. Sightly more hidden but there all along. I now think I can continue to multi-task, so long as I do it mindfully. That word is bandied about a lot, but all it means is do, but watch the doing. If I can observe myself doing the many, inter-connected things I do, and appreciate the fact that I'm getting so much done, therein lies some zen-space. Like spinning plates. The problem wasn't the doing, it was the thinking about the next thing to do while doing the first. That's how I forgot about so many cups of tea.

So no - dammit - I'm not going to fight the urge to unpack the dishwasher while I'm waiting for the kettle to boil. I'm going to occupy my mind, spin the plates, live on the edge.

And - I think anyone who achieves a blob of inner peace whilst juggling a household, kids, work (not to mention the chickens), should congratulate themselves. Don't you think that's got to be a harder path to enlightenment than the one trod by a cave-dwelling hippy? Maybe.

Guilt dust stops you flying

Dusting off my keyboard...

Well it's been a long time, way too long, since I've posted anything here. In fact I'm surprised that my old blog is still functioning - but here it is. So, to any of you who follow my meandering posts, it's nice to be back.  

Today's topic is guilt. That old chestnut has sooooo much to answer for, and it's especially a burden for mums. The mums I know are already pretty laden packhorses - so what's the point of adding this extra, toxic, guilt burden too?

I think for me the guilt seed was planted during my Catholic education. I do remember a lot of  feeling bad for even thinking about doing something nice for thyself before doing it for thy neighbour, etc. And that young, impressionable Catholic child has taken guilt to heart. I might've shed lots of other aspects of the dogma, but the guilt one is sticky - like that gluey stuff on kids' toy packages that looks like snot and you can't get it off your fingers.

These days my religion is nature. And I'm finding it hard to see an evolutionary purpose to guilt, other than maybe to keep mothers from abandoning their offspring. But who's really doing that in our suburban world these days? I don't know any mums that are like the tigers at the zoo - you know: when the keepers have to take the newborns away and bottle-feed them. So what's the point of feeling bad about a coffee, or a solo movie?

People always say to mums of littlies: 'Take some time for yourself, it'll help you cope with all the hard, needy family stuff''. And I've always thought 'I'm sure that's true, but when?'; or 'Yeah, but the sobs from my kids because mummy wasn't here when they hurt their head/knee/face negate all the quiet internal bliss I might have felt from having a coffee on my own'. But you know what? Through trial and persistence, I've realised that they learn. They adapt. They cope.

By pushing through so that 'me time' becomes a semi-regular thing, the guilt burden fades. It just becomes what you do. I think it's a bit like when you first go back to work, and you can't imagine how they'll cope with that - but a year later you look back, and you realise they handle it just fine. It becomes just a part of what you do.

So now I think that any mum who takes time out for herself is actually teaching her kids that it's important to look after yourself. So you're doing good by them by doing good by yourself, And after the quiet time without someone pulling on your leg, your patience buffer has been refilled. And then you're a better mum. Win-win all the way home.

I know 'mumma guilt' is something people frequently write about and so it's not really new or miraculous - but the realisation that guilt can be dropped is new to me. The actual knowingness and practice of me-time-without-guilt is new. So I implore you all - if you haven't, try it. More than once. Make it a regular thing and you'll see the benefits.

PS I told my kids that the sign on women's toilets is a lady wearing a super-hero cape, and they totally believe me. Now I feel like it's a bit true.

Too many cold cups of tea

This week I've decided to try something new - 'single-tasking'- and I can't believe how hard it really is. I've become so adept at multi-tasking, using all the space between jobs to do other jobs, that I've lost all the space, the quiet opportunity that waiting brings.

The idea came to me from my meditation teacher. He talked about space and spaciousness, and how we rarely allow ourselves this space to just be here, now.

I know it's supposed to be more efficient to get many things done within a period of time, but if you consider the inefficiency of a cluttered, scattered mind, then I think multi-tasking may be serving a false end.

There are times when stopping a task part-way through to deal with the needs of a child, or a phone call or any one of a million other minor 'emergencies' is necessary. But not everything falls into the minor emergency category. I've been a super-multi-tasker and thought it was behind my success, I always stop mid-way through a job to do something else. But you know what - that only leaves lots of half-done jobs that need coming back to. And those half-done jobs weigh on my mind, loose ends I need to tidy up.

I start making a cup of tea and, while the kettle is boiling, I begin to unpack the dishwasher. Then the kettle finishes boiling so I stop unpacking the dishwasher and pour the water in the cup. Then, while the tea's drawing, I return to unpacking the dishwasher but I hear a crash and child crying somewhere, so I rush over to see what's going on. I pick up said toddler and kissed his sore elbow better and I notice the random toys scattered about that have been carried off and dumped throughout the hallway. So I pick them all up. Noticing more along the way. And I take them all to the toybox. Then I realise that my tea has over-drawn and is now too strong. I make another and this time, while the kettle is boiling, I tidy up more of the toys that are scattered about. The phone rings and I stop to answer it. Chatting away while I finish tidying toys and finishing making my cup of tea, I'm not really giving my full attention to the converstation. I finish the phone call and carry my cup of tea to the kitchen bench so I can check my emails while drinking it (the kids are quiet and I feel like this will be an oasis of quiet time). But while the computer is starting and my tea is still too hot I tidy up the miscellaney on the bench, making piles and carrying things to where they belong. Whilst putting something in my bedroom I see the washing basket and remember that I need to get a load of washing on. I gather washing from all three bedrooms and sort it into colours, blacks and whites. I put the first load on and, feeling satisfied that something has been done, I return to the kitchen and notice my cup of tea is too cold to enjoy. I pour it down the sink, sad that once again another cup of tea has gone cold. That happens too often. Later I remember that the dishwasher is only half-empy and make a mental note to get back to it. I also realise that I never had a cup of tea, or got to my emails, but now the washing needs hanging out.

Phew, I'm exhausted from just writing about all that but it's a fairly typical extract from my day. So, to bring a little peace to my inner-self, I'm trying to stop myself if I get the urge to move off and do another thing part-way through a job. And I can't believe how in-grained a habit it has become. It's like giving up a drug. I've even told myself that it's ok to just notice myself doing it at first and to step in when I've strengthened my single-tasking muscle. But when I do manage to single-task successfully, I realise that I'm calmer. My mind is easier. And the jobs still get done, one after the other.

And I just realised that I wrote this whole piece in one-sitting. Hooray for me.