I'm moving!

Not physically, but my writing is!

Please update your favourites.

You can keep updated on the world of Nik at:

the cruciality of nappies.wordpress.com

I've found blogging about my learning as a Mum and in my devotion to God really exciting. If you'd like to continue reading, I'd love for you to check out my new blog.

All the posts from this site will be transfered as "retro blogs" so you can check them all out if you wanted to read from the start (there's not really that many).

It's been a lovely start, but I like the additional features of wordpress. "Follow me as I follow Christ" (or maybe just click the link of you want to follow my new life adventures...)

It's been fun. Thanks for reading my ramblings thus far, my friends!

I keep forgetting that time is passing

Even though I still feel as though I'm playing catch-ups with myself, I need reminders that time is drifting past me. Christmas is around the corner, where Willow will be closer to 9 months than 8. My eldest will be turning 2 at long last (it feels like it's been a long time between ages one and two), and there'll be more than one pitter patter of feet around our house. The thud thud thud of Avalon's gait is so well recognised by my ear, I wonder if Willow's will sound any different? (Although I'm working into this equation that Willow will find her feet at 8-9 months like Avy, but taking her current immovable status into consideration, this is probably a premature assumption)

So, I find myself the last few weeks still squeezing Willow into 000 jumpsuits . What am I thinking? This kid is almost ready for zero's I think, and I'm stuck in the past! I keep thinking that she's a newborn. I need a reality check, and probably a little more sleep would be nice, too.

Warning to all of us

I'm in two minds about posting this because I know the intense feelings when I saw this video.

I'm just praising God that this 6 month old survived. And amazingly, with only a bump on the head!

Willow has just reached 6 months. This could be any of us, really. As a Mum, you know how fuzzy your mind can get on minimal sleep. How hard it is to even get out of the house with the amount of child paraphernalia needed. I can totally imagine just taking a moment once I arrived at the train station to check I had everything and to forget about the brake. Or the hand strap.

It would be so easy to make a mistake just like this Mother.

I feel for her. You can see how tangible her grief is as she thinks she has inadvertently killed her child. It's awful. But a warning to me and all of us with little ones.

Playtime

Here's some updates shots for you all, taken in the happy hour of the morning.

Totally out of my depth

A friend of mine recently said to me that she see's me taking motherhood all in my stride. She said I never look stressed or agitated about the kids.

She did make this comment as I was childless at a wedding, or else I'm sure her comment would have been more like "gosh, you look a little overwhelmed today, are you ok?"

I realised that because I often post about my ideals, or what I would like to be like, my blog can look a little like I'm just cruising through motherhood. Truth be told, I'm pretty highly strung in general, so add to the mix two people whose sole existence depends on whether I treat them properly or not, and here I am a little over the edge of "highly strung" and more in the realm of "about to lose my mind" (hyperbole added)

To flesh out some of my journey as a mother, here's 3 incidents that occurred on the same day, that show me in my true light and to show those of you out there that although I put on a brave face, I'm totally out of my depth with this mothering thing! I'm sure that if I was a full-time nanny, I'd be fired right about now and searching for a new career.

Number 1. I change Willow's nappy, and leave her lying on the floor, playing, while I head to the kitchen to wash my hands and dispose of the poo nappy. I return no less than a minute later to see that Willow has successfully undone her new nappy and now has it firmly jammed within her gums, sucking ferociously on it's contents. (And yes, if you were paying attention, it was a new one, so thankfully that lessens the stress factor a tad. But the heart stopping delay in me realising that fact was somewhat damaging to my psyche.)

Number 2. Avalon decides that on this day, she will cry and writhe on the change table when I attempt to change her dirty nappy. This results in me pleading then shouting as her worm-like state causes me to clean ineffectively with the wipe and more effectively with my fingernails across her bottom. The reminder of this incident was seen on her ankles (chinese burn like hold marks) and smelt on my hands for the remainder of the day.

Number 3. As I spend a minute (yes only a minute) attending to poor little Willow's needs while Avy is bathing, Avy finds that moment a perfect opportunity to lean out precariously across the bath, hands outstretched. She rights herself before she falls headfirst onto the tiled floor, but manages to achieve her goal of grabbing her new nappy and bed clothes off the tiles and returning them into the bubble bath for a play.

See proof below.

This photo doesn't do it justice. It would have weighed at least 2kgs. At least I know now that I've been changing her far too regularly =)

Discovering words

I'm finding talking harder and harder as time goes on. The lack of sleep piles up, and the first thing that disappears is my vocab. Fortunately for me, I have a two year old who will fill in the gaps for me.

Me: "Ok Avalon ,the potato is just a bit too hot at the moment so I'm going to put it in the.. ah... the..."

"freezer" says Avalon a little too easily.

"yes, that's right, sweetie." (Inwardly kicking myself)

My 2 year old is now almost overtaken me at memory recall. (sigh)...

The intimidating task of parenthood

Each of my children are uniquely created. Avalon's sensitivity means that she is the most loving and gentle of children. She embraces Willow as her sister and cares for her, with not so much as a hint of jealousy. Avalon's timidity means that she readily accepts direction from other adults and shows empathy towards others. This makes her wary of new company, but I believe it will develop her into being a loyal friend.

Willow's nature is subdued, but engaging. She's content to meet new people and offers up many smiles to strangers. I'm still waiting to see how her personality will develop, but my instinct is that she will be a welcomer. Someone who enjoys meeting people and exploring new relationships. Someone who embraces change.

I'm very excited to see how these girls will grow up into women. The life experiences that will sharpen off their weaker areas. The mother I am to them will shape them into the type of people they will be. How they think of themselves. What they think of their body. My words will be important in the choices they make as adults. My words will either make themselves doubt their abilities, or give them the freedom to try. My fears, if I'm not careful, will be transferred to them. My weaknesses will become theirs, just as I hope my strengths will.

The best thing I can do for my girls is to continue pursuing God. Not that I haven't found him. (Nik, be more succinct.) More that I need to be focused on my walk with Jesus and pursue his truth, so that his words are my words. Till the end of days when his passions are mine, and his praise is the only one I seek.

In this world where sin is held esteemed and selfishness is god, it is hard to maintain focus on the truth. How do I teach my girls that they don't need to dress provocatively to gain man's respect? How do I teach them that their hearts desire should be to pursue God's righteousness and the blessings that come from that life? I think, probably, that I need to demonstrate as best I can myself. Surely, I will fall and trip. They will see me as weak. As a woman still on my own journey with the Almighty. But my duty is to try to set an example for them to follow. To teach them the truth: Jesus is the only man who deserves my life, my all.

Routines

What's that? I hear those of you without children asking me...

Well, a routine is a set time each day allocated to sleep and play periods which is meant to have each child less tired and grumpy. Basically, children in a good routine for them will find themselves happier. More like the babies you see in the Huggies ads. And maybe less like the type you tisk at in the shopping centre who are hurtling themselves onto the floor demanding __ (insert unreasonable food item here).

Avalon fitted quite well (with some intentional moulding) into the contented baby routine. This routine was by far the most helpful thing I read in my pregnancy. I had no idea about how to feed, when to feed, when to sleep these little beings. Add to the confusion that these things change every 2-4 weeks in the early stages of their life and it's a recipe for frustration if you're not prepared.

Willow on the other hand has really had no such luxury of a set routine, given that she only slept in my arms for the first 3-4 months of her life (from possible reflux or pain?) she had to accommodate to Avalon's day and sleep around it. Which usually meant short, fitful sleeps, more than was recommended by the book and closer to 3 hourly feeds day and night for many months. I'm thankful that at the 5 month mark these things started to lengthen out, to the point where I got some 4 hourly stretches of sleep this month, and one rare 5 hourly sleep! I'm still reeling from this surprise.

But the interesting thing about her is that she just complies so well with whatever is expected of her. For example, last week I went into the city for a hens night. It was wonderful to leave the cares of home behind, but my little koala had to come with me, as we're still attached for feeds. She had a half hour nap on the way in (instead of the 45 minutes needed) and her day sleep had been minimal too due to our various busyness. I thought this would make for a very upset child all night, and I prayed that I wouldn't ruin my friends' celebrations.

We laughed and carried on for close to 3 hours before she decided that she was, indeed, a tad sleepy. And started to fuss right when we thought it was time to head home. It couldn't have been easier. But Avalon in this same scenario would have screamed and screamed. My eldest is the most sensitive of little people.

Today's outings were pretty good, also. Wills slept in the car on the way, then woke up and let other's have some cuddles (thanks Sar and Nat) and then pursued sleep a little harder right when it was time to leave. She's just an unbelievable kid. I really can't complain. I can almost do anything with her, as long as I'm not out for too long. And as long as her day sleep doesn't exceed the recommended amount for her age, she'll still go down like a dream at 7pm in the bed. I'm very thankful.

But I'm a routine girl through and through. Because I've found time by myself to reflect high on my list of priorities now. Time to relax with Craig is way up there, too. And 'time to expand my mind' needs to come into my life at some point, too. Amongst the needs of the girls, my needs fall in second. And they usually fall in after 7pm. If I haven't done my routine well enough that day, I regret it that night. Either by the girl's overtiredness or lack of it. These mistakes eat away at my "sanity" time. And even though I've done away with that time for the first 5 months of Willow's life, I'm just starting to receive a little of it back. And it is refreshing beyond all reason! Whilst this time to myself will wax and wane with sickness and new children, it is special. And I have to be humble enough to gladly sacrifice it should my children need me in these hours. But when they don't (like thus far tonight), I learn, I evolve. I hate being stagnant for long. It's not my natural state, nor should it be. Once I get enough sleep for my mind to grapple concepts again, I need to indulge myself in some brain training before another pregnancy robs me of it once more.

So, I say, give me a routine, any routine, which gives me from 7pm to 7am to myself and the 'me' you see now will hopefully not be the 'me' you see next year.

How to protect them

I write this in the quiet hours of the night. Willow has just had her 11pm feed and I read this from the Australian:

Welfare authorities failed a seven-year-old girl who starved to death on a urine-soaked mattress...Ebony's room at Matraville was boarded up and the house smelt of urine and faeces. During the last two agonising years of Ebony's life, whose body weighed just 9kg when she was discovered at her home in November 2007, the dying girl received not a shred of assistance from official agencies...The NSW Supreme Court last week sentenced Ebony's mother to life in prison for murder and Ebony's father to 16 years behind bars for her manslaughter.

I don't know why these reports always shock me. But they do. I know that some people are screwed up and have big issues, and these same people have children. But the thought that someone would leave this poor girl boarded up in a room to starve and defecate in until her death totally sickens me, as I think it should sicken everybody, Christian or not.

The article is obviously taking a dig at DoCS for their poor handling of the case. I'm happy that the Labor Gov. has given them a huge funding lately. So it should. But I'm sure that DoCS probably needs about 15 times that much to handle every case properly (as we would deem "sufficient").

I've heard the following details from friends that work in the system. If there were 2 cases and in one case the child is being beaten and in the other the child is being sexually abused, usually they only have 1 willing family to take a child. The spot will go to the child that's being physically abused. Because the former child's needs are greater than the raped girl. The physically abused child is more in danger of dying, that is. Is this a good means of assessment?

Regardless, the point I really want to make is that there should be the 2 homes for the kids to enter into. DoCS shouldn't need to prioritise like that. In a world where children are almost idolised, I find it an anomaly that there aren't more foster carers. Is our society so selfish that we only truly care about those who share our blood line?

I hope that one day Craig and I will be at a stage of life where we can use our stable home to care for the neediest children in Sydney. Maybe God will give us a child to care for through the state. I'm sure my expectations of that child would be different to my own, but how different? I understand that a child coming out of imprisonment in their own room for years would have special needs. But what? How different would they need to be treated from my own children? Would a child that has been through so much abuse for so many years be able to cope with schooling? Would they speak? Would they still urinate in their bed at 7 years old? To get an idea of this girl's state, Ebony (alias) weighed 4kgs less than Avalon does at 2 years of age.

I can't even type out my raw emotions at the moment. I'm overwhelmed. The darkness of this world gets compounded by the day. I want to help these children. Somehow. One or more. Who knows, but I want to put it out there that each of us in a loving family should think seriously about sacrificing our picture-perfect family for these children. They are the downtrodden of this world. They are the helpless ones, who don't even make the choices to wind up in these horrific scenes. They just become the headlines. And sometimes DoCS isn't even aware of them. They suffer for the mistakes of their carers. Their parents should have protected them. DoCS should have protected them. But we can't just hold these cases out at arms length as it's so easy to do.

We need to protect them.

Read the full article at http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,25197,26176011-5006784,00.html

The era of more sleep.

It is upon us. I see it glittering in the distance. A day where the mirror greets me with ease and the heavy lids are replaced by twinkling, refreshed eyes.

This morning Craig and I were indulged in a 9.30am sleep in.

And despite us waking to Avalons' "hand in poo" comments (which turned out to be the understatement of the century), no amount of poo in sleeping sacks can taint my morning's vibe.

I think I got 5 hours in a row, and after a short nappy change and bed cuddles with Willow, we all slept a further 2.5 hours! Not unheard of in our family, but unheard of since Willow's arrival.

So I write this with a little hesitation, but I'm confident enough to say that my dreams are on the way back to me! And I will welcome them, because whether they be enjoyable, or the stuff of nightmares, it means that I am actually sleeping! And that's a nice thought to wake up to.

True talent

I felt the lack of pictures on this blog, so rather than adding yet another photo of the only subjects in my life that can be coerced into a photo session (A & W) I thought I'd add someone else's subject instead.

I love this pic. I have no idea whether this guy even plays, but the photo whispers sincerity to me.

Find more pics of the like at:

fun with robots

What a fun way to communicate so much info

Drive '09 - Drive-BYE video from North Point Media on Vimeo.

Drifting off to sleep

Somewhere in-between dark and light

Settles a cloud within my mind

Swiflty switching between dark and light

Life before me glitters into sight

A gentle place between the mundane and the surreal

Cradles my heart with a warm embrace

Breathe, in out, in out

Clouds thicken

softly, softly.

All in His hands...

Hmm More sickness

Our family is blessed. Really we are. All in all, we're quite healthy little things. That is, up till addition number 2.

Willow's petite frame is an expression of her fragile nature. I've felt that way ever since she was in my womb. She seems to be plagued by sickness more so than the rest of us. And suffers quite a bit even with a small illness. And because I'm so unaccustomed to these glitches in healthy-ness, I fret a fair bit when I see my kids go through it. Because naively I think surely if you aren't as fit as a fiddle, you must surely be on the brink of death!

The last few days have been pretty scary. We've contemplated a trip to emergency after Willow returned I believe to be all the milk she'd consumed in the last half a day onto our bed, followed by another bout early the following morning onto our landlord's carpet (uh-oh). This following a week of it coming out the other end too after her immunisations, and I'm starting to get the dehydrated vibe. Last week we were able to get her 4 month shots after her bout of MRSA prolonged our 2 month shots. And we're attempting to catch up. (She's now 5 1/2 months) I knew she'd be sick from them. These vibes aren't exaggerated given our experience with her little life so far.

Here's her scary moments to date:

7 weeks in utero- we find out that she could become disattached at any moment if the blood vessel burst. God obviously wanted her around! By 13 weeks she was large enough for the blood vessel to not end her life should it have burst (oh, the stress!)

All was well until 37 weeks in utero - We went to the hospital for a tour and ended up staying overnight due to a fainting nausea 24hr virus which made little Wills' heart race dangerously fast for 12 hours. Nurses handed us over to doctors who handed us over to specialists who decided after a night of constant monitoring that they would actually not cut her out of me as was threatened earlier the day before. Her high heart rate could have caused her death. Again, God wanted her to stick around.

37 weeks onwards- constant contractions until a false alarm at 38 weeks and scare at 39 weeks where she didn't move one morning. After a coffee and usual breakfast didn't bring about movement, we went for more monitoring at the hospital. We returned well, but tired, awaiting her eventual arrival.

Her birth was quite unproblematic, with my post-partum hemorrhage being the only issue.

Then 8 weeks out- diagnosed with MRSA (multiresistant stephalococcus oreaus) or something that sounds like that. An aggresive infection which brought the guys in has-mats from the bereau of infectious diseases into our ward and put her into a crib made of steel bars.

3 weeks of antibiotics later, and she's a healthy chicken again. Except for the constant colds... which haven't abated since.

I am blessed though that Willow takes these illnesses in her stride. And I pray for a friend of mine whose girls are always ill with very severe colds, and I thank God that I've never been tried in this measure yet. She's amazing, this friend of mine. I read her blog and I'm in awe of how completely devoted she is to her calling as a mother. And I find great strength in her journey. I'm always so encouraged to continue on with the same enthusiasm in amongst my meager struggles.

So come what may, I have now accepted illness as a constant companion to my life. Forever haunting the hallway. Willing to snatch away sleep from all of us with little warning and replace our smiles with sunkeness. I just hope that the saying is right that "whatever doesn't kill you will make you stronger." Because if that's the case, I know a few superhumans who'll be wandering the globe in another 20 years from now...

Reminiscing

You're going to laugh at what I'm about to say (or write). I know it. Because it's stupid. That's how I know that at least you'll scoff a little. Some form of breath will leave your lips. I'll almost bet on it.

So here's my news.

I want to be pregnant again.

There. I said it.

Response? I know, I'm stupid. Totally stupid. But let me be more nuanced. I want to be pregnant again, but I don't want a baby =)

That is, that I loved both times how exciting it was to have a baby inside of me. To wear moo moos had I wanted and to not be judged. If I wore a moo moo now, people would just say "well, she's really let herself go, hasn't she?" Which would most likely be the truth anyway (chortle).

It was when Avalon was the age that Willow is at now that Craig and I said to eachother, "yeah, let's have another one!"

Except that Avalon was pretty much what I imagined in my naive youth that having a child would be like. She slept brilliantly from 7pm till 10 for a quick snack, then usually slept again till 7.30am the following day. Sure, she had her moments of teething and sickness which changed that routine, but by and large, we didn't even know we had a child at night she was so settled.

On the other hand, our second daughter Willow has been much more normal. She wakes more often, feeds like a newborn still (at 5 months) and is generally the type of sleep-depriving child that most new mothers talk about. Don't get me wrong. She still sleeps better than some babies. She doesn't wake up and want to play at 3am or anything, but she still wakes, and fusses continually throughout the dark hours.

So my feelings towards pregnancy are completely stupid. I feel overwhelmed as it is. I really don't want another child yet, but for some reason, my body does. Where's the logic in it? I don't know. The depths of the heart are too vast to understand.

I'm hoping it's because, overwhelming-ness aside, I really love being a Mum. I'm hoping that this is just what's buried beneath the blurry eyes and the dark circles. Because in my day, there's not a great deal of time to think about such things. Of anything of the future, really. Because today is so now. Today is so overwhelming. And today has so many things to do in it.

But regardless, the thought came through my mind today. I'd love to be pregnant again. To be hanging up the washing on the line and catch a glimpse of my big belly shadowed on the grass beneath me.

But I know that for my own sake, and for Avalon and Willow, it'd be better to have a Mum in her right mind than loads of brothers and sisters and Mum in an asylum for the insane.

Poo poo poo

It's on nights like this where Craig's out again and I'm on my own to listen out for cries from my newly settled-in-the-same-room children that I dread the decision to do washable nappies.

Sure, they're great for the environment "ra ra ra", save me money "yada yada yada"...

But I'm totally over holding my breath until I see stars come into my field of vision.

My friend Sarah said I'd get over the poo factor, and that I'd stop wearing gloves after a while.

Wrong. Sorry Sar.

I'm actually getting even more neurotic and sterilising the gloves afterwards, just in case one ever falls off the sink and Avalon ends up having fun with it while I'm obliviously feeding Willow in the adjoining room.

The task is so unrewarding that I've decided to tally how much I'm saving on using them. Then I've decided that I'm going to treat myself to another piece of furniture in our sparse house. Probably a useless piece of furniture. You know the type. Looks-great-but-with-no-real-purpose type of furniture. The type of furniture which Craig would think is a waste of space so we'd never get it type of furniture.

I'm so silly, but when I spend much of my waking life in this house, it's nice to think that there'll be a little reminder of my unnecessary efforts staring back at me every day.

I think once that useless but pretty piece of furniture is sitting in a room ,it'll be then that I'll say for sure "yeah, washable nappies, they're worth the effort!"

Tonight's events

After a relatively painless childrearing day today, I was left as usual on a Sunday to do the sleep routine on my own.

Here's how it all went down tonight.

We got ourselves into the house with minimum fuss. What I mean by minimum fuss is that Avalon did cry hysterically for "Daddy" on the 3 minute car ride home. But stopped once I told her she's having a special time with Mummy tonight and we're going to have frothy milk together before bed. (Happy days! Frothy milk for Avy means milk with some cinnamon sugar on top and for Mummy means a big cup of espresso!)

After laying Willow down, putting Avalon into her highchair with some food and getting the nappies off the line (thankyou 33 degree day for drying them proto) I went ahead with preparations for our "frothy milk" which was cut short by Willow's hunger cries. Ok, leave the frothy milk, Avy can go to bed a little later. Willow is fed her top up formula bottle, and put upstairs to bed, and I'm back on task. Milk out of the fridge, machine on, cups at the ready.

I look over to Avy. Her finger is up her nose AGAIN. Grr. "No fingers in noses Avy, I'll get you a tissue"

Avy: "Pea in there" (sheepishly)

Me: "Is there a pea up your nose?" (getting more tense)

Avy: (quickly responds) "Yes"

I race over and tell her to "blow it out" into the tissue. Unfortunately, children only know how to blow out once they've sucked air in through the nose first. The pea creeps further up. Ah! Getting more tense. (Avy somehow bypasses my tissue and sticks her finger up there again, lodging the pea further up.) Ah again! Think, Nicole, you're a smart woman (ok, debatable...) "Avy, blow really hard this time"

She blows and I see some green, and am able to squish the top of her nose now so that the pea comes out with a triumphant "pop" onto the table. Completely covered in snot. Gross. Oh well, at least it's out. Relieved sigh.

Quick as a flash, Avalon's hand darts out and grabs aforementioned pea and puts it into her mouth. Oh, ok, so that's grosser.

She smiles at me and says "yum." (feeling a little ill now but trying to hide my disgust). "Sure, sweetie. Don't ever put peas or anything else up your nose again! You will get very sick."

I realise that time is ticking and the frothy milk still needs preparing and eating. My precious night time is seeping away. I reconsider the bowl of veges and replace it with some playdough so I can finish the milk before it's midnight.

Next thing I know, Avalon is completely choking. I didn't even see what happened, but I get 10 points for a good guess. She's swallowed the playdough. A BIG chunk of playdough. And now she can't breathe. (stressed sigh) "Avalon, are you ok?" (much choking and coughing later, she can talk again. But now she's holding her throat and there's tears in her eyes.)

Avy: "Sowwy Mummy"

Me: "Did you eat the playdough?"

Avy: "Yes" (Again, sheepish)

Me: "Don't ever do that again, Avy! You'll get a sore tummy.

Avy: "Peter Wabbit...no eating...uh uh..." She recites what she knows of the Peter Rabbit story where he goes to bed with a sore tummy after eating all the veges in Mr McGregors' garden.

I'm now considering whether or not to continue with the plans of special "Avy and Mummy" night. But, I figure that I want to be a Mum of my word. So I go full steam ahead and ask God that she doesn't die while I try to fulfill my oath.

As I'm sitting here typing away, I assume that you can gather that God kept her around. You might also be able to guess from my amused tone that my espresso was indeed savoured with enthusiasm.

Birthday looming

Speaking of a second birthday around the corner, I thought I'd put in some research for making an unusual cake for Avalon's party this year.

After browsing through these photos I'm now more overwhelmed than ever, especially after last years duck cake taking me 6 or so hours to bake & make. And it turned out very average! =)

I might need to invest in some ready made marzipan or sugar frosting this year...

Strength needed

I think we're well into the "terrible twos" with Avalon even though she's still 3 months away from her birthday.

The last few months have been discipline overload.

It's funny how both Craig and I imitate how we were disciplined as children ourselves.

Craig does the "1..2...3 smack" approach which I'm finding myself doing now too. But I prefer not to give much of a chance at all and just tell Avalon firmly "no". She looks at me, smiles and does whatever I've just told her not to do. I prefer this method because I'm a little bit on the dramatic side, and I seem to think that if ever Avalon was in serious danger (like running onto the road) then giving her 3 seconds to obey could be the end of her life. So I give one second, and if I know she's heard me, then the punishment comes.

I tried the "naughty spot" which is pretty useless on her now. She's realising that it's not much of a punishment. So I've resorted to smacks which I never, ever wanted to do. But she's too young to reason with, or to punish by removing favourite toys, etc. So what else do I have left? But today I discovered a new weapon which is quite effective. Now that she has moved out of the cot into the big girls bed, I'm planning to put her in it away from us for punishment. I hope it won't overflow to sleep issues, but to be honest, her night time getting to sleep couldn't be much worse than it is now.

The dog gave me the idea. I remembered that for certain types of dogs (labradors especially) that the worst type of punishment is removal from you. Seeing how Avalon is acting up to get my attention, I hope removing my attention from her will be an effective punishment.

It's incredibly frustrating. I really, really hate punishing her. But, "spare the rod, spoil the child", etc.

Training little people to think differently is really difficult. I'm basically attempting to train sin out of her. Pretty much an impossible task from the get-go. But she does need to learn consequences, and she needs to learn to obey authority. Or how else will she learn to obey the Lord's commands? It's a tedious, mentally challenging and frustrating ordeal. And I'm tired of saying "Avalon. Stop. No!"