This Girl Of Mine

My daughter is amazing. She's clever and funny and kind and a million things rolled into one beautiful package. She's asleep beside me, curled up with her favourite blankie, a raggedy old thing, that was once her older brothers.  She looks so peaceful, content now that the anxieties that drove her from her own bed to mine have been kissed away.  

Watching her dream her dreams makes my heart swell.  I want so much for her, this incredible girl of mine, who tests me every single day with her fierce determination.  The very things that challenge me while trying to parent her are the things I'm most proud of  - her passion, her spirit, her tenacity, her confidence, her creativity, her exuberance.  She loves and loathes with equal ferociousness.  Watching her chest rise and fall I smile.  I smile because she's the kind of girl who throws her clothes off in the store so she can immediately wear the new dress we've bought.  I smile because when I'm in the middle of correcting her she'll turn her shinning green eyes towards me and blow me a kiss. I smile because when she puts her little arms around my neck and tells me I'm the best mom in the universe I know there could be no greater compliment.  I think about a time in the future when she might hold her own child and in that moment understand how utterly she is loved.  I smile because yesterday she asked me how to spell shoe rack! 

And I worry.  I worry because the very word vagina still causes blushes. I worry because breasts, partially covered by a nursing babies head cause hysteria. I worry because around the world almost one third of women who have been in a relationship have experienced physical and or sexual violence by their partner.  For all our advancements as a society, my daughter is still growing up in a country where women are paid 14% less than men.  The board members of the largest publicly listed companies here are 90% male.  Gender quotas are being introduced to boost the paltry representation of women in Dail Eireann.

The difficulty with quotas is that they don't tackle our culture of masculinity and they sure don't foot the bill for some of the most expensive childcare in the world. 

I worry that against this backdrop my daughter will doubt herself, her capabilities, her power. I fear that the same lack of confidence I possessed as a girl will hold her back. I hope that I am doing enough to build her up so tall that life won't knock her down. I so desperately want the world to hold its magic for her.  She's my princess, my warrior, my adventurer, my comic. She's my girl.

A Thank You From The Milk Bank

Today was a tough day at the Momma Q office. I've started to wean my nearly 9 month old son. We've had ongoing issues with posterior tongue and upper lip ties.  He had laser revision a couple of weeks ago but unfortunately, as with previous revisions, we haven't seen any improvements and this time I feel all out of options.  It's not something I'm doing lightly.  I absolutely love the connection breastfeeding brings and frankly not being able to nourish and comfort my baby in the way that he seeks is really breaking my heart.  I'm down to two feeds a day and I'm in the middle of yet another infection so the letter I received in the post today really brought a tear to my eye.

Token of appreciation from the Milk Bank 

It was from the Milk Bank, thanking me for my recent donation and sending me a little commemorative pin as a token of their appreciation.  I've always been a blood donor and since having children donating milk is something I've wanted to do.  Thankfully I have never had any issues with supply and our own difficulties this time around spurred me into action.  I knew that if I had to stop feeding my own son then I would be relying on the kindness of strangers to help us through and so expressing milk for donation to babies in need of it seemed like a very natural thing to do.  

Ireland has one Human Milk Bank, situated in Fermanagh.  Here, human milk is collected and processed before being made available to neonatal units and hospitals right across the country.  The Milk Bank issues over 1,000 litres of breast milk every year, helping in the region of 700 babies. There are well over 200 mums donating, including some incredibly selfless warrior mommas who have lost their own babies and choose to donate milk to honour their child's memory .

In order to donate, my own baby had to be 6 months or under.  This limit can vary from time to time but a quick call to the Milk Bank answers any queries and I collected milk right up until Ruairí was 7 months old.  During my initial chat with Ann we had a detailed conversation about my health and history.  I then received my starter pack of pre-sterilised 7 ounce bottles.  Each of these is filled with expressed breast milk, named, dated and then frozen.  Once I had these filled, the remainder were sent, along with a blood testing kit for my GP.  Every donating Mum has their blood screened for infectious diseases.  Receiving a blood transfusion or IVF treatment, in addition to some medications automatically rule a mother out of donating.  Mums are asked not to express for 48 hours after taking over the counter medications and herbal treatments also.

One 7 ounce bottle

When I had filled as many bottles as I could manage (3 litres) and had my blood test done, I contacted the Milk Bank to let them know I would be sending it on. They provide insulated storage containers and the milk is packed tightly into these.  Any extra space is filled with bubble wrap, plastic or news paper.  The blood sample is placed on top of this box and then it is sealed and packaged within another box and sent via express mail.

Packing milk for postage

Once donated milk is received, it is checked for protein and fat content.  It is then pasteurised and then rechecked for bacteria,  Only after this thorough screening process is milk sent out to hospitals for the babies in their care.  Donated milk is matched to babies of a similar age.  The list of benefits provided by breast milk is pretty endless.  From lower incidences of asthma, eczema, diabetes and childhood infections to better health outcomes in later life, the research is well documented. Antibodies strengthen the immune system and help fight viruses.  Of particular importance is the protection it provides against Necrotizing Enterocolitis (NEC), a potentially life threatening condition affecting a babies gut.  All babies are at risk of NEC but particularly babies who are born prematurely or with a heart condition.  Those that survive the condition often require surgery.  Research has found that babies who receive donor breast milk are at a reduced risk of developing this condition (some studies suggest by as much as 79%)  Truly for some infants receiving breast milk is a matter of life or death.

Separation from baby, maternal illness, supply issues are all reasons a family may opt to use donor milk for their baby.  Donor milk is also given to mums feeding multiple babies.  Breast milk is often referred to as liquid gold and anyone who has ever expressed milk will testify to the fact that every drop counts.  Breastfeeding, expressing breast milk and bottle feeding, donating milk - it's not always easy but since becoming a mother nearly seven years ago it is definitely up there with the most rewarding things I have done.  It has given my children such a great start in life and thanks to the Milk Bank for their lovely letter I now know that my milk helped three other precious little ones to recover from surgery.  

Being a mother teaches me new things every day.  Today's lesson though is an old one - the best things in life truly are free.  Kindness, a helping hand, a smile, a thank you - these are the things that really matter.

An Irish Holiday

Two things are certain when you decide to holiday in Ireland.  1. It will rain 2. It will rain some more. Even so, I am surprised to find myself curled in front of the fire, sipping a cheeky Rioja (not such a surprise) in the midst of a weather warning, in the first week in August.  It's a status yellow which means gusts of between 90 and 100 kilometres per hour so I'm happy to be holed up, reading trashy holiday romance while listening to the waves crash and the wind howl.  We're home from home on Valentia Island and the normally visible mainland is obscured by sheets of rain.  In the ten years I've been coming here to my husband's family holiday home I've never seen weather like this and he, who has been coming here since his childhood can't remember summer weather as bad.   We're watching the boat, anchored metres from the house, being thrown around in the swell. After two days of rain it desperately needs to be purged but the sea conditions mean we can't reach it. My father in law has just asked me if I'd like a "serious drink". Yes, I think a serious drink would go down nicely, so it's hot whiskies all round.

Obscured view of mainland 

I love it here. It's a little piece of heaven. The scenery is breathtaking. The seafood is to die for.  I look forward to visiting as often as we can.  To sailing and kayaking and biking the island.  To visiting the ice-cream parlour and trying the latest flavours. To climbing Bray Head and watching the birds feeding their chicks on the cliffs edge. To taking photos of the incredible vista from the top of the Geokaun Mountain. To eating crepes topped with fresh strawberries and icecream, to watching my eldest son bounce on the water trampoline in the harbour and take sailing instruction from his grandad. To eating mackerel we've caught ourselves and cooked with mustard as only my mother in law knows how. To camping under the stars on the deserted Beginis Island. I love it all.  But so far this trip we haven't done any of it.  Instead we've played twister and chess, draughts and mermaids, drawn pictures, read library books, gone walking in the wind. We've left the house first thing in the morning and gone exploring places we haven't been before, watched the waves at Derrynane, chased fairies between rain showers, run along Ballinskelligs beach, driven the Ring of Kerry stopping as many places as possible to marvel at the incredible beauty of our little country. If the sun was shining we wouldn't have done any of those things, being content to stay in our island bubble. So although I'm thankful that tomorrow is to bring calmer weather, along with a visit from my sister I'm also thankful that in Ireland we can't rely on the weather and so are constantly pushed to make the most of it. Even so, there's something inherently wrong with wearing wellies in August. I can only hope it's not something I'm expected to get used to.

Crab claws & pineapple

Chasing fairies in Derrynane 

Stunning views on the Ring of Kerry

Waves crashing at Derrynane Strand 

Strolling on Ballinskelligs 

Car Hostage, AKA When Your Kids Fall Asleep In The Car

As I sat outside my house today, in my car, with the engine running, windows open, radio off, phone on silent, willing myself not to slurp my get me through the afternoon coffee, so as not to disturb the three sleeping beauties that are my children, it dawned on me that I have in fact mastered all of the incredible skills of a stealth ninja.  Actually I take that back.  Stealth ninja's are difficult to find so that can't be me because my children manage to find me no matter how well I think I've covered my tracks! (They are in fact, as committed to the cause as Daniel Day Lewis was in The Last of the Mohicans - no matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I WILL FIND YOU"
 https://www.youtube.com/watch )

OK, so I don't meet the first of Urban Dictionary's stealth ninja criteria but I sure do excel at the second two:
1. Extremely mysterious
Spelling out words, talking reallllllyyy sllllloooooowwwwlllllyyyyy and/or in Irish, hand gestures, passing notes, morse code, subliminal messages, alter egos, nervous ticks have all become part of covert daily communications.  At times I reckon I'd give 007 a good run for his money.
2. Lightening fast
If you want to see faster than the speed of light in action, then look no further than me on the couch, with a cup of tea, happily about to enjoy my delicious, waited for all day chocolate mothering reward, when I hear a little voice calling me.  It is quite the skill to make an entire, under threat piece of cake disappear in zero point five seconds let me assure you.

See, ninja! And here's another few awesome talents I have - I know where every creaking floor board in the house is.  I know, exactly, down to the tinniest millimeter how high I can lift the duvet to read on my phone without causing sleep disturbance to which ever trespasser is in my bed.  I know that I can get three children dressed in the time it takes the porridge to cook - that's 2 minutes per child, pretty darn impressive.  I know I can smuggle chocolate eclairs into my mouth by pretending they are either beetroot or broccoli.  I know how to negotiate peace treaties better than any UN Diplomat.  I know that silence amongst children is nearly always deadly (often resulting in an unfortunate incident with the long suffering dog) and finally I know that whenever someone says "it wasn't me" it always, always, ALWAYS was them.

I think a role in Skylander awaits!!!

Sitting afraid to move in said car also reminded me of that time I got stuck in the car wash and had to Google the petrol station number so I could ring them to get someone to rescue me (admittedly not very ninja like) but that's a story for another day!!!

Due Dates & Daydreams

This week we should be celebrating a second birthday.  I should be baking a cake and deciding which much loved Disney character will adorn it.  I should be bestowing birthday kisses, helping to blow out candles and smiling in pride as another milestone in my child's life is reached.  Party photos should be added to the album that houses other precious memories - first steps, first tooth, first hair cut.  My older children should be chasing my younger ones across the garden, hiding behind bushes and waiting to shout "found you".  A small hand should be enclosed in mine.  Bright eyes should twinkle at me.  Two perfect lips should say words my heart aches to hear.  Instead the date will go by like it did last year.  Just another collection of numbers, important only to me.  Remembered only by me.  There will be no party in this house this July, or any other because there was no baby born here in July.  There is only what should have been.

So I will wake on July 27th, the day my fourth baby was due and I will take my cup of tea out to the garden and I will stand with pieces of my heart missing at the spot where my babies are buried and I will breathe.  Sometimes tears come.  Sometimes I get angry.  Sometimes I smile because loss has taken me on the journey to where I am now.  It's so much a part of not only the mother but also the woman that I am.  It colours my days because I know that life is precious.  It's for packing full of laughter.  This week I will hold my precious 8 month old son in my arms and I will love him and his older brother and sister until my heart bursts and my lost babies will be there with us, as we hop and skip and chase in the garden because they are my children and I am their mother and they are in all that I do.

"Golden slumbers fill your eyes,

Smiles await you when you rise,

Sleep pretty darling do not cry,

And I will sing a lullaby".

Calling Time On Controlled Crying

This morning on a parenting website I read an article (I use the term loosely) on controlled crying - a technique for training babies to fall asleep on their own, in which the child is left to cry for gradually increasing periods of time before being comforted.

This particular article suggested that the period of time not exceed 15 minutes.  15 minutes of standing outside a bedroom door listening to your infant child communicating in the only way they know how and ignoring that communication.  I was appalled.  And thankfully I wasn't alone as during the course of the morning numerous complaints led to the article being withdrawn.

I'm really not one to interfere in other people's parenting decisions but come on, have we really moved so far from our mothering instincts that it is not only considered normal but is being actively advised by so called sleep training experts that we control our babies cries?  That we control how our baby sleeps?

Look, I understand that being in a zombie like state for much of the day isn't necessarily fun.  I have spent a large portion of my adult life dealing with periods of insomnia.  I know that lack of sleep can have a huge impact on mood, on decision making, on our relationships.  I also know that if I were left alone in a room crying my heart out for up to 15 minutes at a time while the very people who are supposed to love and care for me most were standing just a few feet away I'd feel pretty damn bad about myself.

If your best friend were crying on your door step would you say "oh sorry buddy, hang on there for 15 minutes" and shut the door in their face?  No? So why the hell is it OK to do it to an infant?  And not just any infant, our own infants, that only months before were cocooned in the safety and warmth of our bodies.  I simply do not get it and I imagine it's pretty damn confusing for them too.

Co-sleeping with 2 of my three children

The advice explicitly said "do not pick up your baby".  Babies are not manipulative.  They don't come into the world with an express interest in making sure our sleep is disrupted forever more.  This notion of a "good" baby, a baby that sleeps "through the night" from two weeks of age is a myth and a dangerous one.  Babies are biologically designed to wake frequently during the night, aside from the obvious fact that their tummies are tiny and therefore they require food little and often, frequent waking also helps prevent sudden infant death syndrome.

During my training as an infant massage instructor I came across a book by psychotherapist Sue Gerhardt called "Why Love Matters".  In it she draws on the field of neurochemistry and examines how daily interactions between a baby and his primary care giver have a direct impact on the way in which that child's brain develops.  Our earliest experiences are translated into physiological response patterns which in turn become the rules that govern how we deal with not only our feelings, but the feelings of others for the rest of our lives.  In other words the love we receive in infancy and early childhood forms the blueprint for our future.

When an infant is crying, the hypothalamus (the link between the nervous and endocrine systems) produces a hormone called cortisol.  Normal amounts of cortisol do not pose difficulties and in fact fuel our fight or flight response but if a baby is exposed to stressful situations, such as being left to cry for too long or too often then the brain can become flooded by cortisol.  Every time thereafter, that child is exposed to stress, his or her brain will produce either too little or too much cortisol.  Too much has been linked to depression while too little has been associated with emotional detachment and aggression.

If stress hormones are chronically elevated, cortisol will destroy healthy immune cells that fight viruses and tumors and keep the immune system healthy.

Maybe, just maybe this is the stuff that we as parents need to know.  Maybe we should be guided by our infant and our instincts rather than a timer.  Maybe if our baby is crying, we should simply hold them in our arms and let them know they are safe and they are loved, even if it does mean we have to stay awake to tell them!

My almost 4 year old regularly seeks reassurance in our bed during the night 

Letting My Baby Lead The Way

I've been a mother now for nearly 7 years.  During this time I've developed my own eclectic parenting style.  I dip in and out of parenting books (more out than in these days).  I try to read up to date research.  I draw on the psychology I studied as part of my undergraduate degree.  I follow tips I have gotten form other moms online.  I take what works for me and my family and I run with it.  One thing that has worked really well over the years and that just makes sense for us is baby led weaning. It's really exactly what it says on the tin.  The baby takes the lead in the weaning process.  I have breastfed all my children.  They have been in control of their own food intake from the get go and so it has always seemed like a natural progression for them to just reach for food from my plate as soon as they were ready to do so - generally around the 26 week mark.  Although the littlest here is almost 8 months and is only getting into his stride in the last few weeks.  The HSE have adopted the most up to date World Health Organisation guidelines which suggest that around 6 months is the optimal time for the introduction of solids.  Current research suggests that prior to this babies gut is simply not ready and the early introduction of foods can increase the risk of infections and allergies.

Pasta with roast veggies

The premise of baby led weaning (BLW from here on in) is that baby eats what the family are eating. No need for purees or for mashing.  No need for freezing ice cube trays.  No (devoid of flavour, not to mention nutrients) baby rice.  As soon as children become developmentally capable of feeding themselves that's exactly what they start to do.  Being responsible for feeding a family of five, this makes my life easier on so many levels.  The term was originally coined by a UK midwife and health visitor, Gail Rapley, although I imagine before the advent of mass marketing our grandmothers and great grandmothers simply called it eating!

Chomping on a bread roll at a local barbecue 

BLW allows babies to explore foods for themselves.  Getting to grips with different sizes and textures encourages dexterity right from the start.  It provides an opportunity for baby to practice chewing, thus helping to develop the facial muscles.  It aids hand - eye coordination, the development of the pincer grip and fosters confidence, independence and decision making.  As a parent it is a real joy for us all to enjoy meal times together - including Poppy the dog who sits patiently waiting for spills.

Because my children eat what we eat there is very little they haven't tried.  I love to cook and generally we eat a huge variety of foods from prawns. calamari, crab claws and steak to avocado, hummus, beetroot, butternut squash, sweet potato etc.  It often amazes people to see little people tucking into such a wide variety of foods.

I know when we started the process with our eldest there was an initial choking worry, definitely not helped by the gagging, coughing and spluttering that sometimes went on.  Reading more about babies gag reflex helped to allay any fears.  An infants gag-reflex is further forward and so more easily activated than an adults.  Gagging actually pushes food away from the airway if it is too big to swallow and shows that baby is learning  how to manage food safely.  Babies certainly don't appear to be phased by it and usually carry on munching.  A choking baby will be silent, because no air is able to get past the blockage.  Undertaking a paediatric first aid course also helped me to relax a bit more.

Baked salmon, corn on the cob & potatoes 

So what do you need to practice BLW?  1. A baby. 2. Some food.  It really is that simple but as with everything, there are some guidelines:

- Baby should be in and around 26 weeks and showing signs of readiness i.e reaching for foods.  Waking at night is not a sign that baby is ready for the introduction of solids.  Babies are designed to wake often during the night, it's a preventative measure against SIDS.
- Baby should be able to sit upright, with support if necessary and have good head control.
- Baby should be allowed to go at his own pace.  A parent should not try and "help" by putting things into his mouth.
- Baby should not be left alone while they are eating.
- Potentially dangerous foods such as peanuts and honey should be completely avoided, as should fast foods and foods high in salt and sugar.

Keeping those suggestions in mind has led me on a really incredible journey with my older children, and now again with my littlest.  Watching his expressions change as he seeks out a new flavour, seeing his dexterity increase as the weeks go by, sharing my love of good food with him, it's just a wonderful experience.  An incredibly messy, wonderful experience but who doesn't love a good mess???

Getting to grips with a water beaker 

Chocolate Mousse For My Dairy Free Goose(s)

This delicious, simple, healthy and most importantly for us dairy free chocolate mousse has just received a massive thumbs up from my older two. It's another rainy day and we are vegging with tv and duvets so this seemed like the perfect addition. My nearly four year old polished hers off, smacked her lips and proclaimed 'let's make it again, I really love it'.

Two happy customers 

I started the process by chopping and freezing two bananas.  This made plenty for my smallies but would need additional for adult portions or more kids. Ideally bananas should be frozen over night but definitely not for less than two hours.

Next I put a tin of coconut milk in the fridge. Again over night works best but a few hours is fine. Creamed coconut works too.  Refrigeration enables the cream to separate from the milk and rise to the top making it easy to scoop out and giving a lovely smooth texture to the mousse. I do the same when making coconut yoghurts.

Remove bananas from freezer

Once bananas are frozen remove from freezer. Open coconut milk and scoop out the cream on top.

Scoop out creamed coconut milk which rises to top during refrigeration

Add bananas and coconut milk to a nutribullet or blender. Add one tablespoon of cacao. I use Bioglan Organic.  If you prefer a stronger flavour add extra cacao. If you want a sweeter flavour add one teaspoon of agarve syrup or honey into the mix.

Add one teaspoon of agarve syrup 

Blend all ingredients 

Blitz all ingredients and voilà. One light, creamy, dairy free chocolate mousse.

Ready to be devoured

My taste testers 

My First (And Last) Car Boot Sale

Is one man's trash really another man's treasure?  After today's little adventure I think it's safe to say that my trash is sadly just my trash.  I am guilty of being an absolute hoarder.  I frequently go through my packed wardrobe, pull things out, stuff them into bags and earmark them for the charity shop, only to shove said bag into the back of the press and pull it out a couple of months later and refill the wardrobe with things that I haven't seen in a while and "might" just "get a wear out of".  

As my family has expanded so has the amount of "stuff" that we have amassed.  The laundry piles have gotten higher and harder to keep on top of.  The play room resembles the wake of a tornado. Organised chaos reigns.  So, in a desperate bid to reclaim some semblance of control I finally decided to get ruthless and have a massive declutter and as I had never been to a car boot sale before I decided it might be a fun thing to try.

Fun turned out to be some seriously hard slog for not a whole lot of financial gain.  Toys, books, shoes, coats, clothes, DVDs, hats, scarves, paintings, photo frames, cushion covers, old baby equipment, candles - you name it I had it, sitting in a pile on my hall floor.  I spent the best part of Saturday sorting things into piles and packing the car so that I'd be ready for Sunday's early start.   

Collecting items to sell 

Packing the car

I had heard great things about the Kilkenny Car Boot Sale, on the Callan Road just outside the city.  I was advised to be there at 7am to claim my pitch and set up for the day.  Selling starts at 8am.  It was an early, coffee fueled start.  I had read bits and pieces about pricing and trying not to appear like the new kid on the block but I failed pretty miserably by blurting out "Eh I've never been here before, where should I go?" as soon as I crossed the gate.  Thankfully a kindly neighbour took me under his wing and before long I had unpacked the car and had my first customers arrive.  

6am Start 

My little market stall

The sun was shining and there was a great buzz as people came and went, some ready to barter, some lingering for a chat, while others just had a quick browse before moving on.  It was very surreal at times to see elements of my life spread out for strangers to remark upon.  To know that items which were important to me - little shoes that once housed my daughters precious piggies, cuddly toys that once slept enfolded in my sons arms - held no value to others.  I felt nostalgic at times.  It was an exercise in letting go and I tried to embrace it.  I sold books for as little as 10 cent.  My biggest sale was two pairs of my husbands old football boots which went for €16.  Dresses, some never worn and with tags went for €3 each.  I was clearly not going to make my fortune on this particular Sunday.

I had hoped to sell the majority of items and drop anything that didn't sell off at our local charity shop tomorrow but as the day wore on and things got quieter it became clear that I had sold all I was going to sell and so the car was packed up once more and I arrived home absolutely exhausted.  After paying my €20 sellers fee I was left with a profit of €79.  Not a whole lot for a 6am start, an hour long return journey and 8 hours work!  There are definitely easier ways to make a few bob.  I had some pretty decent items.  I wasn't looking for a whole lot for them and anything anyone showed an interest in I let it go so I'm not really sure how I could have done better.

What I did earn was a new found respect for people who do this type of thing on a weekly basis.  I'm not a naturally confident person.  Making small talk with strangers isn't something that comes easily to me so to have spent the day doing it was an enjoyable challenge.  Ultimately I don't think I missed my calling as a sales woman and I'm pretty sure my first experience of car boot sale selling will also be my last!

Discovering The Healthiest, Yummiest Ice Cream EVER

My daughters cows milk protein allergy and my own issues with gluten intolerance and leaky gut have taken me on a nutritional learning journey in recent times and there's one word that keeps coming up in the posts I read and on forum discussions, kefir.  Taken from the Turkish word "keif" which translates as "good feeling", Kefir has long been heralded in traditional cultures for its healing properties, but you know us modern folk love a good scientific study and currently kefir is the source of many which aim to determine its therapeutic value.

Kefir Grains 

In short kefir is a fermented milk product.  It is cultured from grains, jam packed with beneficial bacteria and yeasts.  It is said to deliver more probiotic power than any other probiotic product, including processed supplements.  So with all of this in mind, you can imagine my delight when I came across the magic, healthy deliciousness of Kefi - a simple pot of ice-cream, made right here in Ireland.

Kefi is the brainchild of Conor Saunders, a nutritional therapist, who began experimenting with adding juices and freezing when he couldn't get his kids to drink traditional kefir, which apparently is not to everyone's taste. (I'm trying to source some grains at the moment to start making my own but I fear I've rather spoiled us all now with yummy ice-cream).

After consulting with a nutritional therapist for myself and all three of my children, including my almost 8 month old we were all advised to build up our gut health and embarked on a regime of probiotics and digestive enzymes but since finding Kefi I really don't feel the need to supplement. Anything that makes my life easier is always a winner!

Two things concerned me however - the use of dairy as an ingredient for my dairy intolerant daughter and the sugar content for my wee man.  Thankfully Conor, being only a stone's throw away in Wicklow, didn't mind answering my questions.

Kefi is made from kefir-fermented dairy. Not dairy free then! No problem. Conor says there is every reason to believe that Kefi is tolerated by those who don't tolerate regular dairy.  He explains that the "good bugs" within the product make a range of naturally occuring enzymes that work to break up the proteins and lactose in dairy irrespective of whether the person eating the product has those enzymes. In other words Kefi "auto digests".  Pretty cool, eh?

Being a complete sugar addict - partly due to poor gut health and partly due to having zero will power I am trying really hard to cut refined and processed sugars from our diets. I'm very conscious that my littlest not be introduced to sugars so early in life.  Conor assures me that Kefi is sweetened only with grape juice and contains less sugar per serving than most typical servings of fruit - less than an average apple, orange, banana etc.  It is also 30 times as potent in terms of CFU score and contains many more strains than some of the leading brands of probiotics on our shelves and is fine for babies 6 months plus.

This news makes me both happy and sad.  Happy that my baby son gets to have all of the wonderful health benefits - sad that there's another mouth I need to share with!

Conor also adds that Kefi retains its probiotic power perfectly for up to a year in the freezer.  This however is completely irrelevant to me as there is no way in hell it'll be in my freezer for that length of time.

To find out more and for local stockists visit  http://www.kefi.ie/ 

Enjoy! 

Our Summer Fun Jar

It's week two of the summer holidays and the "What are we doing today Mom?" "Where are we going today Mom?" questions are pretty relentless.  At times it seems like an interrogation.  Good cop/bad cop. A tag team of little people hell bent on slowly driving me crazy.  This week I put the thinking cap on and "Our Summer Fun Jar" was born.  A whole summer of fun, in just one jar, you say? How is this possible?

Our summer fun jar 

Take two energetic children, several A4 pages, a scissors, some colouring pencils and a Kilner jar and let the magic happen.  (My little people need help with the big people scissors).  We sat down and each shouted out our favourite things to do - picnics at the beach, a visit to the zoo, exploring in the National History Museum, putting on sock puppet plays, water fights, taking train journeys, movie days with popcorn & jellies, reading Roald Dahl in the garden - the possibilities are truly endless.  

My son did the writing, while (after trying to decipher her hieroglyphics) my daughter was encouraged to decorate the slips of paper before folding them up and popping them into the jar.  This in itself proved to be a fun way to spend an hour and some of the more optimistic suggestions - such as a trip to the moon and asking Santa for our very own minion - raised lots of giggles.

The idea is that each day one of the children gets to choose the next days activity from the jar and that's how we spend the day.  It means that everyday there is something special planned, ranging from expensive days eating in fancy restaurants wearing a smart tie (courtesy of my eldest son) to toasting marshmallows by the fire pit in the garden before bed (thanks to a sugar addicted me) to painting rainbows on the paths around our house (from the fairy princess that is my 3 year old daughter).  

Obviously there will be days when we need to be flexible due to our "changeable" (ahem) Irish weather or pre existing arrangements but the kids understand that and again it teaches them new skills around planning and negotiating.  

So far this week we've had a rainy day cinema trip and a lot of splashing around in the local swimming pool.  Today it's feeding the ducks in the park.  It's taken the pressure off me to try and entertain and answer questions constantly and it's given the kids a real sense of involvement in how we choose to spend our precious free time together. 

Introducing Agnes & Margot - The Rescue Chickens

The newest members of the Quirke Joyce household joined us on Sunday and Emily the lonely chicken is lonely no more.  She does, however appear to be having anger issues!  I didn't realise that chickens were quite so territorial.  I've had to do some research fast to try and make the transition as easy as possible for the rescue girls.  They are in a pretty sorry state and honestly, even though we mostly have our own eggs I wouldn't ever buy eggs from a store again.  To see any animal malnourished and bleeding truly makes my heart sore.

 Agnes

 Margot

Agnes, missing feathers and damaged skin

On Sunday LittleHill Animal Rescue picked up and re-homed 160 caged chickens which otherwise would have been destroyed.  It was their first July rescue mission. Independence day and it was hugely successful.  Two dedicated staff drove for miles around the country carrying the chickens to the safety of new lives in a beat up old horse box.  There was a queue of people waiting at the first drop off in the car park of Lidl in Carlow town and at drop off points all over Leinster.  We took our girls home and with much excitement the kids helped settle them into their run.  They were as saddened as I was to see these two skinny birds with missing feathers and raw skin.  It quickly became clear to us all that the poor chickens didn't know what to do with all this open space and food on offer.  They cowered and trembled, screeched and squalked and when adopted big sister Emily came along to see what all the commotion was about, things went from bad to worse, as she quickly fought to establish the pecking order.  Having never witnessed this before it's a pretty brutal attack.  I've felt like intervening several times but nature knows what’s what.

Emily paced and pecked.  She stalked in and out of the coop.  She refused to let the others in and eventually when they got passed her, she refused to go in herself.  Late on Sunday night she was still protesting outside and eventually had to be lifted in.  Who knows what happened during the night but she has since refused to go into the coop, instead seeking refuge in an old dog house.  I’m hoping that in time she’ll build a bridge and maybe even move back in but for now I guess she needs to do things her own way and has naturally quarantined herself.  I didn't realise the importance of the quarantine process, not just to prevent the spread of disease but also to minimise attacks on weaker chickens.  So for the next couple of weeks she can stay in her self imposed exile. It's the best thing all round and I'm hopeful I haven't made a rookie mistake.

Agnes and Margot meanwhile were christened with mite powder and disinfectant.  They are starting to explore their surroundings.  They’ve been watching the rain with interest from the shelter of their open coop.  They’ve started to eat and drink the food that’s scattered around for them instead of just from the feeder and they have both laid delicious eggs.  All positive settling in signs.  My six year old son has been busy making obstacle courses for them and checks on them throughout the day.  I'm delighted to see him take such an interest.  I think it's so important for my children to know where their food comes from and to have it ethically sourced.  

In 2012 the EU ruled that it was no longer permissible to keep laying hens in battery cages.  Since then the majority of the over 2.2 million laying hens here in Ireland have been kept in "enriched cages".  These cages have a small perch, a scratching area, a nest and claw sharpening devices and can house anywhere up to 60 plus birds. 

Photo of enriched cage courtesy of Compasssion In World Farming 

Hens are caged when they are around 18 weeks old, just before they start to lay.  About a year they start lay fewer eggs and on most farms hens will be taken to a slaughterhouse where their meat is then used to make pet food, among other things. 

This is where animal rights activists such as LittleHill Animal Rescue step in, negotiating with farmers, collecting hens, finding them new homes and organising drop offs, all for a minimum fee which goes straight back into their sanctuary.  They and others like them work tirelessly and often thanklessly to better the conditions of poorly treated animals, 

There will be further rescue missions throughout the month of July and anyone interested in adopting hens can find out more from their Facebook page.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/LittleHill-Animal-Rescue-Sanctuary/201575106530501?fref=ts

A Visit To The Breast Clinic

There is something very humbling about sitting in a radiology department, wearing a paper gown that opens at the front.  The sign on the door says "Breast Clinic In Progress".  The pain in my breast is searing and the fear in my heart is very real.  The nurse assures me in hushed tones that the doctor is "very good" and "really lovely". Her easy manner and reassuring smile offer comfort.

It's a beautiful sunny day and I should be hitting the beach, I think, laden down with buckets & spades and sandy sandwiches and squabbling children.  I wish that's where I was.  I'm trying to get there in my mind but the burning sensation in my right breast refuses to allow it.

I've had ongoing pain for months.  I'm breastfeeding my 7 month old son who has a posterior tongue and upper lip ties.  It's been challenging.  I've had recurrent mastitis, blocked ducts, vasospasm but this stabbing, take my breath away pain, is something relatively new.  Something that isn't going away with antibiotics or the prescription painkillers I'm taking twice a day.  Something that's frightening me.

It's probably nothing.  It's probably related to the difficulties I'm having with feeding but I can't help but let my mind wander. I'm called into the ultrasound room and as I am laying down, the doctor comes in and she is every bit as lovely as I was told she would be.  She asks about my symptoms as she covers my breast in gel and starts to run the probe up and down across my chest.  I don't realise that I'm holding my breath. Ultrasounds and I are not friends.  I'm watching the screen but I don't know what I am looking at or for.  Then she is finished and I hear myself exhale as the smiling doctor tells me that what she is looking at is a perfectly normal, lactating breast and that from her point of view there is absolutely nothing to worry about.  

Relief washes over me but is almost instantly replaced by questions.  If there is no underlying problem then what exactly is causing the pain?  What does she recommend?  Starflower oil and no guilt if I decide to stop breastfeeding are the answers.  I'm handed some literature on breast examination and told to check my breasts regularly and get very familiar with what is "normal" for me and then I'm finished and I'm back in my own clothes, on the road home, to my baby, whom I hold closely and feed while thinking about just how lucky I am. 

Emily, the lonely chicken

Some women get to be the mother of dragons.  Not me.  My hair is not golden enough.  My family, not royal enough.  Me, I'm the mother of chickens.  Or chicken singular.  A sad, lonely girl at that. There is no doubt that she is depressed.  Her shoulders (yes chickens have shoulders) are hunched. Her eyes are dull.  Her movements are slow.  She rarely comes out of her coop to say hello and she hasn't given us an egg in over a week.  I'm no chicken expert but she definitely isn't the happy girl we've come to know and love.

Emily & her sister Pecky came to live with us over a year ago now and for a long time domestic bliss reigned.  We had fresh eggs everyday, sometimes twice a day.  Poppy, the dog took to her role as big sister with gusto and the three coexisted very happily.  Maybe too happily and we got complacent in our free ranging, until one day a couple of months ago, Pecky disappeared.  The trail of evidence lead to one very sheepish doggy, although to this day we haven't figured out exactly what happened.

Emily & Pecky settling in one their 1st day while Poppy looks on 

Cake baking with eggs fresh from the garden

Always the quieter of the two, Emily, took the loss badly.  She lost a lot of her feathers and she stopped laying for a few weeks but gradually she started to come out of her shell and she was back to being a healthy, happy chicken.  Although she has never fully regained her trust in Poppy.  A couple of weeks ago I started noticing her coming into the garden less and less.  When I'd check on her she would make a keening noise from inside the coop.  She needed encouragement to eat and drink.  I thought she was bound (thank you backyardchickens.com) but that wasn't the problem.  It never dawned on me that she might be lonely, neglectful mother that I am.  I mentioned it to a friend of mine who keeps hens and straight away he suggested that she had either been attacked or she was lonely.  There were no visible signs of distress or injury and so light bulb moment - Emily needs a friend.

Emily photobombing in happier times!!

Thankfully I've found a solution in the form of the wonderful hen rescue programme run by LittleHill Animal Rescue & Sanctuary and two new ladies are coming to live with us on Sunday.  During the month of July LittleHill aim to rescue and re-home over 1,000 chickens from battery farms.  They spend hours liasing with farmers, organising new homes and transportation and ask only that adoptive families contribute €5, which gets reabsorbed into the sanctuary.  

LittleHill operate a no kill policy, so that no animal in their care will ever be put to sleep, unless it is suffering.  I'm so happy to have come across the work that they do here.  I'm looking forward to introducing Emily to her new sisters and to once again having a fridge full of delicious fresh eggs. 

But for now Ì'm off to find my book of girls names and root out my knitting needles.  After all, I am the mother of chickens!!

A rescue chicken, complete with knitted jumper to keep her warm

http://littlehillanimalrescue.ie/

https://www.facebook.com/pages/LittleHill-Animal-Rescue-Sanctuary