To Work Or Not To Work?

* Warning!!! This blog entry contains lots of ugly words and caps lock!!*

I have decided that I need to look for a job. We need the money.

I don't want to. I don't want to. I don't want to. I don't want to. I don't want to.

I feel like a lamb being led to slaughter.

The corporate ladder climbing.

The oneup(wo)manship.

The bickering and skinnering.

The back stabbing.

The permanently feeling out because I am not tits and ass.

The tedious drone of the day while you wait for the time to pass.

The boring, crappy work that someone else thinks up all the time.

Dealing with those IDIOT clients, of which the worst scourge of the earth must surely be a brand manager. ANY brand manager. They are SUCH fuckwits.

I fucking HATE advertising.

Sitting there with the thought that you SHOULD be working for yourself, lining (trying anyways) your own pockets instead of someone elses.

The mere thought of being treated like a child again: in at 8:30 exactly in do not leave a minute before five.

Dare take lunch time and you get the beady eye.

The Heir crying his eyes out when I leave in the morning saying: Mommy! Don't go to work, please don't go to work.

Living as a guest in my own house.

Wearing work shoes - I dislike shoes. They HURT.

Uncomfortable clothes.

Permanently having to check if your make-up is still on your eyes and lips and not on your cheeks and chin.

Answering the bloody phone when you are busy.

Sitting in peak traffic for two hours every day.

Losing touch with my house, my castle.

Giving up my position in the house to mom & mother-in-law.

The stress.

Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!

I H A T E I T!!!

It makes me UNHAPPY. U.N.H.A.P.P.Y. uhn-haaa-pee.

It will make me seriously consider driving into a bridge on my way to work.

No. I have changed my mind.

I am not going to look for work.

I am going to make my own work.

And I am going to involve both my mother and my mother-in-law in this. Bullshit. We are three women living in this house that can look after kids, clean, do the washing and cook. Why must I be punished to go work (away from my house and my kids) while they get to do what I should be doing?

Why can I not work from home? I work hard when I work.

So, I have decided. We are going to make hats for children. Sun hats.

And I will call the hat range: Jungle Child. Or Urban Child. Bling Bling Baby. Or something.

My mom can help sew (which she is good at) and mother-in-law can help sell and go to the creches (which she is good at).

Fuck that.

I am NOT going to work for someone else.

A Piece of Morning Peace

Shhhh.



It is seven o'clock in the morning.



Lord and Master of the Manor and the two Princesses have gone off on their day's doings. (Work, school).
The Heir is still sleeping.
My mom is still sleeping.
My mother-in-law is still in her room.

Shhhh.....

Can you hear that??

Yes - it is silence.



I am, for now, ALL ALONE.

Isn't it wonderful??

I have looked at the rising sun. I am drinking a warm cup of tea. I have had a piece of toast with marmite.

And I am grateful for this beautiful day, this quiet moment that was granted to me to just get my bearings and prepare me for the day.

I Am Hungry!!!

OK - so I have been SOOOOOOO good...

This is probably the longest I have been on a diet for the past 10 years.

One whole week.

I have my vitamins and my pep-up in the morning.

I have Shape for breakfast.

I have Shape for lunch. (As per the instructions).

I have a healthy low fat, low kilojoule diet for dinner, loaded with fresh vegetables.

I have 2 liters of water during the day.

I have only either Black Forest or Green Tea.

I wear my step counter and I make sure I walk my 10,000 steps per day.

And I have lost....TA-DAHHHH!!! (Drumroll, please.)

...a measly 300 grams. (Shocked intake of breath.)

YES. 300 grams, ladies & gentlemen.

WTF????

I just drink one glass of liquid less or have an extra pee and poof! That's 300 grams.

Take my Chinese cheapy shoes off when I get on the scale... 300 grams.

Hold on . If I take my jacket off - 300 grams.

Breathe in deeply - 300 grams.

And I weighed wearing the same clothes I did last week. Apples with apples, and all that.

Stuff this.

Today I am going on Weigh-Less.

If I could stick to the Shape diet for a week, I can stick to WL for a week. Besides, you get to eat more...

Watch this space for further pain reports.

Writer's Blog

Ughhh!! I think I have it....

....writer's blog....

I have nothing to say that is new.

Or maybe my life is just so tedious- doing the same thing over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again on a daily basis.

To the extent that I have nothing new to discuss. Nothing exciting to tell.

Am I stagnating?

Is this not what I wanted? To be a stay-at-home mom?

Did I not promise my husband that if I could stay home, I will be a good mom, I will loose all the weight, that I would do this that and the other, finish this project, start that one, help him with his knife making?

What happened to all of those promises?

Am I a liar?

What am I doing during the day? Where are all those hours going? I can hardly say I am blogging them away - because I haven't been writing anything (well hardly anything). So what have I done?

Cleaning, cleaning, cleaning.

Doing washing for 7 people twice a week.

A lot of cooking (even though my mother-in-law is supposed to be doing the cooking as part of our household arrangement).

Ferrying the kids from school.

Assisting the gardener in the laying of the bricks for a wide, flat walkway outside so mother-in-law doesn's break a hip on her way to her room.

(God forbid as she 1. AGAIN gambled all her pension money out, resulting in the 2. non-payment of her medical aid, then 3. (secretly) borrowed R4,000 (U$533) to go to England to go visit her other son. But I am not allowed to say anything.)

Ha - but let my mother do something wrong (which inevitably she does on a regular basis) then I am expected to immediately deal with it..

Why are there two sets of rules for our mothers?

Is it because I am now a housewife and no longer earning 'hard' (i.e. measurable in cash terms) income that I am now a non-entity? Am I now just another 'spunger' that has to hold her two cupped hands out and be grateful that she is allowed to live? Shut up because I am not 'working', thus not 'contributing'and therefore have to mind my place?

Must I now start feeling guilty about everything? Anything I buy for the house / the kids?

Make NO mistake. Nothing of the sort has ever been said. Aloud. But I do get the feeling in the silences. The no comments when you expect them. The odd shrugs. The rare comment about money. You know..

Is it fair for me to stay at home?

What am I doing as my kids are as undisciplined if not even MORE spoilt since I have been at home?

Have I made a difference being at home?

What is my objective? What is it that I set out to do?

Am I lazy?

Is this fair on my husband? Am I trying to punish him? For what? Why?

Should I not go and look for work and once again leave the kids with the two mothers to raise?

Am I not allowed to want to raise my kids by myself?

Who Am I?

What do I want??????

Am I unneccessary?

Hello? Did Someone Switch On The Light?

We convince ourselves that life will be better once we are married, have a baby, then another.

Then we get frustrated because our children are not old enough, and that all will be well when they are older.

Then we are frustrated because they reach adolescence and we must deal with them. Surely we’ll be happier when they grow out of the teen years.

We tell ourselves our life will be better when our spouse gets his/her act together, when we have a nicer car, when we can take a vacation, when we finally retire.

The truth is that there is no better time to be happy than right now.

If not, then when?

My life will always be full of challenges. It is better for me to admit as much and to decide to be happy in spite of it all.

For the longest time, it seemed that life was about to start. Real life.

But there was always some obstacle along the way, an ordeal to get through, some work to be finished, some time to be given, a bill to be paid. Then life would start.

I am finally starting to understand that those obstacles are life.

This point of view helps me to see that there isn’t any road to happiness.
Happiness IS the road.

So, it is up to me to enjoy every moment.

To stop waiting for school to end, for a return to school, to lose ten kilo’s, to gain ten kilo’s, for work to begin, to get married, for Friday evening, for Sunday morning, waiting for a new car, for your mortgage to be paid off, for spring, for summer, for autumns, for winter, for the first or the fifteenth of the month, for your song to be played on the radio, to die, to be reborn… before deciding to be happy.

Happiness is this voyage, not a destination.

There is no better time for me to be happy than… NOW!

The above was the content of an e-mail that I received from my best friend today.

How strange that I would receive this now.

I have watched a program on a super morbidly obese woman who finally decided to have bypass surgery. Only to pass away two weeks after the op, leaving behind her 2 children aged 12 and 5.

Well – did that motivate me to start eating less. And not when?? Immediately.

I want to live healthier. I want to look better. I want to dress sexy. I miss THAT look that only a man can give you when you know you look fantastic. And other women give you the silent once over...

Don’t misunderstand me. I love my husband – but to just feel SEXY again… To be noticed by others, to be acknowledged for it.

I want my daughter to be proud of her mommy. Not the fat mommy hiding in the car with the clipped up housewife do and the mechanic hands (chipped nails, dry cuticles and car oil in the cracks of my hands! DIY...)

But the normal sized mommy (note I did not say thin or skinny mommy, as I have realised this is a physical impossibility). (I am realistic.)

With a semi-fashionable hair-do.

And normal clothes. Jeans - jeans what I would give to be able to wear a pair of denims again.

WITH a tenny T-shirt.

A summer dress.

With spaghetti straps.

So now it is diet or healthy eat days.

I have to lose 10 kilos.

That is starting point. I will worry about the rest when I have mastered this.

So hold thumbs for me…I have not thrown this towel in yet. I owe this to myself. I think now I have earned it.

So I have attached a pic of sunflowers. Because they MAKE ME HAPPY. Yes. Me. I did not post it for anyone else or because it matches the topic. I attached it because I like it.

And I think from here on, I will do more things that MAKE ME HAPPY.

Because my time to live and be happy is NOW, because I have realised tomorrow is too late.

Mommy!!! She is stealing my foot!!

Bizarre comment.

Perfect situation. For a Mommy that is.

Picture the scene: Johannesburg, 2008.

Mommy (relaxed after an unprecedented hot bath with NO - and I mean absolutely NO disturbance for a change) reclining gracefully on her bed like a beached whale.

Princess 1 (who has decided that she wants to be a beautician (after becoming Miss SA) (yeah- go figure - the child is a kugel of note)) is massaging the right foot.

Princess 2 also wants in on the action and is massaging the left foot.

Mommy is making the appropriate sounds of relaxation and gratitude. Combined with funny faces. (You have to make rolled-up eyes and a skew smile if you are demonstrating to a 5-year old in what state of extreme bliss you are). (The brain works in pictures, you see).

Princess 2 then decides the older sibling's foot is getting more attention that hers. Prompt swop. Needless to say, the reaction is IMMEDIATE.

"Mommy!! She is stealing my foot!!"

Ahhh! The bliss, the BLISS!!!!

"Don't worry, sweetie - there are still lots of me left!!"

Sushi Please!

I have officially changed my mind.

I actually DO like sushi.

I actually like it A LOT.

Unless I am pregnant and this is a craving.

Aaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh!!! The mere thought!!!

We (this is now The Lord And Master of the Manor) used to eat sushi when it was all the rage (3 or 4 years ago) locally.

Sushi restaurants popped up like mushrooms and it was the place to be seen and the food to eat (if you were in and living the healthy lifestyle (or pretending to be)).

Then, one night, we went to a restaurant where the sushi smelled a bit like the cut off pieces of drying bait the fishermen leave behind on the rocks after another miserable day of having their hooks caught in the surf.

S.T.I.N.K.Y.

That night we officially, and verbally, told each other that we actually DO NOT LIKE sushi.

Yep - it was peer pressure all right. And now, hitting our forties, we had enough self esteem (and too few years left to bother) to say: Eeeeuuuuw!

Then, the other night, I decided that after the movie, (YES - we went out like real other adults!) we were going to do something DIFFERENT.

Something we don't normally do. Somewhere we don't normally go.

So we went to the Cape Town Fish Market.

It is not really in Cape Town (well - I suppose there really is one in Cape Town, but this one isn't). It is a franchise and this one is in Johannesburg.

And we did something I always wanted to do but never did for fear of either:

a. Not fitting in those little high bar stools with my big ass.
b. Falling off one of those little high bar stools after drinking too much.

We had sushi in those pretty bowls with the see-through plastic lids that come travelling by on the conveyor belt like some pretty little butterflies darting through the meadow.

I like pretty food.

(OK - clearly by my figure - or lack of it - I like all food, but deep down I think I like pretty food most.)

And was this pretty.

Little dots with colourful spots.

Little stripes with pretty little ribbons.

Little baskets that look like jewelery boxes gleaming with shiny rubies and glistening with pearls.
And the taste!! Fresh, fresh fresh. Soft, creamy. Contrasted with the salty soy.

And the company was good. The fact that I had two glasses bowls of dry wine helped as well. Although it did make it more difficult to sit on those barstool. And my feet got pins & needles.

My favourite, favourite is salmon roses.

Hmmm, hmmm.

A bit pricey though - a steak is cheaper, but I get away with it by explaining the sushi is far healthier for me!

I think we will plan another evening (or lunch) (not breakfast - thats a bit woes) soon!

There Was An Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe

There was an old (well - I am not officially old - yet. I have to accept that I am officially middle age) woman who lived in a shoe (ok the the house is not a shoe. It is rather large and normally looks quite OK).

She had so many children, she didn't know what to do. (There is only three of them. Although the 3 & 5 year olds make it feel like 40. And I really know I should be MORE stricter with them, even though I don't have the courage or energy for it.)

She gave them some broth without any bread, (yes, yes. I made soup tonight and I honestly couldn't face going to the shop to buy breadrolls.

The mere thought of having to first wipe all the hands and feet, getting the dummy, making sure there is a bottle in case it starts howling for one, waiting for the assorted collecting of toy collection that has to accompany us on the 1km trip to the shop, the strapping into the safety seats (after I finally manage to pry the Heir out from underneath the back seat of the Voyager), the throwing each other in the car with toys (while yelling at the top of their voices), the constant begging for a sweet while in the shop, the wailing because they didn't get a sweet a the shop...you know - the usual.) )

Then whipped them all soundly and put them to bed. (Now I could never understand this line as a child. )

I always thought - what a mean, mean mother.

However, now it all makes perfect sense to me.

You see - the old woman in the the shoe told her kids to go to bed at 7:00pm. So that they could settle down, read a bit - you know - the whole emotional calming down period thing.

By 7:30pm she warned them that lights out would be in 30 minutes.

By 7:45pm she warned them that lights out would be in 15 minutes. As per the recommendation of most renowned child psychologists and other idiots who probably never had children in their lives and were all mean-sprited old farts.

By 8:00pm she told them to switch the lights off and kissed them all goodnight and tucked the whole lot up.

By 8:10 she sat down with a brandy & coke cup of tea, finally getting her feet up for a bit.

By 8:15 she politely told the 5-year old (who came throught to the lounge for a last goodnight hug) to sleep well and hugged her back.

By 8:25 she made a cup of tea for the 5 year old.

By 8:27 she asked the 11 year old why she is still scutlleing around the bathroom.

By 8:30 she was trying to find the 11 year olds homework diary as tomorrow morning there won't be enough time to do this.

By 8:40 she was desperately logging onto the Internet to find some data on HIV/Aids for the 11-year old's project that is due tomorrow morning.

By 8:50 she was sulking and thinking unkind thoughts about the world in general. Not helped by the depressing AIDS statistics on the screen.

By 8:59 she shrieked at the 5 year old.

By 9:30 she had completed the HIV/Aids task in her best 11-year old scrawl.

By 10:00 she had another two brandies cups of tea.

By 10:30 she had finished picking up all the clothes/shoes/toys, done the dishes for the evening, got all the school clothes ready for the next morning, made bottles for the night, packed lunch for everyone for tomorrow.

By 10:45 she AGAIN told the kids to GO TO BED. IT IS LATE. AND YOU HAVE TO LEAVE FOR SCHOOL AT SEVEN.

Clearly she (or the kids) was missing something somewhere.

And because she didn't know what is was and by then she was seriously loosing the plot, she gave them all a smack and threaten them with more if they didn't GO TO SLEEP NOW!!

Bad Timing

Why do husbands, who are co-parents to small toddlers, inevitably decide that a Sunday morning quickie is just the thing that their poor stressed wives need?

Man - that is just SUCH bad timing. Inevitably, without fail, it is a story with no ending...

And of course, you come join the party - after all, knowing the Lord & Master of the Manor's talents, it COULD, POSSIBLY, MAYBE lead to a lot of fun (even experience and mother's instinct have taught you elsewise)...and besides, living with the Lord & Manor of the house, it rubs off on you you start to think like an idiot too after a while...

But clearly husbands must realise, that toddlers sit up at 6:00 like mummies being risen from the dead. And they charge off in 5th gear.

So here you are, doing the horisontal bop contorting in all sorts of interesting positions under the duvet covers (gotta stay covered now - as being caught in dillicto fligrante is such a bad thing to happen...), and sure enough...

...the pitter patter of little feet down the passage...

...and the train of thoughts flash through your head in a succession of fears:

1. For FUCK's sake!!!!
1. Is he going to run faster than what we can compose ourselves?
2. Will I make it back to my side of the bed faster than he will bash the door open?
3. If I stay where I am -is he not going to notice and leave quicker?
4. What if he sees ANYTHING and we permanently damage the poor little subconcious and (unwittingly) turn him into a pervert an emotional wreck with issues in later life?
5. Must we pretend to be asleep/playing/getting up/yawning/stretching?

So you lie tjoepstil - tied up & plugged in like a sailor's knot each one with their own head (sortof) on their own pillow.

"Look Mommy - I found the grinder." (Now there is a choice tool for the moment at hand!!).

He has been down to the workshop where Lord and Master of the Manor (who does not tidy up after his ass) left the door open last night.

"That's nice my baby - go play with it in the lounge."
(Who cares if the child might just decide TODAY is the day he is going to figure out how to plug into a socket (sorry - bad choice of words again!) and could possibly cut his arm off - or worse, destroy the lounge and kill one of the other children???? I HAVE NEEDS!!! RIGHT NOW!!!!)

"No. I play here - look I put it in the cot."

"No sweetie - go see Ouma is in the lounge. Go show her your grinder."

And will the idiot (idiot here being Lord and Master of the Manor) not lie still? He goes and twitches like some spastic toy of which the batteries have nearly run out (no, not that kind of toy - those you buy rechargeable. Especially if you are single as it will eventually cost you too much).

Glare.

Pinch.

Half-assed kick.

No movement.

OK.

Now I can (sortof) think.

"Mommy - why is it so dark in here - let me put on the light!"

"No, don't put on the light - Mommy wants to sleep. Go see Tom and Jerry is on the TV in the lounge."

Light goes on.

"There we go Mommy!"

"OK very nice. But Mommy wants to sleep some more - Mommy is very tired."

I switch the light off.

"Ag Mommy. That light is off again!!"

He switches the light on and spots Daddy lying alarmingly close to Mommy.

"Daddy that is my place!" whiney voice.

"Yes sweetie, Daddy is just lying there for a little while - go see where is Ouma."

This scenario continues with 3 or 4 more variations, with the Heir threatening to climb onto the bed to reclaim his space next to Mommy.

And please note - my mother IS somewhere within the house.

She will not think to herself: "Hey! It's Sunday morning 9:00 am. They haven't surfaced from the bedroom yet.

....maybe, just maybe, they are having some nookie...

Let me be kind, and get the kids out of the house into the lapa.
Or at least close the passage door.
And put on a video to keep them busy.
Or make them breakfast.
Or (heaven forbid) take them with me to the shop to buy milk or bread or something."

No.

(Do you think this might be why last night I dreamt I was alternately strangling and repeatedly hitting her with a small box over the head?)

Just because she doesn't get it anymore doesn't mean that I shouldn't!!!!!!

After some desperate please for the Heir to PLEASE go to the lounge, (of which none worked) I say to Lord & Master of the Manor: "OK - this isn't working for me. I cannot lie here in a frozen tantric position while the Heir is jolling about in the room. It is just a bit too freaky for me. Not on. We will do this again later."

And of course, then the whole day just goes wrong after that.

It is all a bit...frustrating! Like an itch that doesn't go away.

The whole family rocks up for a (full day) visit. So there is not even a REMOTE possibility of resuming the conversation at a later stage.

Thank goodness though...you can always scratch later when every one goes to sleep.

And oh! what a scratch it was!

I Run A Tight Ship

So a week has passed, of which I (mostly) got to run my own home.

What bliss.

I have come to the discovery that I actually run a tight ship.

It is when all the mothers are here that things go awry.

You see it works like this - I think Mother is going to do x. Mother thinks I will do Y. Mother-in-Law (MIL) thanks we will both do Z.

So we end up with nothing being done and everyone blaming the other for not doing things. Or for feeling pissed of because they end up doing everything. I call it the XYZ syndrome: nobody does anything or one and everyone is pissed off at each other for not doing anything.

It's actually a little bit easier alone.

Being alone, I know that it will be up to me to do XYZ, so I have a routine, which I stick to religiously. And it works for the kids.

The house was tidy, the kids were quiet and played (mostly) nicely with each other. The food was made on time, the kids were bathed and put to bed early enough so that hubby and I could have normal conversations with each other at night.

(I do have a slight bit of cabin fever though.)

This has decided it for me.

We have to sell the townhouse so I can get some money and build a cottage on the property two move the parents into their own space.

There is a reason why you leave your parents house and get your own!!

It is called growing up and becoming independent...

The Tooth Mouse Came!!

Princess 1 lost her first tooth!!

(Well - I pulled it with a piece of dental floss, but it had the same result in the end, really...)

And she is so chuffed with herself. (I know - scary sight! Thank goodness she brushed her teeth before I took the pic)..

There is some serious oneup(wo)manship with her best friend Teesta, so now the playing fields have been leveled.

And she is nogal tough too! Tried to pull it by herself first but didn't have long enough arms to yank it out!

I must say, the Tooth Mouse has really been pushing up his prices lately.

When I lost my first tooth, I think I received the grand amount of 50c for my tooth.

No such luck for the hapless parents of media savvy kids these days. (Even though they still believe in the Tooth Mouse, Fairies and Father Christmas.)

My daughter got R15 for her first gem.

That's half a McMeal. Or a Sundae with Apple Pie. Or two loaves of bread. Or two cans of Coke.

(Why do I always think in terms of food - that's really sad..)

And one of them was PAPER MONEY!! The excitement.

That I can deal with.

It is the fact that my little bunny is growing up that is hard!!

Whaaaaaaaa-haaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!

What is next - boobs, periods & boyfriends?????

Will I Remain a Child Forever?

Is it possible to love and dislike (I can't use the word hate here in the traditional sense - because it is not hate I feel) you mother at the same time?

Let me set the scene.

My mother, bless her soul, has been living with us for the last eight years.

My father passed away three (it will be four come September 12) years ago, leaving my mom on her own.

Yes - my mom lives INSIDE my house.

My mom is a woman with serious obsessive compulsive tendencies a very tidy nature.

My mother is a typical trying to please everyone / feeling sorry for herself all the time and not shy to let you know that Pisces.

Make no mistake. I appreciate everything she does around the house for me. It's just sometimes I wish that she would let me do it by myself.

I am on my way to change the Heir's nappy (we are still potty training - boys are so slow with this), and my mom will shout from the lounge: "Have you checked his nappy yet?"

*Sigh.*

We wake up early, the Heir & I.

We quietly make our way to the lounge where we bond, spending some quality Mother/Son time, by watching something as non-violent and innocuous as Tom & Jerry. Yeah, right. That programme should have been banned LONG ago.

Hardly ten minutes have passed.

"Morning."

"Morning."

Other social pleasantries and niceties follows.

I have to listen (again) that she couldn't sleep last night because she didn't want to take a sleeping tablet.

"Why did he cry so much last night?"

"He didn't. I was about five minutes this morning around 5:30."

"No he did. For a long time. Eventually I had to block my ears!"

"No he didn't. It was five minutes, because I refused to let him stick his hand under my arm. (Habit that I am desperately trying to break. Don't ask.) I told you I started putting my foot down two nights ago and should you hear him wailing in the night, that you understand why he is crying."

"Oh. I thought his tummy was sore." (The Heir is currently suffering from constipation - too few veggies currently on the family menu - which should be rectified by tonights dinner.)

"No. It wasn't."

"Have you given him his asthma medicine yet?"

"Yes."

"Have you changed his napppy yet?"

"Yes."

"Has he eaten something?"

"Yes - half of the bowl of oats you see standing in the kitchen."

Silence. I can now hear her brain ticking over to see if she can double check me on something else.

Some time has passed.

"I have done the washing - it is still on the line. I will bring it in, then tumble it for a few minutes then we can fold it up."

Silence. "Actually, no, I do not wan't to do the washing. I want to sit here with my son and watch Eastern Mosaic. Or Free Spirit. Or watver the hell else it is that I want to watch on a Sunday morning.". "Sure. Thanks."

So she carts the basket through. And proceeds to dump them ON TOP OF MY BED. (Obviously some time has passed as the Lord And Master of the Manor wouldn't take kindly to being dumped by (although clean) washing in his own bed.)

And off she goes, to a (not often) pre-planned weekend away with her sister.

Finally.

FREEDOM!!

(Even she left all the washing on my bed - forcing me to deal with it.)

I end up feeling like the child in the house.

I sneak away with my kids and hide in the garden when she goes on one of her 'cleaning/shrieking' sprees. (Aimed at my kids).

And yes, it is all my fault.

I admit.

When I was working my mom ran my house and looked after the kids.

Now, I have stopped working, and she is still running my house. I have lost control. I have ended up one of four children. And the worst is, when she treats me like a child, I can feel that sullen teenager immediately respond accordingly...

Any discussions that does not focus on ME BEING THE EVIL results in a barrage of tears and fears, with my mother asking shoulds she move out (yeah - like where to??), me feeling like the witch of Endor...

Eish...

We bought the house with the big garden so that we could build on cottages, which never realised due to inflation hikes and cost of living.

I don't see it happening soon either..

Hey - maybe I should go borrow my brothers camping tent and set up home in the bottom of the garden. Hehe.

Oh and to add to this, my mother-in-law ALSO lives with us.

No there is something for you to get your brain around.

By themselves I can cope with each, but together, it is a nightmare, as my mother tries to boss my mom-in-law the same way. With the same result.

So I end up with the two elderly ladies bickering away in the kitchen while we are trying to watch something on TV.

And they are both hard of hearing (even they damn well refuse to admit this).

SO we have this cacophony of pots, dishes, cutlery, the kettle, my mom ordering Princess 1 and Mother-in-law around, mother-in-law and my daughter ignoring her to their best capability while having a conversation in their loudest voices.

Eish.

Yet. Their is no-one else I trust with my children. Everything I learnt, I learned from her - so I know her decisions are good. If I am sick - there is no-one else that I want. She is the one bringing the medicine, takes over whatever I have to do, sorts out the house and the kids, makes me a cup of tea, pulls the blanket over me.

But like I said to her before - YOU are the one who trained me, trust that I will do it right!

But it's so hard for her.....And it's hard for me too.

I have come to depend on her so much. Giving up control means I don't have to worry so much.
But it means I also cannot moan & complain, as I have allowed it.

I fear taking back control.

What if I cannot cope? What if I cannot maintain the pace and the control?

I cannot fight the grind of a daily life and my mother simultaneously. It is too much.

What to do? Because surely I have to do something.

I cannot spend my day like a drug addict in a anti-depressant fuelled happy cloud while my & my children's lives pass me by...

Something has to give up somewhere...

But is it really that bad?

Am I not just really lazy? I have to ask myself this question in order to be fair to my mom. Isn't it easier to just let her take over everything and then moan and bitch to whoever will listen that I can't be supermom / supergran / supereverything like her?

This week, I am alone with the kids and the house. Like, in no parents. Like real grown-ups with their own children. Like other people.

Daunting, as this hasn't happened in 8 years. (Mother-in-law is still visiting in Durban).

It is going to be a few days of self-exploration (not that kind sicko). To see whether I am capable and how I will cope.

Maybe this is the gap I need.

But what if I am successfull and she comes back - we always fall back into her routine.

Time will tell.

Watch this space.

What is With The Male Brain?? What Is With My Kids??

OK - this has finally proved it to me.

Men are just genetically different from us.

Finished and klaar.

You cannot hold them responsible for their actions, as I now firmly believe that they cannot help it. It is genetic.

Study the picture below:


OK. Here is what you are looking at:

* One 800 ounce pien hammer.

* One pair of 'Titivate' plastic toddlers girls dress-up shoes.

The left shoe has several large holes punched into it.

Making it practically unwearable.

How is it that a three year old can wreck so much damage in the two minutes that he is not being watched?

Why must he always find a stick / pole / hammer / axe / knife to play with? Can't he just KICK A BALL like other boys of his age, for goodness sake????? Why did he have to inherit the ancient Scottish Lust for Battle (from his father's side I might add..my family are (mostly) normal)..

How is it that a five year old can screech so continuously at such a high pitch for such a long time before being able to tell you what the issue is?

I swear, there are some days. And today is one of them.

It is not even 9:30am yet. I have not even brushed my hair yet. I have managed the teeth though.

What is with my kids?? I am going to ask the question that I have been silently mulling around in my head, whilst brow-beatenly staring at the demon spawn(s) children running amok in my house:

ARE MY CHILDREN SPOILT??

Let us study some pictures of my humble abode:

This is a slide. It is made of plastic or something. Whatever. The point is, it is heavy.

It normally stands on the jungle gym.

The Heir (pictured on the right) has SINGLE HANDEDLY removed it from the jungle gym and put it squarely on the trampoline.

By himself.

WTF??

This is the mess next to the jungle gym. Which I might add, Lord & Master of the Manor and I built with our very own two hands, so that our children could play on it, and have something we never had growing up.

Which they now hardly ever use.
You are looking at :
* One Bentley belt (swimming safety ring)
* One dolls poncho (which I might add is one of my doll's which was dug out of the storeroom and is now 34 years old!)
* One plastic soccer ball.

You are looking at:
* One empty McDonalds Chocolate Sundae cup
* One used plastic McDonalds ice cream spoon
(there is another set like this lying close by)
* A hair decoration
* A pair of sandals that has (honestly) been there for two days now)







More shit.











This is a variety of spades.

The spawn(s) children were playing 'seaside, seaside' in the wet ground that was dug up during the sewerage pipe replacement.

And yes, this was after I told them not to play there as the wet soil is not wet as a result of a burst water pipe.....
....anyone blame me for not feeling huggy kissy?





* Several hose pipes. All uncoiled by a three year old with superpowers.

* A wooden gun.









The little maniac himself in action.

You are looking at:

* a garden pick.
* A rusted pipe removed during the pipe replacing process (at least this one was JUST water)
* A toy scooter
* A broken pram chassy set which is now used as a kids push/pull cart.
* Several empty tins. No idea.



The general state of the average doll:

* naked
* headless / armless / legless





And this is only outside. The list is endless.

The point is. My kids live like pigs. Or am I obsessive compulsive.

Is this normal? Do other peoples kids also mess this much? Is it a lot? Is it little? I don't know!

My house is a kids paradise. Jungle gyms, swimming pool. Geese. Dogs, cats. Birds. Toys, toys and more toys. A doll's house. Child friendly safety. (Except for the current drain works!)
Decorated rooms. Expensive toy storing systems in each room.

Yet, it feels like it is all taken for granted. I feel utterly brow beaten.

I have taken a stance not to smack the kids, as I have made this mistake with my stepson. Which I regret to this day. Also, if I start, I fear I won't stop. And besides, it's not fair - I am SO much bigger than them. And it also hurts my hand and leaves me out of breath. So - it is just all round not an enjoyable experience.

Yet I ask myself everyday (when being smacked in the face by The Heir like 5:30 this morning because he is not getting his way) :

AM I WRONG??


Am I undisciplined? Should I get up and smack and shriek like a witch? Be the bad cop?

I don't know - maybe other mothers go through the same?

Do they?

Little Ninja Princesses

Well, well, well.

It seems like I had two little Ninja princesses hiding in my house. (Best from here on I be careful when and where I shriek at them..)

Picture from left to right: Princess 2, The Sensei and Princess 1

Princess 1 won 3rd place for violently (well - as violent as a wannabe future Ms SA can) kicking & punching some other mother's child.

Princess 2 won 1st (hah - can you believe it - I thought it was the G&T's acting up...) for her 'kata'.

Kata, for those that do not know, represents to the average 5 year old, in a serious of movements that basically constst of: look over the shoulder, block with one arm, and then punch with the other. All this while trying not to wave or blow Mommy kisses.

It also means that while you are 'on the floor', you are not allowed to skip while singing Old MacDonald or Down by the River, in your lustiest, most booming voice.

Take that you snobby school mommies. Hah!!!

MY CHILD CAME FIRST!!!!

Hehe. The utter glee. I cannot describe the feeling. It gives me a high like a drug. This must be what those witches other school mommies are after when pushing their kids to excel.

You can be as thin, as well groomed and as well heeled as you like, but my child won! my child won!! Na-nan-na-na!! your child unfortunately did not cut it.

Tsk tsk. Next time.

Princess 1 got a nasty kick in the fanny for her efforts. The opponent (evil little cow) got a warning for hurting my precious little angel. I think she should have been disqualified IMMEDIATELY.

If it wasn't for that...

I am so proud of Princess 1, as she is only blue belt and had to stand her (wo)man against 2 brown belts.

One is a giant approximately two heads taller, and the other is the equivalent of a Tasmanian Devil, approximately two heads smaller.

Tasmanian Devil's mother apparently has no life.

She lives to shout cheerful things at her daughter (who is joyfully busy whipping my beauty queen's ass) like: "Kick her! Punch her! Drive forward!! Drive forward!!' next to the karate floor, whilst pouring hot tea from her flask and unwrapping her cheese sarmies. Which are all carted around in a HUGE blue cooler box. (Clearly, her BIG DAY OUT.)

Oh-kay.

How to get my hackles up.

Needless to say, the other parents found the match between Princess 1 and the Tasmanian Devil highly entertaining, as the (proud) mothers spend the 1.5 minutes (ok-make that 1.4 as it took 10 seconds for me to cotton onto the game) of the match spurring their relative offspring on QUITE vocally.

So. Princess 1 managed to get bronze without breaking one of her nails.

But Princess 2 - whoo boy.

What a killer.

I have never pushed my kids to excel like the Tasmanian Devil's mother like some mothers do.

I firmly believe that, living in South Africa, self defense for girls is not a luxury, but an absolute neccessity. Our rape statistics confirm that.

It is like brushing your teeth or having a bath. It is simply something that my girls have to do on a weekly basis.

But that being said, MAN! - it makes me VERY proud to see all that metal!

The Joys of Winter Break

So those nasty people teachers at the school did it to me again.

They have closed their doors for an entire three weeks for the winter holidays.

Three weeks!! What bit of my sanity will I loose in the next THREE WEEKS?

Needless to say, the perpetual messing has already commenced. The (what seems to be) constant bickering / toy tug-of-war / affection one-upmanship. Yup, they are all here already.

I have always had this insane (rather common) desire to name my house something or the other. You know when you drive around in neighbourhoods, you see the name boards: Willow Ridge; Wind in the Willows; Finally!; Toad Hall and my favourite, the perenially South African favourite: Kaya Costa Baya. I have never found something that I like enough.

Well. After spending a week sofar with a 3,5 & 12 year old, I have thought of the perfect name for our humble, untidy abode:

The Shriek Shack.

Yessiree. That will do just fine, as it is a good description of the general activity within the house.

If it is not me at the kids, it's the kids at me. If not the kids at each other, my mom at the kids. The kids at my mother-in-law. All of us at the cats & dogs.

Eish... roll on bed-time!! That magical moment, when after telling everyone for the seventh last time to "GO TO BED!", and they actually do, and the silence descends like a warm snuggy blanket...

..and what is the first thing that pops up in my mind?

"Uh, it's so quiet now. I think I will go to bed".

How is that for lame.

Tomorrow we have Princesses 1 & 2 doing the Karate grading as well as entering the combat competition. That should prove interesting. Although, from past experience with Princess 1, not half as interesting as eyeballing the assortment of parents on the side in those nasty, plastic, cold, community centre/sports club chairs.

Thank goodness the Sport Club Pub is merely 10 meters away. Nothing to help ease the pain of parenting like a double little gin & tonic.

Watching the poor Sensei getting fifteen toddlers between the ages of 3 and 5 lined up for ANY activity is highly amusing. It is like watching someone herding cats.

With a drink in hand, it should prove highly entertaining...

Deep Puff

Dear Diary

Last night was Princess 2's variety concert.

Oh my goodness..was she a star.

For all of 3 minutes, I beamed like a proud chicken who has just laid her first egg, silently mouthing: "That's mine!"whilst furiously stabbing my chest to everyone within a 5 meter vicinity of our table.

There ARE times when I feel like a good mother, and last night was one of them.

I couldn't believe this lanky, self-assured young woman on the stage, casually chatting to the audience (something she has NEVER done before) like a seasoned pro, was actually produced - not too long ago I might add - from my own body. (No-one would guess that 30 minutes earlier she was close to fainting and throwing up with nerves!!)

It scared me to realise the years are flying by so quickly.

Do I tell her I love her enough? Probably not.

But I do. With a fierce burning in me.

She was my first true love.

Born from my body.

It just seems you drift away from your first baby after the second, and the (energetic) third ones.

And before you know it, the little chubbalux who's nappies you used to change, is asking you if she can borrow your lipstick! Hmf...

No wonder I feel OLD.


Princeling is doing alarmingly well.

He has suddenly developed an appetite fit enough for about four or five toddlers.

According to dhe Quack, he is making up for lost time - as he was a tad behind for his age weight and size.

This was due to the fact that he never breathed properly (as a result of the continuous silent asthma) and his cells never got enough oxygen.

He now promptly finishes off two bowls of oatmeal, a fried egg, a slice of toast & a packet of 2 Min Noodles - and all of this before 11:00.

The first thing he says in the morning? "Mommy, I want shumfink to eat now!"

So, I spend the first 4 hours of my morning alternately cleaning and running to the kitchen to do the next breakfast course for Mini Master.

The child has picked up two kilo's in two weeks!!

..and believe my aching back and serious grunting when I tell you - it's noticeable!!!!


So last night, after the concert, we had to take Princess 1's friend home (the Bulgarians - yes he of the .45).

I had to make good on a promise to pop around for a drink afterwards.

So the show ended at 9. 9:30 I dropped Princess 1 at home and we quickly popped over.

Where we were wined and dined with fancy cheeses, cold meats, olives, water biscuits, Melba toast - the works.

I even drank TWO WHOLE beers.

But now, I have to tell you, The Lord & Master of the Manor has A WEAKNESS.

Hehe.

He is an early riser. Always has been.

This naturally means that 8:00 the aircon shuts down, 9:00 the offices get locked, 9:30 the lights go off, and believe you me, 10:00, the front door is LOCKED.

Nobody home.

He will watch 24 with me. It will be THE MOST EXCITING EPISODE EVER. I turn to him, heart racing from all the excitement Jack had to endure for the last hour, gushing": "Wow!!! What did you think of that??"

And his response will be"an extremely startled: "Huh??????"

We will (finally) have an hour alone in the lounge to just BE and will be watching a program, when I hear that familiar deep breathing, with the ensuing puffing...

You know, ...deep breath....puff...deep breath... puff, deeper breath...PUFF..

"Hey!! Are you sleeping??"
"No, no, no! I am just resting my eyes".
Ja - whatever.

I tell you this all, so that you can understand the situation when I tell you that we finally left the Bulgarians at....

..Ta-dah!!!...

1 am.

Ha!!! This for two old fogies. One a school night, nogal.

He was sat though. The little rheumy, pink rimmed eyes. The stifled yawns. The furious blinking.

Needless to say, the fact that he had three beers didn't help either...

I though, on the other hand, was the Belle of the Ball.

The fact that I had two huge glasses of beer, DID help.

But sadly, this morning, I paid the price.

I had to drag my butt out of bed. My eyes felt like The Lord & Master of the Manor's must have felt like around 11:30pm last night.

I had a serious headache.

The fact that I drank 3 - yes THREE mugs of coffee at the concert - after being only on tea for the last 10 months, added to my extreme discomfort. (I won't say anything about the beer.)

So..early to bed for me tonight...

It is now 9:30 pm - and all is quiet in the house... the sound of heavy puffing (not that kind, you pervert), gently flows from the bedroom.

...Nighty night!!!

Where is the Magic?

Dear Diary

OK. So what is the fascination with my things?

They are ordinary things.

Lipstick, make-up, foot creams, brushes, hairclips, nailclippers, CD's, my cellphones.

So - why do I find them all over the house?

Where I DID NOT LEAVE THEM??

Call me obsessive-compulsive. Maybe I am turning into my mother as I grow older (goodness knows, I have heard the familiar echo of her voice many a times while shrieking at the kids)..

But I like my things neat. And tidy. And packed away.

So why, why do my children find them a source of endless treasure???

Does my daughter not have her own CD games? So why are my disks forever lying around?

Does she not have her own manicure set/roll-on/hair brush (oh no, hang on with the brushes, this is unique - I found 4 in The Lord & Master's car over the weekend - he drops the kids in the morning and that seems to be optimum hair brush moment for Princess 1).

Why are the lounge scatter cushions the best thing for a doll's tea party...on the floor?

Is it OK to learn to walk around the mess instead of bitching about it all the time? Even though this means by 14:00 I can apply to be a star on Clean House?

I am afraid I will never get used to it. This is a VERY HARD THING.

And that my family will never learn.

Is it possible for one husband and his brood to SO continuously miss the (open) laundry basket upon undressing before a bath?

But then again, this is the MAGIC house.

Because things pack themselves away by MAGIC.

Beds make themselves by MAGIC.

The laundry washes, dries and promptly hangs themselves up by MAGIC.

The clothes and toys MAGICALLY jump off the floor and hop back into the cupboards.

Breakfast, lunch and dinner MAGICALLY appear on set times.

Children MAGICALLY get fed, bathed and dressed for bedtime.

So, is it fair that Mommy needs a bit of MAGIC herself to survive?

I'd Rather Do Washing Than Lunch

Dear Diary

I think I am getting old.

Yup. There. I've said it. (Not out loud, but it was in my brain.)

I don't want to go out anymore.

Gasp!! Shriek! Shock!! Horror!!

I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to.

I don't want the schlep of doing my hair.

I don't want to fret what to wear. (And then get to the mall and the other women my age - the ones with the BODIES, look like they stepped from the covers of Vogue).

I don't want to spend hours getting the horde ready to go out.

I don't want to count to 300,509,890,299 (10 doesn't do it for me anymore) when Princess 2 goes into a screeching fit because she "hates those shoes" and yanks the whole lot off YET again...

I don't want to order the entire kids menu, only for it all having to end up as take-aways, as the jungle gym or the childless couple next door was more entertaining.

I don't want to have to call the waiter at every meal as the soft drink was spilled on the table and the floor YET AGAIN (why do they ALWAYS provide tall, top heavy glasses for kids?? For crying out loud - they can't even see above the table, let alone reach high enough to drink out of those classes including that long straw...)

I don't want to (should I take them with) run after the kids while I try and have a pizza (formal restaurants are strict NO GO zones with toddlers - it's pizza or our local family-friendly steakhouse.

I don't want to (should I not take them with) feel guilty the whole night because I dare have a time away. For MYSELF!

I don't have the energy to deal with my Mom's guilt trip. "Mom, we want to go out tonight." Her (without skipping a beat: "Will you be feeding/bathing the kids before you go? What time will you be back?"
(My mother has serious security/saftey issues, see. Living in South Africa clearly doesn't help either....)

I don't want to come home at 11:00 (GASP!! SO LATE!) and the kids all all running amok in the lounge ("They JUST didn't want to sleep and he kept on asking for you.." best said in your most feeble, most exhausted voice that you can muster, while blinking your tired eyes like an owl caught unexpectedly in a spotlight), the entire house smells of fishfingers (Lord & Master doesn't like fish so Mom & Mom-in-Law uses the odd opportunity to splash out - besides the fact that I am not there to cook), and each and every window is shut tighter than a clay oxen's butt, and every, and I DO mean EVERY, light in and outside the house is on.

I don't want to feel guilty about spending the money on going out instead of spending it on my kids or SOMETHING ELSE THAT IS MORE IMPORTANT.

I don't want to drive home after spending money to be faced by beggars on every street corner (I see they bus them in these days - four per robot or stopstreet - sometimes with the obligatory helper to steer the blind) and be forced to acknowledge my own financial well-being and the financial not-so-well-being. Let me be for goodness sake - I have my own guilt- trip issues...I don't want your poverty on my brain (while I drive home with the take-aways on my lap). I know, I know. Mean-spirited bitch, hey? But hell, there are some days....

I want to stay at home.

I don't want to have to decide.

Leave me alone.

Don't phone me. (I know you are going to ask me to come out and then I sound like the party pooper when I always say no.)

Don't do any surprise visits. I will be in my fat tracksuit with the holes on the knees. My hair will be in a clip and my fringe will be oily. I will have no make-up on. I will have oatmeal on my (very old and stretched) jersey. I will be wearing my incredibly cheap and nasty mass produced plastic Chinese slops. (Whose maker, by the way, should get the Nobel prize). I will probably have a red and sweaty face because I am doing some or other filthy hobby/cleaning job. I will be tired and irritable because I have been picking up and cleaning after the brats the whole day - weekends provides a WHOLE DAY's opportunity of messing, you see.

And of course, as you have pre-planned the visit, you will look great, smell of perfume and as always, your figure looks good in anything.

I want to be at home.

My kids are safe here.

Princeling can climb, run, jump and anything else he fancies, as much as he wants to, and I know he will be (relatively) safe.

After three years, anything that can cut & maim him have done so, and has been packed away.

The pool has a fence and a net on.

The double gate system is (99.9% - apart from the time with the dog) in place.

Anything that he can hang himself up/against with - has been trimmed/chopped/tied up.

I can relax here.

Don't expect me to come for a social braai or a restaurant visit with my kids in tow.

IT IS NOT RELAXING RUNNING AFTER A DEMENTED THREE YEAR OLD!!!!!!

He runs faster than me anyways. There is no ways I can catch him.

And when I do, he scratches, howls and bites. (You know that little maneuvre when you want to pick them up and they pull their shoulders 'in' so they slip through like an eel and you end up with half the jacket and a half-dressed squirming, squealing child on the floor?)

And no - he does not have any psychological issues, he is quite normal - as any mother of an average 3 year old can assure you...

And people STARE. And shake their heads. And mutter: TSK! TSK! under their breath.

And even though you always say, fuck the people, we ARE the people, you do care.

And you can feel your face getting hotter and hotter. And your hair is suddenly SO irritating.

And you can see they are all commenting amongst themselves that that is a seriously naughty child and that YOU have no control over him. The frozen smiles and stiff next as their eyes casually saunter over your little scene and the stiff lips as they mutter, mutter, mutter. The partner's eyes quickly darting to your table before they look away....dead giveaway.

But boy!!! Who are the first to jump up and lecture you about child abuse should you lose the plot and smack him on the butt....

So you end up hissing idle threats. Cajole. Plead. Buying the toy/hamburger/chips/Coke/chocolate mousse/balloon/toy car that nobody is going to use/eat. The item you would NEVER under normal circumstances buy.

So no. I have decided.

Give me a boring weekend at home any day, thank you very much.

I'd rather do washing than lunch.

Chewey The Licky

This is Morgan...my poor departed brak.

May his little soul rest in peace.

May he catch as many cats as he can without getting kakked on.

May he eat only eat fillet steak from now on.

May he FINALLY catch that Hadeda...

May he never be scared of thunder and lightning again.

May he bark at the gate as much as he wants to.

And may the tree grow much better where we buried his little fury body...

What a Kak Week or Two!!

Dear Diary

It has been forever since my last confession.

Where do I begin? Princeling got bad flu (as you will remember by my last writing).

Friday afternoon (two weeks ago), he couldn't breath..made these funny gasping breathes.

Took him to the paediatrician, who promptly admitted him to hospital for severe respiratory distress. Drip in , blood test, nebulising every two hours, steroids twice a day, the whole lot.

Mommy slept in the horrible lazy boy next to the cot. Only found out two nights further it can actually lean back more than what I had it on.

So anyways, child is ok - battling to breath a bit, but getting better. Mommy getting more and more tired. By Sunday the doc says - OK Monday morning you will probably go home.

In the interim the blood results come back.

* A 74.6 count allergy to cats (I have 3)(doc says he has never seen such a high count in a child) (should be less than 0.35),
* 30 something to dogs (we have 2)(should be less than 0.35),
* house dust mites(2.72 - should be between 0-0.35).(Thank goodness we just got rid of the carpets and put in wooden floors)
* horses (4.86 - should be less than 0.35)-Tonto will have to go, slight milk, infant milk (formula).
* & cows. No more milking Daisy then..

* Oh - and he is testing positive for asthma. (eosin Cationic Protein 65.90 (should be between 0-15)).

What fun.

Sunday morning, the child does not look well. Something is up.

He is listless, the tummy looks like a drum and he is farting something real bad. Stinky.

Monday morning 11:00 we are at home. Princess 2 (in the interim) has contracted tonsillitis (yes the fun never stops when you are a parent). Princeling, Princess 2 and I all in the bed, catching up on some much deserved sleep. 3 o'clock he sits up. "Mommy - I am coughing..."

And then the puking begins. And doesn't stop.


I phone the doc at his room - not there (somewhere in the hospital). He phones me back at 6 when he gets to paeds (where I eventually left a message for the sister in charge). Explain everything..."OK Mom, you have to bring him back immediatly.."

So 6:30 we were back at the hospital child dripped up again.
Rotavirus.
Good old fashioned seriously contagious gastro.
And the child pukes.
And vomits.
And pukes some more.
Eventually he couldn't anymore. Was just dry retching. 1 o'clock he (and 1:30 me) finally passes out.

Then next morning - the diarrhea starts... eish....the smell. Ugh.

We stayed there until Thursday morning - when we were finally allowed to go home..

Now, I find it interesting, after I have done my Internet research (amazing how knowledge is now available to us) that Rotavirus has an incubation period of 2 days.

Which means if he started feeling sick on Sunday/Monday - he must have gotten it on Friday at the hospital - as we were not in contact with any strangers outside our house the week prior.

It is transmitted via fecal/oral contact.

Now, I also find it interesting that in the whole time there - out of the staff of 15-20 who rotate during day & nite shifts, I only saw 2 sisters/nurses actually wash their hands in our ward. This was also mentioned by two other mothers in the same ward.

Note - the 2nd time we were in the 'gastro' ward...

There were no diposal bags for soiled nappies - except for the big communal bin in the room (with the broken lid). Well, there were 2 actually (both with broken lids): one for domestic and one for medical waste. The people were friendly enough - but everytime my child's bed got soiled, I ended up cleaning it myself as the staff took so long to come and help... (After requesting new linen a few times....)

And this is a private clinic, for which (thank goodness for medical aid) my medical aid probably paid through their noses....

Ah...to live in Africa. It IS defintely an experience you cannot explain to someone. You actually have to do it to appreciate it.

Friday morning Princess 1 felt nauseous. So she stayed home from school. On Monday too. Then The Lord & Master of the Manor got sick.

(Sheesh -don't these people know how to wash their hands?????)

OK - he did have bladder infection...but still.

Sunday some Mini Cooper Driving Marketing Schmuck Woman charged past my house at top speed (just as a friend of mine & her husband were coming in through our front gate), the dog ran out, and she hit him at about 120km per hour.

Thud.

Not even screech of tyres....she stops about 5 houses down, she went so fast.. I suppose I should be grateful she stopped.
Jumps out of her car.
Wails like a banshee..."I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry...I know they are like children...wail, wail, wail".

Now this is all while my dog is lying in the road, blood pouring from his mouth - all four legs stiff like pegs.

Yeah, whatever, cow.

So my friend's husband (who is a policeman) kindly offers to put the dog down with his .45.


Er...horror.

'Eet ees beeg bullet. We taik heem inside. I shoot queek.' (They Bulgarian see.)

The dog's heart is still beating strong.

'Okee. Maibee yhou taik dog to the vet. Maibe hee survaive. Leelte dowgs sometimes veery strongk.'

So I take dog to vet.

Where he promptly gets dripped up and morphined out. Two days and R6,000 later (divide by 7 for the Yanks), we put him down. No broken bones or organs, just the serious brain damage. Can't hear, can't see - no response in the pupils.

Is it OK to cry so much over a dog, who your main conversation with was: Voetsek, blerrie stupid dog."?

By Tuesday afternoon I couldn't see out of my eyes.

We fetched Morgan and buried him in our garden. Now poor Toby is alone...

I think I cried for the loss of his little life, for the light that was snuffed out in his bright little eyes.
For the pathetic little strange-voiced barks he gave at the vet ("he doesn't know where he is or what is going on"), for all the times I was ugly to him, ignored him.

For all the times he was happy to see us.

For all the times he barked at people at the gate or strange sounds in the night - keeping us safe.

For all the times we chased him around the garden, with his tongue flapping wildly, yapping happily.

For the times in summer we would chuck him in the pool with us, and when upon getting out - he would charge down the garden like a lunatic.

For his little brown spotty nose.

For his surreptitious licking.

We used to call him Chewey the Licky. (He looked like Chewbacca but licked too much. This dry little hot tongue - and he was so fast, you would think to yourself: 'Did that dog just lick me? I am not sure').

The sheepish look he got when caught out at something.

The shivers when the Highveld thunderstorms approached. And then he would practically try and climb on your lap because he was so scared of the thunder and lightning.

I cry for him because, in spite of what I thought I felt about him, I loved him a lot. And he was a part of our family like very other member.

Needless to say, it was a hectic week.

Who am I today?

Happy that my son is better.
Sad that he now has to use an asthma inhaler twice a day.
Sad because my cats had to banned to outdoor living (and this in winter).
Happy because my daughter is better.
Sad and tired.
And feeling sorry that I did not take the policeman up on his offer immediately.

Catching Up!!

OK - so it's been some time since I wrote.

I have been deliberately weaning myself from the PC for a few days. This is all just getting so damn addictive.

I wake up with this heady rush, shooing everyone off to work and school, cleaning the house, getting the washing done, re-planning dinner, packing the kids sarmies for tomorrow, placating the Heir, and all the time in the back of my mind like a little pathetic voice: "turn me on, turn me on, see who thinks you are worthy to respond to, go on, go on, there are people that are prepared to talk to you - you are normal after all".

And the damded voice will JUST NOT SHUT UP. I have enough guilt issues without having to deal with this shit as well. I will spend as much time on the computer talking to my imaginary shrink - we will call him Dr Dennis - AS MUCH AS I WANT TO.

I have been stressing so much:

• The bloody business is sinking and the taxman as well as every other bloody debitor wants cash
• I am currently unemployed, however I should go look for a job.
• I am too old and overweight to find a job. Realistically speaking. There's a good blog waiting there...
• Mainly: I don't WANT to go look for another job.
• I had a good paying job (even if it wasn't particularly enjoyable) and if Lord & Master of the House did not STUFF IT UP with his dodgy partner deals, I would have still had my job and we would have done well. But listening to your Serving Wench? - Hah!! out of the question. This topic I doubt will ever come up for discussion except for this mention here....
• Mother and mother-in-law living with me. This will be a total seperate blog as clearly this one needs some serious ser-i-aa-s discussion.
• Two brother-in-laws & their wives (read here and my ex best friend) and two brothers and their wives do not contribute one financial cent to maintaining their parent. Clearly another topic rearing its ugly head. A long one at that. This might be just blog nr 1 the way I feel today.
• My step-son who is turning 21 in June is still on our pay-roll/maintenance. Not so much of a thanks there - all I see on Facebook are the party photos. Party?????? With who's money?????? When you are supposed to be studying with who's money?????? Cretin.

My ass is just getting bigger and bigger. Some strange German woman accosted me at the fleamarket and in a very 'gentle'way (she is a Reikimaster (yeah? Oooh! Aaah!) after all) decided she needs to speak to me about my needs, my obvious emotional issues and the fact that I clearly eat as a way to ease my pain and to hide myself behind. :-O

Well - you know when a stranger does this and then insists on hugging you - there are some issues at stake here.

Oh and my cat that I bought in Christmas is not a hugger, That stresses me out even more. I pick the damn thing up to kiss and he pulls a long neck, looks away rather stiffly: says "Meeeeeaaaaauuuuuwwwwww..."and then heads for the bottom om the nearest bed as soon as I can put him down.

I'll tame him yet. He came into my bedroom all by hisself today. One step closer. I'll suck his face off yet.

So Who Am I today?

A bad mood creature who's period started.

Cheerio Buds
Sleep well "Lekker slapies"!

My Little Sickling

Ohhh... what a hectic two days it has been. Young Princling has (what the doctor officially calls) Herp Angina.

What this means, to myself and other moms is: an irratable 3-year old with sores in his mouth, vomiting on the hour, a high fever every 3 hours, whinging and whinging and whinging and does not feel happy anywhere else but on Mom's lap.

So. I smell of puke and sweat - but at least my hair looks lovely (had some time to do it this morning!) and it gave me good excuse to cancel my root canal and toothcap appointment!!

Poor little sickling.

But the doc says there is hope - it is a 2-3 day bug. WHAAATTTT???? Another 24 hours of this? I am going bos already...

Ah..the joys of motherhood.

Health to all!!!

A Visit from My Past

What an interesting day!

Had replies from my old, dearest schoolmates on Facebook. I am so happy to be in contact again with everyone after wondering for so many years who is where and what are they doing...

My stepson, Young Bull, surprised us with his presence. All the way from Durban, nogal. Introduced the new Mrs Bull Wannabe (thank goodness I had the foresight to do my hair and smack on a face). Hm. Chat, chat, chat.

"So, what did you do earlier today?"

"Uh - just came back from the hospital to see the new baby."

Me - stupido stupendo - "what new baby?"

Young Bull: "Oh, my Mom's new baby - she just had another one a week ago. The baby was two months premature."

Silence. Total jaw drop.

(The first baby's birthday is tomorrow. Which makes it two babies in exactly two years for a 40-year old. Eish!)

Hehe. Now imagine that pitter patter of little feet in two years. And this for a self-confessed non-maternal woman... My best wishes to her though.

I love babies. It's when they start moving about when all the stresses begin!

So.

Tonight it is roast chicken rolls with cheese and lettuce for dinner.

Goodnight lovies - sleep tight!

What Does This Day Bring Me?

Morning Anonymous Friends

Groggy this morning. I have a hangover and I didn't even have the pleasure of earning it... Don't know why this headache. Stress-related? Noggin is throbbing something mad.

My day so far: did the washing, cleaned up the same clothes/toys/beds/shoes/papers I cleaned up yesterday morning (exciting stuff this houswife thing), changed The Prince's nappy, fed him 2-minute Noodles, farted around on the Internet.

Very happy to have Internet access after an absence of two months. Signing up on all the websites like a drug-starved junkie who has access to the hospital pharmacy...

Logged onto MySpace (hey! Eddie Grant is my now officially my 'friend'- yes - THE Eddie Grant - does that make me famous too?), logged onto Facebook.
I am stunned by how technologically backward I have been (until now). Half of my old friends and school friends on Facebook - half my family and in-laws too!! Suddenly I am real-time chatting to people and sharing info with people I have not seen in twenty years! Freaky.

No if only Andrew Ridgeley would return my mail... *sigh*.

Still milling around in a dwaal.
Not sure who I am and what I want to do with my life.
Am I depressed?
Is the the start of (no don't say it, don't say it - especially not out loud) a mid-life crisis? AAARRRGGHHH!!!! My womb is still working perfectly for goodness sake!! I am too young for issues and questions like this. Other women older than me are still having children.. When Lord & Master (he of the knife-making and other skills) of The House jokingly suggested this the other nite, he got a good sulk session from me. And now I am asking - is this possible?

Am I really getting OLD?

But I have still so much to do!

I haven't lost the weight - worn all those beautiful clothes I always dream of wearing...
I haven't become a doctor yet.
I haven't been overseas enough.
I haven't made a movie or met a famous moviestar.
I haven't made enough money.
I haven't become one of the popular girls - the soccer mommies who are all dolled up to the T. With their R1,500 hairdo's. Their manicured nails. Their tight little gym asses in designer jeans. Their fashionable diet drinks and waterbottles. The constant snide and catty remarks if you are not one of the 'in'-crowd. The big fourwheelers that they collect their barrage of kids (as well as their neighbours.) Their smooth botox faces and their plump restylene lips. The high round and clearly paid for boobs.

There is just so much I haven't done.

And the realisation is dawning on me that, most probably, I will never do any of it.

I will have this life, where I am not really anyone special. The life in which I am never going to do anything special. In which I will be another human spec on this planet. To be remembered after my passing only by my parents and my children.

Maybe Lord & Master of the House is right. His theory: the meaning of life is your parents and your children. Before and after that is nothing.

So here I am - living the meaning of life.

So why am I feeling so hollow?