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!