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...