Month: April 2012

When we saw Jesus

Once again this is an overdue blog post. I have been writing this in my head for days now, so it might end up being quite a long one. I might also ramble.

I was bathing the girls on Sunday and we were having a fat chat when Daniel comes into the bathroom. “Mom, do you remember when you put the rope on my door?” and laughs.

I almost died.

When Daniel was 18 months we moved him out of his cot and we went through the whole saga of trying to keep him in his bed at night. Enter Toddler Taming, a book that someone recommended to me that had some sound advice, amongst which was a little trick to keep your toddler from wandering around the house. You tie a rope around the inside door handle of your child’s door and then on the outside to another door so that the door isn’t closed, but the child can’t get out. So they can see and hear you, but they can’t get out.

Send the Parenting Police, I don’t care. (Ok, maybe just a little) What got me was that he REMEMBERED it.

He wasn’t traumatised by it, but our boy remembers stuff that happened when he was 18 months old. Scares the living crap out of me.

Then.

The kids are very into Bible stories at the moment. They each have their illustrated Bible books and we read them. A LOT. It’s actually fine because it beats the Barbie Trifecta and the lessons are good.

On Saturday my friend Sue and I took our kids for lunch at Nitida. (her little girl is Daniel’s BFF) and we took a walk around the farm to see what their school looks like now. (You might know that they were all at Chameleons until the end of 2011).

As we are strolling, minding our own business, a group of guys come walking up the road, one of them wrapped in a red sheet in what appeared to be a Bachelor’s party.

As we pass the group one of the girls pipe up: “Mamma! Kyk! Dis Jesus!”

Of course they heard us and were all canning themselves. We herded the kids away very quickly, stumbling to explain that it was, in fact, not Jesus, but someone dressed up for a party. But we had a good chuckle over it.

Ok, I’m done rambling.  There is more, but I’ll come back later for more.

Hope you all have a fantastic long weekend, we are gearing up for Daniel’s party on Tuesday.  Gulp.

Evening madness

I arrived home late this evening and both Etienne and I have had a hectic week at work so far. I think the kids picked up on it, even though we don’t talk about work or snap at the kids (that we know of).

They put us through the wringer between supper and bedtime, we are still reeling.

Point in case:

Wednesday nights are fish nights. Every single Wednesday night there is a massive drama and crying (I HAAATTTEEE FISH!!) and the odd time-out until they simmer down and actually take a bite and they declare it delicious. We roll our eyes Every Single Time. I just need to add that the drama is usually caused by one of the girls, Daniel will eat roadkill if you dress it up as salad.

But tonight was a hell all by itself. We dish up the fish. Isabel starts sobbing, she’s not eating fish. She hates fish. We ignore. She carries on. We say, have you tried it yet? Yes, she says, sobbing her heart out. (she hadn’t even sniffed it) Fast forward to our 1-2-3-time out count and off she goes.

Cue 4 minutes of silence with the faraway sounds of a pissed off child in the bathroom.

Isabel comes back to the table.

Mignon pushes her food around the plate, we ask Please try some of your fish. NO! she cries and shoves her plate away, placemat and all. Like we have just suggested she eat some 3 week old brown bananas that have been sitting in the fruit bowl.

Rinse and repeat of Isabel’s episode, sans the trip to the bathroom, as she simmered down at 1-2. But the tears didn’t end. We eventually compromised on more butternut and 2 bites of fish.

Bedtime was a whole other story, I ended up reading to Mignon by herself as she was completely inconsolable. I think they are feeling the pinch with lack of attention at the moment, my babies.

As a side-bar: You know what’s the weirdest thing I only realised when silence descended?
We don’t get pissed off, we don’t get emotional. We stick together and we back each other up. But fark it’s hard work. So much for not wanting to drink at all this week.

Here is Mignon in all her sad glory:

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Staking a claim on yourself after kids

Our favourite app

When I had babies I stopped doing a lot of things that I didn’t even realize made me feel good.

For example, I stopped wearing necklaces.  I have literally bags of beads that were yanked off my neck by a zealous baby we hurriedly had to retrieve off the floor lest one of them finds their way into a little mouth.  And once, shortly after the girls were born, I wore a necklace to the office a colleague helpfully pointed out that it “makes my neck look fat”.

I stopped wearing my wedding rings because I refused to have them altered after having the girls and they haven’t fit since.  I mean, who was going to wonder if I’m married or not anyway?  I’m very sure I gave off this “I’m a harried Mom” look that made most people run screaming.

I haven’t worn a watch since I was pregnant with Daniel.  Not that I think I will again either.

I have a set of silver bangles I used to wear for many years that was like a basic (after earrings and lipstick) that lay desolate in my jewelry box.

I hardly ever wore make-up when I didn’t absolutely have to. Ok, I still don’t, but there’s something therapeutic about waking up and putting on your face.

My hair was, well, uhm, interesting.  It actually still is, now it’s just longer and I can tie it up instead of walking around with naff, haphazardly blow-dried hair.  I have really stubborn hair and I don’t have time or money to deal with it, so I’ve just accepted it.

I didn’t make an effort to dress nicely.  Who wants to look at a fat chick anyway? It was all black and long and wide.  The bigger the better.  And most mornings I was covered in puke/toothpaste/milk/porridge/mud anyway.

But things have changed over the last few months.  I have come to realize that something as small as a pretty bracelet could really put a little spring in your step in the mornings.  It’s the little things that make you feel good.  Finding a nice lipstick, pretty toes, glitter varnish on your fingers because the girls demanded it so.

It didn’t happen overnight and I’m still stubbornly hiding those big black clothes in the back of the cupboard, but every day I promise myself I’m going to try and look good FOR MYSELF.  I’m going to stop comparing myself to other, skinnier women.  (There’s always going to be someone skinnier than me and even then I would probably find something I didn’t like about myself.)

I now actually look at myself in the mirror.  The first few months it was HARD.  The self-loathing was too much and, to be honest, some days it still is.  But every day I put on something that makes me feel good, no matter how small, and then I actually feel good for the day.  It has been such a gradual process and I only now realize how life changing it has been.

I feel like I’m reclaiming my own “girlyness” and I’m loving every minute of it!  Next up: purple nails and glitter tops.

ps: don’t google “dress up”.  I found an “original Jesus dress up” with various outfits you can put him whilst he is on the cross.  Don’t even ask, the internet is a very strange place.

pps: I suspect soon I will be seeing “Jesus dress up” in my google search stats. Oops.

Understanding the left-handed child – a question

I am completely fascinated by twins, especially because we have a set of our own.  Partly because I want to make sure that we raise them as individuals within their dynamic whilst making sure that they stay close, but also because I want to equip them with what the world will assume about them because they look the same.

During both of my pregnancies we used to love watching the “in the womb” series on National Geographic and they had just brought out the twins version when I was pregnant with the girls.

One of the things I remember most is that they referred to twins often being “mirror twins”.  In other words, they literally mirror each other, so much so that sometimes even their organs mirror each other (not the case with Mignon and Isabel).

Besides the fact that their personalities and personal tastes are very different, the biggest way that our girls mirror each other is that Mignon is right-handed and Isabel left-handed.  I know that technically speaking it is a little early to say your child is left-handed as they are only 4, but Isabel does everything with her left hand, so I think it is safe to say it will probably stay that way.

This brings back lots of memories of the challenges I have seen left-handed people have.  For example, my friend Leo always battled to write with those blasted fountain pens we were forced to write with at school as it kept smudging.

My sister (being the only left-handed person in our family) also had her fair share of battles growing up as no-one really catered for lefties in the 80’s.  It was difficult to teach her how to eat as a left-handed person because my parents simply didn’t know how.  Nowadays I can easily go and buy a pair of scissors specifically for Isabel and I’m comfortable that she won’t be made to feel like a freak or be forced to use her right hand when she goes to school.   (as a side bar: they must just try it, she is stubborn as all hell.  No idea where she gets it from of course)

So I want to ask: do you have left-handed children or are you left-handed yourself?

What are the biggest challenges you faced?  Is there anything we could be doing for Isabel to make it easier for her or something obvious that right-handed people miss that’s hard for lefties?

As always, comments, suggestions and advice is more than welcome!

Blogging about not blogging

I feel like I have missed a couple of sessions at support group lately.

“Hi, my name is Tania and I’m a blogger”

Only, I haven’t been blogging.  In fact, I haven’t been doing much of anything lately.  Not tweeting, not blogging, not crocheting.  The odd half-hearted attempt at Words with Friends (which I’m spectalularly bad at). Over 800 posts sitting in my reader.  Neglected friends in real life and in the computer.

I come here and start writing a post, don’t finish it and then it sits in my drafts, staring at me with puppy dog eyes every time I open the page.  Oh the guilt of The Unfinished Blog Post.

I’m not going through anything spectacularly bad at the moment.  Although going through a rough patch generally gives you a reason to blog, even though you sometimes do it in a roundabout passive-aggressive way.

It’s not like I don’t have anything to say.  Trust me, if you have known me for longer than 30 seconds you’ll know I ALWAYS have something to say.

Blogging friends, have you ever just not felt like blogging?  Just not been able to scrape together a coherent sentence that you think fit for public consumption and whatever you write just doesn’t look right?