Month: January 2013

Change, she is inevitable

keep-calm-and-smooch-18We officially reached a milestone yesterday that made me a little sad.  A necessary and completely natural milestone, but still.

Picture this: (said in best Sophia Petrillo voice – and if you don’t know who she is, you could possibly be too young to read this blog)

Yesterday morning I went for my morning walk and when I came home there was a child and a husband in our bed.  When I opened the bathroom door after my shower there were 3 children and a husband in our bed and it was all giggles. (which reminds me, we need a bigger bed)

Etienne got up and, as is our morning habit, we had a little smooch in the bathroom, much to the loudly proclaimed disgust and dismay of the 3 children watching our every move from the bed.  This is the first time ever they have reacted whatsoever to any affection Etienne and I have shown each other (except for that One Time We Shall Not Mention I have been forbidden to blog about or discuss in public)

At the same time there was also much discussion about boobies and tummies and mommy’s bum. Which was hilarious (mostly) and I don’t really mind as I want the kids to be comfortable about their bodies and what they look like, even if it is at the cost of a little of my dignity.

We are quite an affectionate couple in private, I guess affection is the love language we share, so we are often touching or hugging or kissing in front of the kids and they have never before said anything about it, much less asked us not to touch or kiss.

All the parenting books always say you should show affection in front of your kids (much like they say you should breastfeed), but they never tell you how to react when your kids suddenly react negatively to it (much like those same books never tell you how to deal with stopping the milk when baby refuses you and you know it’s time to give up), so we are going to choose to ignore the gagging sounds and just Keep Calm and Smooch.

But my babies!  My babies are growing up way too fast! Next thing we’ll be dispensing marriage advice, which hopefully they won’t need too much of because we would have set a fairly good example.

Has this happened to you yet?  How did you handle it?

Chores and Pocketmoney – advice please

My friend Sue (hi Sue!) asked me about chores and pocket money recently as her daughter (and Daniel’s BFF) is also in Grade 1 this year and we agree that it is time to really start teaching our kids about the value of money*.

This is something I have been wondering about as well, so I’m crowd sourcing some answers pretty please with cream on top.

At the moment our kids don’t formally do chores (beyond putting their dishes away) and we don’t want to create an environment where they only do chores because they won’t get money otherwise (I know, who am I kidding, they are kids, right?). We want it to be about getting your pocket money because you did your chores and not use it as a stick. Yes, I can see you old hands laughing in the corner over there…

I grew up a very lucky and spoilt little girl, everything was done for me and I hardly had to lift a finger when I was growing up. As lovely as this was it didn’t necessarily equip me for beginning to cook or mop floors or pick up dog poo or take out the trash. So I’m going to put my own Working Mother guilt aside and do our kids a huge favour.

Here are the questions I have:

At what age did your kids start with chores?

What type of chores do your kids do? (Age appropriately)

Do you make use of charts and if so, how do you make them work? (I’m not sure that will work here, purely because there would be too many adults involved in monitoring, thus more room for error)

Do you link chores to pocket money or do they just get an allowance. If so, how much at what age?

 

Thank you!

*Daniel very smartly told us one morning this week after he had left his takkies at school the previous day that he doesn’t really care, Mommy will buy more.  Horror does not begin to describe the looks on our faces.

The night someone threw a rock at my car

My Dad (bless him, I love him to distraction) is forever sending me emails about how we are all going to be killed in our sleep, how margarine is actually plastic and those random stories of scary strange things that happen to people. I usually scan through these mails, but don’t really take them seriously.

Until Saturday night.

He recently sent me an email about the modus operandi of guys that walk in the middle of the road just outside Meerendal at night and how they basically force people off the road, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I did find the location a bit close to home though. When I see these things I always think in my head ‘how stupid are these people, why do they slow down?’

Well. On Saturday night we were visiting friends in Melkbos and I was on drive duty. I knew I was good to drive and we smugly drove past the roadblock that was set up on the other side of the N7 for traffic going towards Malmesbury. I’m comfortable driving at night as I did so for a long long time when I was working shifts in the hotel industry. I regard myself as a pretty good driver and I’m confident on the road.

As we approached the Durbanville/Table View turnoff, just where the street lights begin, there was a car pulled off on the left shoulder of the 2 lane road. There were 2 guys that looked like they were crossing the highway and we saw them and commented on how someone was going to run them over. I kept an eye on them and they made me nervous so guess what I did?

I slowed down.

As we got closer the one guy ducked and the other guy, in the middle of the right-hand line threw something at my car that went DOOF on my bonnet, but because my Dad has drilled it into me my entire life that you never ever stop if you aren’t sure, I accelerated and kept going.

Etienne and I were SO shocked, it took us a couple of minutes to really comprehend that some asshole threw a rock at our car. We couldn’t believe it. All I know is that, if I was going any faster that rock would have been through the windscreen of the car.

The kids were asleep in the back of the car and I didn’t scream or anything, so they slept through the whole thing and know nothing about it, but still.

By the time we got home I had a little bit of the shakes, but mostly I was really, really pissed off. There’s quite a ding in the bonnet so it must have been quite a rock.

How dare some idiot fuck around on a highway in the middle of the night and endanger the lives of 5 people, 3 of which are MY children?

How dare they?

Ps. I tweeted Helen Zille last night asking who I could contact and she put me in contact with someone whom I am now in conversation with. Never underestimate the power of twitter

A tale of two pillows

This is a completely random story that may or may not bore you. What it will do is underline the gross generalisation that estate agents are born to lie. Much as BMW drivers are born to drive like assholes, but that’s for another day.

We had a lovely holiday (which is now a very distant memory) and checked out of the house we rented on 3 January. As I was already halfway terminal with Bronchitis I packed the suitcases and checked rooms and cupboards and drawers and made sure that everything was on the bed in our room. Everything including our pillows, that were in plain view.

We always travel with our own pillows. Etienne because he likes a really, really flat pillow and me because a) other people’s pillows give me the heebie jeebies and b) I sleep only on a (very expensive) memory foam pillow that I am very, very attached to. As in, I cannot sleep on any other pillow.

So, I stacked all the suitcases on our bed along with the pillows and Etienne was in charge of Evacuation and Packing. I was in charge of Getting Children to Pee.

We arrive home and unpack the car, only to realise the pillows were left behind. On the bed. In plain sight. (Have I mentioned this?) But let’s not linger at the sense of utter disappointment and betrayal I felt at being separated from my beloved pillow. Life’s too short, forgive and forget and all that you know.

I then drove to Tygervalley and, in my rapidly deteriorating health, dragged myself around trying to find another pillow. This was not possible as clearly everyone this side of the N1 decided they needed a farking memory foam pillow for Christmas. But anyway, as I said, no grudges held or anything like that, I kept calm and carried on.

I also called the agent, Pieter* and arrange for the pillows to be collected and dropped off with our friends that were leaving the next day.

Much to my surprise (gasp!), no pillows were dropped off and no-one at the Estate Agent’s office knew anything about the pillows the next day when our friends went out of their way to stop there and enquire.

Never fear, our friends had another friend that was only leaving a week later that was happy to bring them to Cape Town, then give them to our friends who would then return them to us. I was not pleased, but short of driving back to Shelley Point I really didn’t have much choice. I would just have to drown my separation anxiety in vodka.

Last Monday I called the lovely Pieter* to arrange for said pillows to be dropped off. He knows nothing about the pillows, hasn’t seen them, but promises to send someone to look for them. I breathe deeply, count to 10 and politely thank him for all his efforts. A little while later he calls back, ecstatic. I would never guess, the pillows have been in his car all this time and he will drop them off at the house (right around the corner!) that very same day. I could almost feel my lovely pillow under my check and I dreamt of all the lovely dreams I would dream once we are reunited, my pillow and I.

So, the week goes by and Etienne doesn’t want to keep bothering this friend of our friends about the pillows, so we wait. On Saturday morning I finally make him sms the guy, nope, sorry, no pillows have been dropped off. At which point I become very sad and unhappy about the imminent loss of my beloved pillow.

So, I call my dear friend Pieter*, but his phone is off. I call the office and leave a rather colourfully worded message on the voicemail. I have to confess, this news almost broke me, this potentially devastating and highly avoidable loss of my pillow was just a little too much for my gentle constitution.

I eventually get hold of a lady in the office who tells me that the pillows have been in their office SINCE THE DAY WE LEFT, but that she couldn’t help me as she had an appointment in 30 minutes and couldn’t drop our pillows off at the house AROUND THE CORNER, but that she would try to make a plan. I assured her that it would probably be in her best interest to try and make that plan.
Needless to say, no pillows came back to Cape Town with the friend of our friends.

BUT THEN. I received a phone call today to gleefully inform me to collect my pillows from a random company in Bellville with no indication of who to ask for or where they would be.

The Hunt for Tania’s Pillow continues.

*I have made absolutely no attempt to change his name. The liar.

The obligatory first day of school post

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Before we discuss the spectacularly uneventful and drama-deprived first day of Grade 1 and the girls’ Grade 00 (fledglings) I should tell you about Isabel this morning.

Before we left for school I went to the loo and as I got up to zip my pants Isabel asks me ‘Mamma, hoekom is jou magie so vet?’ (Mom, why is your stomach so fat?). When I managed to gather my dignity off the bathroom floor I explained that she, Daniel and Mignon all came our my tummy. But not at the same time of course. There was a moment when she looked like she wasn’t going to accept that perfectly (!!) good reason for not having a concave stomach, but then she smiled and nodded. Phew.

How was our morning? Amazing. We were on time, no-one was shouting, there were no tears and no hysterical clinging to legs. And that’s just me.

We all walked Daniel to his class where he had no problem waving us off after a little spell of uncertainty. Etienne and I then walked the girls to their class where Mignon immediately hugged her new teacher and Isabel dodged the hug (not that into affection that child) and headed straight for all the cool stuff in the class. We hung around for a while, dispensed many hugs, kisses and high fives. They then discovered some play dough and promptly dismissed us.

Etienne and I were a little, well, bemused. As first school days go this was a complete breeze. He is dropping off for the rest of the week, so lets hope the good luck continues!

How was your first day of school?

Ps. My Mother, bless her, bought each of our children a microphone for Christmas. And a guitar for Daniel. Aren’t we lucky? This is how lucky we are:

Euthanasia – would you?

I know this is a bit of a grim topic for a Tuesday as we are all probably feeling a bit grim anyway having to be back at work after the holidays, but I read this article about twins that decided to have themselves Euthanised and thought WTF?

In a nutshell (and I quote):

The (deaf) twins had lived and worked together their whole lives. They worked as cobblers, suffered spinal and heart disease, and were about to lose their vision from glaucoma.

and

“Many will wonder why my brothers have opted for euthanasia because there are plenty of deaf and blind that have a ‘normal’ life,” he said. “But my brothers trudged from one disease to another. They were really worn out.”

“They lived together, did their own cooking and cleaning. You could eat off the floor. Blindness would have made them completely dependent. They did not want to be in an institution,” said Mr Verbessem.

It could be that I’m super sensitive to the fact that twins decided to have themselves Euthanised because I have twins, but this just strikes me as very, very wrong.

Dying is not really something I spend a lot of time thinking about and I have wondered on occasion under what circumstances I would choose to have myself Euthanised. I have thought maybe if I had dementia or Alzheimer’s, but at which point do you draw the line, because generally speaking when you are ready to draw the line you wouldn’t care anyway.

Terminal illness? No thanks, I would want to suck those last few days/minutes/hours out of life and spend them with my family.

If you knew were you going to die on a certain day you could probably plan things properly and book your funeral in advance and choose your own casket etc, but in my heart of Calvinistic upbringing hearts I can’t get my head around it.  It just seems very cold and calculated. Maybe I just like the fact of NOT knowing when I’m going to die, I prefer the element of surprise, if you know what I mean. Or am I very old school and narrowminded in my thinking?

What do you think, would you choose to have yourself taken out of the gene pool and if so, under which circumstances? 

 

 

 

A very heavy heart

Tonight I sit here, unable to sleep, in my dark and quiet lounge, with a very heavy heart.

You see, tomorrow I go back to work after 3 weeks’ holiday. I have had the best 3 weeks with my family and feel more connected to our kids than I have in a really long time.

Tomorrow morning Etienne will drop our kids off at aftercare and I will feel like the worst Mother on the face of the planet for not dropping them off myself because I have to be at work at a certain time.

I took the girls to go and hang out at their new aftercare on Friday (because school only starts on Wednesday) and I looked at the other 4 year olds there that were dropped off at a brand new school that morning, some of whom have to be dropped off at 7am and will only be collected at 6pm because those are their personal circumstances. My heart ached for those Mothers that have to leave their kids there, because I know how it feels. We are lucky that they will only spend the morning there tomorrow because our Megan will collect them, but still. My babies.

The kids have been asking lots of questions this last week about why Mommy can’t fetch them from school and why they have to go to aftercare. Why mommy comes home so late every day. And it feels like I’m being stabbed every time they ask. We have explained to them that if Mommy doesn’t work there are a lot of things we wouldn’t have, like food.

But still. It hurts like a bastard.

Would I want to not work? No. I love my job and for my own sanity I need to leave the house every day to go to work, otherwise I would never fix my hair or my face (as I haven’t done the last 3 weeks) and I wouldn’t be a happy person.

I just wish I had more hours in the day or I could be in 2 places at the same time or have more balance. I wish I could magically shuffle my life around so I could get it all done. I wish I had my head around all the school things and work things and marriage things and friend things and never drop a ball. Sadly though, no amount of being super organised is ever going to solve that problem. Someone will always suffer. Or in my case, 3 little someones.

So kids, if you’re reading this and you are teenagers that hate my guts or parents yourselves one day that are battling the same demons, this is how I felt tonight.

Now push off, the pity party is over, life carries on.

And remember: Mommy loves you very, very much.

My word for 2013

For 2012 I chose the word Power as my word for the year. It was quite a cathartic word and so much changed for me during 2012 that I’m going to make this an annual thing. (as I know many of you do already)

So, I am choosing the word Listen as my word for 2013.

Far too often the kids will try to get my attention and I’m busy tweeting or looking at something on whatever electronic device is in my hand at that particular moment in time. This means that I might hear some of what they are saying, but I’m not listening completely. I often feel guilty about this and wonder about the message it sends them. I want them to know that what they say is very, very important as we are here to listen to our children, come what may. And it’s not something I can suddenly start doing when they hit puberty. I have realised that I also don’t make as much eye contact with them as I should and because there is an electronic device in my hand I’m not touching, holding or hugging them as much as I could.

Etienne often comments on something that a little voice in the background was saying and I just haven’t heard what they were saying because my head was somewhere else. I’m not in that very moment with my children and it needs to change.

I also need to listen to my body. I need to listen when it whistles to get my attention to tell me that there is too much going on and I need to slow down. Because when my life is chaotic my head is chaotic and then I don’t slow down and really listen to the people that are important in my life.

I need to listen to my husband. It’s the same story with the electronic devices and the half-assed listening. It would drive me nuts if he did it to me, so I’m going to stop doing it to him.

The whole of 2013 for me is going to be more about my family and less about social media and trying to be Martha Stewart (Sue and Carmen I see you lolling in the corner there!). Lately I have come to realise that, because I’m the one taking all the photos I’m not engaging with my family and viewing Etienne making all those memories with them. And I’m greedy, this coming year I’m going to be making lots of awesome memories with the people that are the closest to my heart. Photos be damned.

If you were to choose a word for 2013 what would it be?

On turning 40

I have been thinking a lot about turning 40 and what it means, but the truth is that it kind of crept up on me in the end.

I used to think that age really is just a number, that how you feel defines your age, but now I’m not so sure. The thought of turning 40 didn’t scare me. In fact, I think being 40 gives me permission to be more authentic, more real. More honest.

More free as my friend Carmen says.

To explain how turning 40 feels its probably easier to explain it in relation to 30.

Except for the really obvious stuff like not having children at 30 and a completely different job, my life has changed significantly over the last 10 years.

My marriage is stronger than ever before. And not in the ‘comfortable worn shoe’ way, in the ‘you still take my breath away by your awesomeness’ kind of way.

I am a lot more patient and forgiving (see also: parenting).

My capacity to tolerate BS and falseness has diminished significantly. Really, life is too short.

There is just no way to explain how my capacity to love has grown. It often catches me unaware, the force of love literally punches me in the gut when looking at this family that Etienne and I made, these incredibly special little people in our life.

The friends in my life are amazing, you know who you are, I am so extremely lucky to have you. Some friendships were shed the last 10 yrs that were toxic or simply faded. It’s been so hard to let go of one friendship particularly, but I think I’m there now.

I don’t feel old, I feel mature. Calmer. Happier. (You should probably interpret ‘mature’ as ‘less churlish and childish’)

I gossip less, possibly because I’m just too busy.

Appearance matters less, what lies below is much more important.

My friend Lori also taught me recently that sometimes it is better to be kind than to be right. That was a biggy for me, and strangely liberating.

The undue pressure (Wife, Mom, Blogger, Worker) we place ourselves under that I am very guilty of, I’m working on letting that go. Not entirely, but less stress, more fun.

I look forward to getting older, I plan on making it completely fabulous!

How do you feel about getting older?

Ps. I started writing this post on the 31st of December whilst waiting for hours for Mignon to pee in a cup at the Vredenburg hospital emergency room and have been battling it since then, but I really don’t care that its late. So there.