Category: The Parenting stuff

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!

The Sussies turn 4

I know, I know, they turned 4 two weeks ago already, but it’s been manic.  Also, I’ve been spending time online looking at the awesome pics Caz took instead of doing a blog post about them.  So, here goes!

I once again managed to dodge a Barbie party (by the skin of my teeth I tell you) and suggested we have a tea party instead, which they absolutely loved!  They could also choose whether they wanted a Butterfly or Heart cake and luckily Mignon chose hearts and Isabel chose butterflies.

I then ended up crocheting about a gazillion hearts and butterflies with the idea of hanging them all around the gazebo, got my Mom to make each child a handbag (“manbags” for the boys) and managed to pull off the cakes. But only just.  The baking was a nightmare. And the weather was threatening to not play along, but that turned out just fine in the end.  Phew.

I didn’t realise exactly how stressed I was about it until I woke up the next morning in a cold sweat about all the things I felt weren’t perfect.  I could literally HEAR Etienne roll his eyes when I was having my little moment.

So, here are some pics, I’ll let the captions tell the tale:

The sussies in their party dresses, Isabel on the left, Mignon on the right.

 

 

 

 

 

 

All of them together, such an awesome natural pic!

 

Bags made by my Mom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some of the gazillion crochet butterflies and hearts.
Ready to blow out their candles.
Isabel's cake close-up, check the butterfly table cloth.
Mignon's heart cake
Isabel pondering a butterfly
Mignon drinking "tea" out of her cupIsabel pondering a butterfly
Daniel making a necklace
Us.

Woe is me, I can’t the pics to align properly, but you have the gist of it!

If you want to see the full set on flickr, please click here.  I cannot do them justice here!

Normal? Who’s Normal and where does he live?

I finally finished The Glass Castle*, so naturally I have been thinking a lot about dysfunctional families vs normal families.  There are so many books about “extraordinary” (for lack of a better word) families** and so many parenting books about raising “the prefect child” that it’s hard to find a personal happy balance between what we grew up with, what we wished we grew up with and how books proclaim we should raise our children.

It’s also true that so many people that are high achievers come from really messed up extraordinary homes, so then there’s that.  Maybe “normal” isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?  And what would separate the people that rise above those circumstances from their siblings that don’t?

So then I started wondering about what exactly a “normal” family is.

I’m willing to bet that 90% of us promised ourselves “normal” families when we were all grown up as we felt our own family was weird or messed up in some way (which they probably were, otherwise there would be no therapists would there?).  Or maybe that was my own teenage delusion.

I know that part of my idea of “normal” was for my kids one day to feel loved and accepted (unconditionally) and included and I hope that this is what we manage to do although I know it really is still early days.  But that probably means that we’ll end up messing something else up that will make them think we are dysfunctional in some way and wish to correct our terrible mistakes when they grow up.

So all in all we probably perpetuate the cycle of un-normal through our best intentions.

But I’ll be damned if I’m not going to try and create “normal” to the best of my ability. Dammit.  I’d rather raise well adjusted Middleclassers than tortured Over-Achievers thank you very much.

What constitutes “normal” for you?  What is the biggest thing you promised yourself you would change when you were a parent one day?

* Thanks to Cat for the recommendation, and apparently Jeanette Walls’ other book, Half Broke Horses is also really good.

** More books like this that have come up in conversations:

Battle Hymn for the Tiger Mother – Amy Chua and my review here

Angela’s Ashes – Frank McCourt.  Read at your own peril and don’t say I didn’t warn you.

A Child called It – Dave Pelzer  – haven’t read this and I’m not sure I want to either

Feel free to add to the list!

Ps: I googled images for “normal”.  Don’t do it.  I’m scarred for life.

I cannot even begin to think how to title this post without saying penis or vagina.

Hot on the heels of recovering from Fighting For Dummies Etienne tells me the girls had an argument at school yesterday that left them both in the naughty corner. As usual Isabel and Mignon’s versions were different as to who did what first.

Fast forward to dinnertime and we are all at the table tucking into our usual Thursday night roast chicken, the only night of the week supper is relatively peaceful.

And Isabel pipes up: “Mamma! Guess what! Mignon and I saw (insert child’s name) “tottie” (penis) today, he showed it to us!”

It’s like the world suddenly stopped turning and I had to remind myself to breathe. And the voice in my head screamed STAY COOL MAN!

So we asked what happened when the little boy showed them his penis. “Oh” they pipe up “we showed him our ‘koekies’!”

Choke. And more incessant screaming from all the voices in my head.

And murderous thoughts about where the teacher was and what the effing hell!

So we ended up having the whole conversation about not showing other children your private parts and not letting anyone touch you and always running and telling Mommy or Daddy or a Teacher if something like this happens and your body is your body and so on and so forth.

After supper I called my friend Leo. Leo is really good at putting things into context and dealing with my (let’s face it) hysteria. And she’s been through most of it before so she knows shit. And she’s calm. So veryvery calm. I love my friend Leo.

So we talked through it and she correctly said that kids tell the truth, but only up to a certain point and the most valuable piece of advice she ever got was when one of her kids’ teachers said the following:

She promises not to believe everything the kids tell her at school if the parents promise not to believe everything the kids tell them at home.

Don’t get me wrong, I believe what happened yesterday, just not necessarily all the additional details Isabel embroidered into the story when she realized she had a rapt audience. This got me through the night last night and made me approach them calmly at school this morning.

They have dealt with it at school and had a long talk to the kids, so I almost want to just leave it to rest for now and not rush out to buy all the kiddy-appropriate literature in the whole of Cape Town lest it becomes a major issue. But we will re-visit the topic when the dust has settled a little, that much is important.

It is still a big thing for me, especially because they are twins as they have a very special kind of physical bond that I don’t want to interfere with. I also don’t want to leave them with the impression that their genitals are something to be ashamed of as us 70’s babies were made to believe along with having to finish all the food on our plates. But there are boundaries.

I also feel like they have lost some of their innocence. Up to now they have been very comfortable being naked around their brother and vice versa and should we really be censoring that at this point? (as much as we keep an eye on it already).

Parenting: It’s a bitch sometimes.

Has this happened to your kids? How did you deal with it?

The weekend that was

Remember how I was whining about all the parties and not seeing the kids enough and needing a break last week?

Well.

The weekend started on a high note with mammamammamammamammamammamammamamma from the minute I opened my eyes on Saturday morning. Fair enough, they had a LOT to tell us about their week, so that wasn’t too much of a problem.

Nor was it a problem when Daniel was playing with my sewing scissors and I, in a ploy to get them from him, stuck my hand in the open blades. Just as he closed them. On my thumb. Shame, his eyes almost popped out of his head he got such a fright. Not to mention that his sisters have not missed a single opportunity to remind him of the mishap.

(Point in case: Tonight at supper Isabel feigned surprise at the plaster on my thumb and then feigned surprise when she suddenly ‘remembered’ that Daniel cut Mom’s finger. ‘Remember when Daniel cut your finger Mom?’. I could see the poor guy cringe.)

Straight after recovering from my (cough) injury I was due to make dessert for a dinner party on Saturday night. Thanks to the standing joke of my friends calling me Martha I felt no pressure whatsoever of course.

So there we were, Etienne and I, trying to perfect Jane-Anne’s famous White Chocolate and Granidilla Tart with a manky thumb, a reluctant assistant and a terrible delegator. And a troupe of 3 going mammamammamammamammamammamammamamma and pappapappapappapappapappapappapappa from the lounge. And then I effed up the whipped cream and proceeded to hop around the kitchen impatiently when Etienne was despatched to buy more cream.

But it all ended well, especially as I then went off to a playdate with the girls and was plied with spritzers and the tart was a huge success In the end.

Of course the kids were up bright and early yesterday morning (pardon me whilst I stick my fingers in my eyes) and we managed to make ourselves presentable before Etienne’s folks came over for lunch.

By last night we gratefully sank down on the couch, happy for the peace and quiet once the kids passed out.

But they weren’t quite done with us. Mignon was awake between 01:00 and 03:00 this morning. I was awake way after that. Insomnia is such a bitch and I was pretty grumpy with Mignon last night. She, on the other hand, thought it was great fun.

Let’s hope tonight goes better..

Middleclassilitis – it’s a disease

I’m about to make a confession, hold on to your seats.

I suffer from Middleclassilitis*.

I could never understand people that furiously check their diaries when you propose a braai/drink/swim/play date. You know, those people that say ‘Yes, what a fantastic idea, let’s do it in 12 weeks’ time as I have between 15h00 and 16h00 available on that Sunday afternoon.’

I mean, if you want to see me you’ll make the effort right? Right?  I thought these people must be playing hard to get.  Or they didn’t plan their time properly.  Or they were plain disorganized.  Or they were fobbing me off.  Or my kids were delinquents. Or we smelt funny.

Wrong.

Since the beginning of the year we have had a ridiculously busy social life.  It’s all been fun stuff and we love that we get invited to so many parties (or maybe all our friends and their kids just have birthdays in January and February).  But enough now, we need a holiday and it’s not even bloody March yet.

I find myself cringing when I say to people, ‘Sorry, would love to see you, but can’t do that playdate until the end of March as we are just too busy.’  I literally cringe.  When did I become “that” person that isn’t flexible and available over weekends?  When did our lives become so busy that we so sparingly have to make time for the people we usually get to see over weekends?

I classify this whole business of being too busy right up there with having to admit to myself and other people that we actually have an Au Pair now and not “someone that collects the kids from school” or, my other favourite, a “Child-minder”.  I don’t see myself as being in that class of person, you know, “Middle-class”, not that I know where I would fit in otherwise.  But still.

I recently heard about someone that put her friends into A, B and C Categories and allocates a specified amount of time to each of those friends according to their category and I remember thinking how cold that is.  But she might have a point.

That’s why I have decided that I suffer from Middleclassilitis.  That, despite my best efforts to the contrary, we are just your average family that has too little time and money to get around to everything and everyone that we value.  And then some time just to ourselves to be inert on the couch for a change.

How do you manage your so-called free time?  Do you have rules for activities over weekends?  Do you limit social events?

*Middleclassilitis is an actual word I made up.  I put on Urban Dictionary and all that, but their people haven’t spoken to my people yet.  Will keep you posted…

An Epic Parenting Fail

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I have made the most epic of all epic parenting mistakes. Ever.

Daniel hasn’t been well. It started with a sinus thing and skipped along into his chest. We both had a sinus/bronchitis thing this week and where I slowly got better, he just got worse despite being on Antibiotics and was coughing for most of last night.

So, another day at home and another doctor’s appointment and another script later we were hoping for the best.

And then. It hit me like a ton of bricks. He has been eating lunch at aftercare and they have sandwiches on tap for the kids during the afternoons. And stuff like pasta and crumbed food that our son never hardly ever gets at home because of his multitude of food intolerances. (Wheat, lactose, citrus, Sulphur Dioxide, nuts and most food label items that start with an ‘E’)

We (in our infinite wisdom) decided we would not be the anal retentive OCD patents and see if he could tolerate ‘normal’ foods and only twigged on after weeks of a sick child that clearly he cannot.

I remembered that he had the same chronic sinus/cough thing before we had him tested last time and it only improved when we strictly cut out the problem foods.

Know what’s the worst? When he was presented with a glass of Creme Soda and a pizza at a party last week with Moms from The New School and I visibly cringed at the sight I felt like The Tree Hugger Mom From Hell for admitting our kids don’t know carbonated drinks and I politely zipped my lips.

So sorry my boy.

Is it Monday or Wednesday?

It occurred to me this morning that we are not having a great week on the home front.

On Monday night, as I was gingerly sipping my much anticipated Vodka Tonic during supper the doorbell rang.  It was a lady saying that Jack The Delinquent Dog got out of the gate on Saturday night and bit her whilst she was walking her dogs and she wanted to let us know.  We were blown away as it is a steel gate and after much huffing and puffing and pffft’ing from both of us Etienne went outside to see if he could knock open the gate from the inside.  True as Bob, if you kick hard enough the gate pops open.  That got sorted out very quickly.  But now we have a dog that got out and apparently bit someone, apart from the fact that he is hard to walk as it is. I see Doggy Shrink bills in our future.

This was also my status update on Facebook this morning:

Daniel also seems to be losing his things quicker that we seem to be able to buy them. On Monday he came home without his suitcase and barefoot.  Yesterday it was one shoe and for the life of us we couldn’t find his back-up bag or (brand new secondhand) karate uniform and he couldn’t tell us what he did with it.  Etienne eventually found it in the washing machine.  But only after we both had a mild panic attack.

We (Me) are also seriously battling to get our heads around the whole extra-mural/communicating with the school thing.  Gone are the days that I can call the teacher on her cell and check in if Daniel is doing ok or if the cough he had in the morning is fine.  Freaks me out Big Time, this big school stuff is for the friggin birds.

This morning it was my turn to drop him off and as I turn off to park at the bottom parking lot at his school he starts shouting that I need to go to the other parking lot, which was impossible at the time. Much whining and refusal to get out of the car later I eventually just about drag him into the school ground, past the security guard that asks me if I need some help.  After a little verbal scuffle inside the gate I proceed to march off to his classroom to drop off his suitcase and spot him running around the other way.  We somehow missed each other and the next thing I find him crying, looking for me.  He then attached himself to me and I could feel the minutes tick by and my hopes of being on time for work for a change being dashed.  Cue the teacher’s comment and subsequent FB comment.

Etienne’s drop-off didn’t go much better.  Apparently the girls gave him the whole please-can-I-have-another-hug-and-kiss-and-high5-repeat-10-times treatment.  But there were no tears.  Surely that’s an improvement?

As much as I hate whining I wish I could spend the day hiding in my office lamenting to all my friends on the interwebs.  Alas, life carries on and an interesting and funfilled day at work awaits.

Thank you one and all for being there for this ragged Mom!

Mondays suck

To say my day got off to a rocky start would be a grand understatement.

I woke up at 04h15 with a start after a terrible dream and lay there until 05h00 when I got up to walk the dogs.  Which really entails Lily (the Labby) and I being dragged around our suburb by Jack The Delinquent.  He is really highly strung (read: aggressive toward strange dogs) and very strong, not an ideal combination in a dog.  But he will be sorted out soon.

Fast forward to 07h00 when we were still battling to get everyone up and fed and tempers were fraying.  Mignon had been lying crying in her bed since 06h30 saying she wasn’t going to school and was immovable despite our best efforts at cajoling, begging, threatening or reasoning with her as she refused to tell us what was wrong.  By 07h15 she was hysterical and I eventually had her on my lap trying to figure out what the story was.  She just kept saying she wasn’t going to school.  The End.  No explanation, no reason, just NO.  This in itself freaked us out.

Etienne ended up carrying her to the car (literally) kicking and screaming.  She cried all the way to school and eventually she said that she’s upset because Isabel doesn’t play with her at school.  I then asked Isabel to play nicely with her sister and they must remember they need to take care of each other and so on and so forth and she seemed to calm down, until I pulled up at the school.  Chaos ensued.  She clung to me like a little monkey, something she has never ever done before and she was not letting go any time soon.

The three of us sat down in the classroom and the staff looked positively bewildered by this sorry state of affairs until I eventually realized that it was not going to get any better.  I was either going to have to take her away or I was going to have to remove myself from the equation and all I kept thinking was that I abandoning my child not protecting her against something.  But I had no idea what.

The staff at the school luckily got things under control very quickly and she was already calmer when I called in to check a few minutes after I left.  They had a chat to her at the school and she said it was because Isabel had made a friend and she hadn’t.

When I look back at the morning I am torn between extreme guilt, feeling that I should have taken the day off to spend it just with her (not an option) and knowing that it is best for her to fight her own battles.

But it still hurts like a bitch.

And it was the only morning in my life I fervently wished for the long commute into town so I could have a proper cry in the car and then some time to compose myself instead of sneaking into work hopelessly late wearing sunglasses and hiding in my office until I looked presentable.  On the upside I weirdly had a ridiculously productive morning as a result.

Tomorrow will be better.

Food and infertility

I don’t see myself as an hysterical person, but when I read articles like this one, I feel just a teeny weeny little bit hysterical.

It’s no secret that I don’t eat red meat and as a household we are careful with meats and try to buy free range/organic whenever we can find and afford it.  This is part due to reading My Year of Meats and All Over Creation by Ruth Ozeki about what goes into our food without our knowledge or permission.  If you haven’t read her books, you should really try.  They aren’t just very well researched, they are also very well written.

The biggest reason I feel a little hysterical is because a lot of what goes into our milk, meat, potatoes and apples is making us infertile.  Even worse: it’s making our children infertile.  I have a well documented history of infertility and seeing all this really just pisses me off as infertility is an issue very close to my heart.

It also pissed me off that we try to make healthy choices for our children, but we are doing the exact opposite by giving them the “healthy” foods we do and forcing them to eat them.

Picture this:

“Dear, eat your potatoes, and don’t worry that they are full of pesticides, they are good for you.”

“And while you are at it, please eat that lovely spaghetti bolognese we made you with canned tomatoes and I don’t want to hear a word.”

That derelict vegetable garden of our is about to get a make-over I think.  We already have a compost heap with beautiful compost and a laid out veggie patch, we just need to keep it going and keep the delinquent dogs out.

Watch this space.

And no, I haven’t listened to any Alanis Morrisette in days.  Just so you know.