Water, water all around, but none to drink ….

Last night Kennith and I went out for an Indian dinner with our friends Dave and Alice.

We really enjoy Indian food, but great restaurants are few and far between, but this is one of Cape Town’s little gems.

We went along to Chandari’s in Roodebloem road.  The venue is exquisite and the service is genuine.  We entrusted our waitron to order for us – the food was really good.

It was a lovely evening of great conversation, superior food and super company – absolutely lovely, and we both thoroughly enjoyed it.

I figured if I had sex with Kennith there was a chance he would let me sleep late, and he would attend to the kids this morning.  Granted he even agree to the idea – the letting me sleep late.  I figured it was a good negotiation no matter which way I looked at it.  I really do enjoy sleeping late, even if for just a little bit.

This morning Kennith got up, as quietly as he could to attend to the kids.  Georgia however came into the room twice.  Once to tell me she needed to go to the toilet and, I really can’t recall right now what the second conversation was about.

I had also gone to sleep with my contact lenses in my eyes.  So that only added to my rather bleary eyed look about me this morning – eyes looked like they were bleeding to death.

Connor came in to the room. I heard Kennith yell to leave his mom alone, so Connor quickly exited the room with only a “Mommmmm ………….” hanging in the air.

He did return about eight minutes later with a pile of books from his school bag for me to sign – he started telling me what they were in a hurried speech as he left them to balance on my knees.  The books fell to the floor as I gave my knee a quick jerk … why the fek can they not just leave me alone goddammit!

I figured I really was not going to be getting any sleeping late, no matter how hard I was trying.

I asked Connor to please go and fetch me a cup with some tap water – I said it with a rather begging tone in my voice.  It appears that two bottles of wine makes you exceedingly thirsty the next morning.

Connor soon re-appeared with the plastic cup I use to scoop Isabelle’s poop out of the bath.  He admitted that he had rinsed it twice.  The water was suspiciously luke warm.  I personally had scooped shit with that cup on several occasions – too recent to name with any digntity. (Isabelle is a chronic shit in the bath as soon as you leave her there for more than 5 minutes kind of girl.)

You know when you are really thirsty and you will pretty much drink anything ….. overall not a great start to the morning.

Armpits, tits and wine ….

I went along to book club last night.  I used to adore book club.  But in the last year or so, I have got a bit less enamored with it.  I still enjoy it, but I keep thinking do I really?

One of the reasons is that the group is just too big.  At the moment there are nine girls – there were eleven  not so long ago.  Nine girls is not really a group it is  more of a gaggle.

Every single girl in the group is unique and great, and of course you do not actually want to cull anyone.  But at the same time nine girls is just a bit chaotic when one puts them in a room, gives them wine and tells them to catch up.

What usually happens is that the group splits into two or three smaller conversations and the evening feels bitty and disjointed.   Even when we try to speak together about one thing, it really is all a bit loud and frantic.  Not in a too-much-wine-sort-of-fun way, more in everyone-is-trying-to-say-their-piece-and-you-actually-can-not-hear-everyone sort of way.

It is frantic, and actually makes me feel a bit stressed.  Which is probably not the ideal outcome when one thinks about drinks, great dinner, books and your friends – but that is how I have been feeling.

Last night there were only five of us at book club – I could not have been more excited!!

We sat down for dinner and it was brilliant.  We could listen to one person speaking and all get involved in one conversation.  The result is that everyone got to say something and we all got to have a laugh at the same thing.  It was one of the funniest most fun evenings I have had at bookclub in ages.

Laura had made the most divine dinner – something about chicken, lemon and capers and it was lick-the-plate-frek’n-good.  When the dinner conversation started to wind down, someone flashed their arm pit to show how free of hair it was.  I had not planned on dinner and a floor show, but one learns to adapt.

Unfortunately my under arms look reminiscent of what would find at a zoo, hanging off a branch. I went a bit quiet at the hope that the conversation would embark on a different direction.

What proceeded was arm pit showing, and discussions regarding body hair and methods to get rid of hair.  As usual Alice insisted that I go for a Brazilian – I am not sure what that girl’s obsession is with my arse being hair-free, but I have a name of someone who can do it for me ….

Once that was over and we had gorged on dessert, we moved to the lounge area to “do books.”

At some point someone commented that Claire’s breasts are looking really good.  Girls talk like this, it is very strange, but girls do.

Claire wasted no time in lifting up her shirt to show us her fabulous bra – Claire is a specialist underwear designer/buyer/finder person or something of the sort, so tits and bootie are her thing.

It was a lovely bra, and it really did make her appear to be exceedingly well-stacked.  We all had Claire’s-bra-envy.

Claire being a kind hearted soul, then took off her bra – as you do at bookclub.  Sue tried on Claire’s bra and came to show what it did for her girls.

Listen, I am not sure how your bookclub goes, but this is how we roll.  Sue showed us how the bra improved her profile and there was much pointing and rubbing.

Then Laura decided she would also try on Claire’s bra. At no point did this seem like a bizarre set of events, it just all seemed to be quite the norm.

We eventually “did books” – almost as an after  thought.  We ate our body weight in tumbles and winegums and then everyone did the two kiss cheek thing and we went home.

You know, I may not remember the books, but I do remember the funniest evening.  Laughing until tears rolled down my cheeks, and the power of a well fitted bra.

Great evening …

The Old Lady who lived in the shoe….

We had our friend H stay over with us on Sunday night, as he was en-route to some foreign location that seemed to fly via Cape Town.

H was our housemate when Kennith and I first moved in together – the best housemate ever.  He wasn’t there for 28 days of every second month, outstanding who could ask for better in a house mate?

H is married to C, and we were fortunate enough to attend their wedding nearly nine years ago.  They now live in Johannesburg with three kids – all under 5.

We were chatting about the logistics of coping with three kids.  H mentioned that he has had a vasectomy and was singing it’s praises. Kennith mentioned in a rather forlorn voice that he was not “allowed to get one.”

We spoke some more about the fact that though I was not actively seeking to have a fourth child, I did not feel ready to shut the door and throw away the key for good just yet.  Insert emoticon of Kennith’s rather concerned face right here.

When I am ready, then we can start cutting and snipping Kennith’s testicular plumbing to his heart’s content.   But for now, let’s just leave things as they are, for now.

H spoke about how he is over the entire baby stage and wants to have big kids now, and do stuff with big kids.

I really enjoy the baby stage.  We have the benefit of kids that have a fairly big age gap.  As the one was out of nappies and self-sufficient enough to go and wee, grab a bottle out of the fridge and go and watch a DVD to leave mom and dad in peace, we brought a new child into the house.  (Maybe the fact that they left us alone for a few minutes might explain why we had another child, but we can cover that in another post.)

H lamented that he is ready now to do grown up things without all the baby stuff.  I think Kennith might have high-fived him and chest-banged him in the kitchen in agreement.

I like the baby stage, I don’t think I am over it as yet.  Listen I get exhausted by kids, especially mine, and often try and hide away from them, so I understand that three kids are a stretch – really a stretch.

I also realize that our house is total chaos with kids, but sometimes I like our house.

This evening Connor, Georgia and Isabelle were in the bath together.  Kennith gave Connor and Georgia a bowl of ice-cream.  Isabelle was sitting in the middle of them.  She sat there while between bites Connor and Georgia gave her small spoons of ice-cream.  She was like a little sparrow in a nest between two mommy birds as they fed her little bits of ice-cream.  I thought that was really sweet and nice to watch.

Georgia and Connor got out of the bath and went to get jammies on.  Isabelle was now playing with the ice-cream dish and spoon and having a fine old time in the bath.

I wanted to help Connor with his homework.  I did not want to leave Isabelle in the bath by herself, and did not want to take her out as she was happy playing.  Mommy trying to be in two places at once.

Solution:  I got Connor to bring his homework into the bathroom.

He sat on the toilet seat (closed) and he did his homework, while I stood next to the toilet brush and helped him with his revision.

Isabelle was happily playing bowl-and-spoon, while Georgia was in the room chatting to her dad, and there I was doing responsible mom stuff.

I like our crazy house.

I would not be totally devastated if I pissed two lines on a stick, or a social worker arrived at my door and said “Here’s a baby look after it.”  (Listen I would totally freak out, but I would not be devastated.)

Excuse me, while I go and stop Kennith as he scrambles to double check that I have been taking my BCP.

Coming too early …

So the Athlone Cooling Towers were scheduled to come down today at 12h00.

I must confess I was a bit less than excited about going anywhere through hordes of folk to watch two buildings, which I was only mildly interested in, fall to the floor in a pile of rubble.

I tried to look excited, but I struggle to fake it, I really do.

Our friends had suggested hikes to Rhodes Memorial and all sorts of other ventures, so we could watch the towers come down.  Me, not so excited.

The idea of lurching out of bed early on a winters morning, with three kids en-tow and then marching across the peninsula in the freezing cold to watch a bomb go off did not really seem a worth while activity.  It just sounded tiring, cold and very uninteresting.

I figured one moment the towers would be there, then there would be a bunch of smoke, and then the towers would not be there.  Seems simple enough.

I reasoned I could catch it on E-TV and that would be fine for me.  Kennith judged me for not being more excited by this hallmark moment.

It wasn’t like I had anything better to do, but watching two towers fall down, was not something I was going to get excited about.  Unless they fell on top of a few key politicians I could name, but shouldn’t.

Kennith realized this morning that we can see the Athlone Cooling Towers from the balcony of our house.  Never noticed before.  I noticed the balcony, but never noticed the towers.

So there we are, perfect sight of the towers without having to move too far from the box of wine in the fridge – sounds like a plan.

We were all set at 12h00 to march out on our balcony to watch the Athlone Cooling Towers come down.  Excellent plan.

I had wine, I was warm, I did not have to deal with Joe Public, it was a great plan.

I was being domestic and making a fek-off Sunday lunch – and at 11h56 I went to fill my glass of wine – yes, I do drink wine before 12h00.

I wanted to have sufficient wine to get me to the 12h00 bomb and maybe then to 12h02 while I stare at the dust/smoke before saying “well that was exciting” and retreat to the comfort of inside.

I figured one glass = 6 minutes. Perfect synchronized timing.

It would seem on the Cape flats, time moves differently to the way it moves here in the Northern Suburbs.  Space/time continuum coming in to play and all.

Kennith screamed as he raced outside – he only realized the towers were on their way down because he saw it on television. Kennith had diligently co-ordinated his watch with phoning the watch/clock lady who tells you the time in that slightly staggered voice circa 1982.

When Kennith screamed, I tried to run from the kitchen without sloshing too much of my wine on the floor.  I also had to open a child safety gate and get down some stairs – so I was being challenged, but was willing to try to not spill anything on the way – I am made of tougher stuff.

I managed to make it outside with most of the wine still in my glass.  I know that worried you too.

In the end all we saw was a plume of smoke.

I took a sip of wine and said cheers, and then headed back inside.  Okay I took about three sips, just so I could make Kennith feel like I was there being part of this momentous event so he would stop judging me.

Fantastic day Cape Town – excellent, the way our Executive Major can tell time – CORRECTLY!

The towers are there ….

The Towers are gone …

Mommy Tip for Sanity # 1

Lying in the bath earlier today my mind started wandering around and I thought about all the stuff that made my life easier when I was pregnant and when I had my children.  I am not trying to be Obi-Wan Kenobi, but I thought it might be useful – to jot down some of the tips that helped me survive pregnancy and babies.

Read it, don’t read it, agree, disagree, suggest others, what ever rocks your world.

My first and most prized tip for sanity is:-

Try not to take advise from idiots.

Unfortunately the two things you will realize when pregnant is that one, suddenly strangers are stopping you to give you advise.

The entire world will have advise for special you, regarding child bearing, child birth or child raising that they need to impart to you.  Often in the elevator, while you are in the public toilet queue, while you are checking the firmness of mangos, or while you are buying a bra – the more obscure the location the more urgent the advise.

There may be a crazy lady at Woolworths (or Edgars in my case), or a person at your office (the elevator as I traversed nine floors with this same person nearly every day), it really does not matter where.  They will sneak up and pounce on you, some times touching you while they start giving you advise.

The unwanted advise may even come from family members.  Usually your mother or your mother in law, and do not leave out your gran or your gran-in-law who will perk up at the mention of a great grandchild in the making.  They will start digging into archives for some gems of advise to dish out.

The second thing you will realize at about this point, is that the vast majority of the population – sometimes/often even your mother and your mother in law – are actually idiots when it comes to anything to do with child bearing, child birth or child raising.

The advise will astound and more often than not, deeply distress and worry you.

The reason you will be worried is often because you will not know any better – and what ever they are telling you, your brain starts absorbing as f.a.c.t.

These pearls of wisdom are presented to you when you are at your most vulnerable and in your most hormonal state.

I usually start to smell a problem when someone predicts the sex of my baby depending on the way I am carrying.

Or better yet, as I quaff down another liter of Gaviscon, they say “your baby is going to have a headful of hair, that is why you have heartburn.”

Usually at this point my heartburn turns to nausea as I smile and then try to get away from the person as quickly as possible.  I really cannot abide idiots.  But more so when I am hormonal and there is a hairy baby lodged in my uterus.

The advise is unrelenting.

It will come at you with so much good intentions that it will unfortunately be next to impossible so say “Just fuck off already.”   You may be thinking it most of the time, but your Emily Post good manners will stop it rolling off your tongue.

You may need to learn a new trick – to smile sweetly and say “Thank you, that is great advise. ”  Then make a quick exit – faking an overriding need to go to the toilet is usually appropriate and very convincing, and needs little in the way of an explanation.

A hand on your abdomen and saying something like “That does not feel right…” in a slightly distressed voice, is also a fantastic way to exit a conversation/uncomfortable moment.  But you can’t use it too often.

It is a “Get out of Jail” free card, and can only be used in extreme situations.

I was going to offer consolation, but there isn’t much in the face of the amount of advise you will need to face during pregnancy.

The only shred of consolation I can muster, is that you almost need to appreciate it.  Because it is sadly going to get much worse, this is just a taster for what awaits you.

On the expulsion of your child from your uterus – the advise will be stepped up to a whole new level.  It is going to make you long for the days ofpregnancy advise.

My only suggestion (not advise) to survive this period is to purchase a great book.

I personally was a fan of What to Expect when you are Expecting.  I also found a person who was bright, clever, knowledgeable, articulate and had two children born in the last five years.

Between my already-parent friend and my “What to Expect” book I was able to totally ignore any advise thrown at me.  Suddenly all the crap advise rolled off me and I also found that my opinion of most people’s IQ also went on a bit of a downward spiral.

I did not lie in bed worrying because some old/young fart told me something that was creepy and disturbing and I was living in fear that it was true.  Life definitely became easier for me.

Use it, or don’t, which ever works for you.

Tea time …

Connor has just started to be able to make me tea in the morning.   He is also at that point where he is dead excited to be making it for me.

I realise there is a small window of opportunity here to abuse this situation.  I have decided to get as much cups of tea in the morning in bed, until this particular episode of boys-who-love-their-moms passes.

So yesterday I hear Connor in the passage, so I yell up the passage – in my best trailer park fashion: “Connor how does tea sound?”

Connor: “Like Ttttttttttteeeeeaaaaaaaaaa….” (he is sounding out the letter T in the event that my description did not do it justice)

You know when you sit there and realise that you will not be getting any tea, it was a bit like that.

Take a breath ….

Funny what a difference a few days with a total break from reality, and a few bottles of wine can make to your countenance?

The entire weekend was just a complete waste of oxygen.

It has been a very long time since I functioned whilst being totally removed from myself.  I could not have been more absent/removed/vacant/not present this weekend if I tried.

It is a bit like an out of body experience.  You can see you are in a room interacting – or not, whilst you are existing in the corner of the room, far removed from anyone/anything except this dullness around you.  Strange?  Yes.  True? Yes.

Fortunately it is not something I have to go through as much as I used to.  When my depression was at it’s worst, I would have weeks in this state, so I am thankful that I only got a few days of it now – and it really has not occurred in what feels like an age.

Kennith gives me the space when he sees I need it.  He tries not to ask too much of me when he knows I can’t do more than I am doing.  He goes a long way to just quietly helping me through these times..

I met with some friends for pizza and wine on Tuesday night – not too much pizza, possibly too much wine, and it really was a fun evening.  The conversation ranged from spousal abuse, growths on partners’ bodies, to sex and everything in between.  It was a relaxing evening and nice to have people speaking incoherently about so many funny things – the dinner was punctuated by loud guffaws of laughter – just what the doctor ordered!

I also had the fortunate opportunity to chat to someone this week who I really do feel a “soul connection” with.   I have known her for some time, but we have not seen each other for quite a bit.

We spoke about adoption, and the various urges that exist in our souls that we cannot always quantify or qualify.  For me it was great to just speak to someone who just got what I was saying, and did not look at me with that slightly raised eyebrow of confusion.

I am not sure if she was getting me, but after two bottles of wine suddenly it does appear like the whole world is just getting you.  But seriously, it was great to connect with her after so much time.

Last night I went along and met some moms from the Moomie forum.

We have been chatting on that forum for about 6 -8 months.  Before that we were chatting on the Pampers forum, and all seemed to migrate together to the better managed Moomie forum.

It is very strange seeing people you have been friends/adversaries on a forum, then there you are sitting across from them at a dinner table.  Having a relationship outside of the protection of your monitor and keyboard.

I would imagine that a Russian brides meeting her husband at the airport for the first time has similar issues.

Initially I thought it would be weird and awkward, but it really wasn’t.  The only part that was a bit strange was that you are so familiar with them in a cyber room, but sitting across from the table, one sometimes forgets who the person is without the benefit of their avatar to view.

It was a really relaxing evening – like dinner with old friends.  The girls are all so interesting and really unique – it did not feel forced, and conversation flowed easily.

Now that I am a tad more calm – I have realized that none of my ‘wants’ have faded into the morning light of fluorescent overhead lighting and in the even harsher light of reason and logic.

I feel a bit more comfortable that I know what I want/need.  It is okay to be me who wants/needs these things even in the face of opposition, fierce reasoning, pie charts and logical argument.

It is enough for me to just feel strongly that this is what I need, even if maybe they do not make sense to others.  Sometimes you cannot always explain what drives you to do what you do … sometimes it is just the want.

I also appreciate that Kennith and I are in this family together.

I need to respect his opinion and his feelings on the issues that are going to impact on our family – as a group and as individuals.  I can’t say that I will just quietly abandon what I want because he does not agree, and right now I do not really have a chart of the way forward.

However for now, I will take a breath and see where things go.

I am not sure where my path with adoption/fourth child issues/surrogacy will take me, or whether I will progress on any of those paths, or whether it will just go no where.  For today I am willing to exhale and try a modicum of patience and see what happens ….

Girl’s night out …..

Last night was a girl’s night out with pizza and too much wine.

I am not sure if everyone else had too much wine, but I definitely did.

This morning I am feeling a little tired and bleary eyed.  However I always act like I am all zesty the day after a night out – my blood shot eyes may tell another tale.

I was not the designated driver – thank goodness, I was barely competent to be the designated walker.

Got home, and Kennith was in checking on Isabelle.

I had put her into bed a bit earlier that usual, as she was a bit gringy and very irritable.  I put it down to her long day, and maybe being out of sorts as she may not have slept as much as she is used to.  She did not seem to be ill when I left, but she just did not look right.

When I saw Kennith with her – it clearly was a bit more than her being gringy.  She had a raging 41 degree temperature, and was sobbing as only a sick baby can, in the dark of the late night.

I have never seen a child that hot before.  Her skin was fire-hot to the touch.  Her skin was so red it looked like it was sun burnt – her cheeks were flushed scarlet against her pale face.

Talk about being dead sober in 5 seconds.

We sprung into action.  Gave her a Ponstan suppository, and ran a cool/warm bath for her.  I needed to get in to the bath as well, as she was looking very bleak and I could not let her sit there all sad by herself.  Misery loving company and all – and I also felt a bit guilty that she was ill, while I was out playing drink-wine!

A cool bath after a night out is not the best way to end a night out … but any the ho, such is our lot in life.

Isabelle sat in the bath and played a bit.  I gave her some water with a touch of Oros to encourage her to drink more water and just let her splash around a bit – I was still amazed that a child could actually feel that hot to the touch.  (we have one of those inside-the-ear-take-your-temperature-thingies which are pretty accurate)

Got her out of the bath, dressed her in light jammies, and she came to sit with us on the bed.

Her temperature had dropped under 40 – phew, at least we did not have to go to the ER, as I think both Kennith and I had anticipated when we took stock of where this night was going.  Kennith thought he saw a convulsion, but it was probably her shaking from the cold against her skin.

Isabelle started to look much better, and her temperature had dropped to just over 38 degrees – Ponstan and bath combination had obviously worked.  I am a big fan of suppositories for babies – they just work, and then you are not standing there fighting with a spoon of sticky medicine and a non-willing baby.

When her temperature seemed to settle, and her colour looked less alarming, we put her into her cot – and Kennith set his alarm to wake up in another 4 hours to give her some more Ponstan.    Have I mentioned what a good egg Kennith is?

Poor munchkin!  Left her sleeping this morning when I went to work.

Tonight the moomie moms are doing a get together sans kids – I am not sure I will be able to ingest more wine this evening … however I have a plan that includes a Steers burger and chips for lunch … and then facing some wine for dinner might not be so scarey.

Face your fears and all ….

The light breaks through the fog …

I must confess to feeling better today and slightly more sane.  I have no idea what the hell happened from Thursday through to yesterday – I was in a funk of diabolic proportion.

Hell, I even started to worry a bit about myself there.

Last night I had a very long sleep, and definitely woke up feeling a bit more bright eyed and bushy tailed this morning.  The heaviness that I felt on my shoulders the last few days, has definitely lifted – or just lightened somewhat to allow me the space to breath.

This morning, our happy home helper has had to go to home affairs.  She left the house at 6am with Kennith.  Kennith dropped her off so she would literally arrive and be virtually in front of the queue.  She has been in the queue before and has often waited an entire day to be turned away – oh joy.

I got the kids ready, breakfast, dressing, me dressing and generally getting everyone buckled up into the car – which was a bit of controlled chaos.

Isabelle also had to go to a baby school today as there was no one to look after her, and I could not see me getting another day off work – I am so far into the minus days of leave, it has become almost humourous.

I really felt quite grim dropping Isabelle at a little school for the day.

I am okay with sending kids to playschools and the like, but for some reason, I am not so keen on babies in crèches.  I like to try to keep them at home until they are between 18 – 24 months.  I know that most people send their kids to school even at 3 months old, because they have no other option and need to head back to work.

I am really lucky to have Pepe who is there to look after Isabelle so I can keep her at home until I feel I am ready to send her to a little play school.

But the school was good enough to take her today which was a relief for me.  I know she is safe – she may not be surrounded by all her things and have totally undivided attention, but she will be fine.

Okay, so I am feeling like I can take a breath today without bursting into tears, and feel like I have a handle on me again – if only tentatively.

I can’t explain what the hang happened there in the last few days.  But some times depression is like that – it just ambushes you from behind the mulberry tree and drags you kicking and screaming down the path.

Anyway, onward and upwards …

<…..apologise to earlier readers who had to read this twice … in my distraction, I cut and pasted twice and never got a chance to check my stuff … I really must cut down on the drugs at work…..>

Medical wonders ….

Georgia is a medical aid’s dream. She is just never sick, we really never claim for her.  She is just a name on our medical aid card.

This weekend she was feeling very grim.  She had a fever, and lost her voice – it was replaced by the Marlboro man’s voice.  Very sexy for a 5 year old girl.

We kept her off school today even though, to be honest, if we were desperate we would have sent her.   One of the benefits of a full time maid – bless.  If my kids even look a little off colour, I just leave them home for a day lying on the couch,  with BBC’s on television,  and they are miraculously cured of any and all afflictions.

Because she is never sick and she had already had a few days of a temperature – I thought odds are it is something that is going to need antibiotics.  If she had not cured herself by now, odds are it will need external influence – made a doctor’s appointment this afternoon for her.

I was truly shocked that I got a doctor’s appointment on such short notice – so many miracles in one day, goodness me.

Georgia was so excited – it was her first time at a doctor’s office.  No really it was!

She could not have been more excited when the doctor took her temperature and listened to her heart beat.  Georgia was in total heaven.  I am not sure if I have ever seen anyone more happy to be lying on a doctor’s table and be examined.

Turns out she has tonsillitis – cool, so we got some antibiotics and then merrily skipped home.

If this was Connor I would be battening down the hatches, as I would be preparing for an ear infection and possibly some other deadly ENT issue.  Of course the fact that he no longer has his tonsils, would make me doubtful of the doctor and her abilities had she diagnosed tonsillitis with him, but moving on.

With Georgia I know I will throw a few spoonfuls of the antibiotics in her direction, some of it will go in, some will drop on the front of her jammies.

I will probably forget to finish the course – against doctor’s recommendations.  But Georgia will be fine and happily skip off to school without so much as a backward glance.

It’s good to have a kid that does not max out the medical aid!!

Nothing to do but have a little bitch ….

You know when you just have a “I feel really shite and I should have just stayed home” day. I was fine physically, but for some reason I felt like I was on the verge of having a total break with reality sort of day, you know the kind?

Please tell me you do, so I do not feel like a total freak of nature.

I do realize that I am way past sounding like the crazy cat lady – but I am not sure how far past.  My friend suggested it was possibly all the hype pre-wedding and then the stuff after.  And add my stuff now. She felt I was just a little emotionally-strained and well, she did not want to say sensitive and emotional, but I knew where she was going.

Quite possibly.

This entire weekend, I just felt flat, and removed from everything.

I think part of it is the rather somber conversation Kennith and I had on Friday night.

In one conversation I realized that this may well spell the end of my surrogacy/possibly fourth child/adoption and any plans that require the purchase of maternity wear and booties.

I realized I am sounding a bit unhinged.

I woke up this morning at 03h40 so by the time I got to work I was totally destroyed.  I am one of those people who needs eight hours sleep, else does not function and starts to experience a bit of a strain.

At office – feeling all sad and flat – I am in an open plan office, and I face my entire team while I work.  So I figured I will just have a quiet little cry there at my monitor and carry on working … you know, as you do.  Sad, but productive.

Fortunately every time someone looked at me and they start to frown at the state of my face – I just said “insomnia” and they nodded sagely, and then give me a little look of sympathy.

Of course that did not explain the raccoon-mascara rings on my face, but bless my colleagues for just ignoring me and getting on with their day.

On the stranger side, Kennith had a s.e.x. dream, that included me and chutney … listen I don’t even make this stuff up … the Mrs Balls’ variety.  He even texted me today asking if he should stop and pick up some chutney … and they say I am having a break with reality <sigh>!

The week that burnt ….

What a week hey?  It sincerely felt like the longest four days in history, I limped through this one.

I do take things to heart – any thing really.  Even the most insignificant thing becomes quite an issue that causes me to reel, be hurt or feel like I have sustained an injury.

My emotional reaction often far outweighs how I should react to something.  I often keep my reactions to myself, and react in a private way where only Kennith gets to see upset I am by something.  Because I am slow to heal, it often take several days or weeks for me to bounce back from an injury – it is just the way I am.

For all the callous bitch impression I put out there, I am actually a bit of a soft jelly on the inside.

I do feel I try to put up a front/mask/façade of indifference or a tough exterior, but with all things of this nature, underneath this rather pathetically thin layer, I am a weeping hurt and very sensitive individual – but don’t tell anyone, trade secret and all.

I was left reeling this week from the IP (intended parents) turndown.

I do wish to point out that I totally understand their point of view, and they were nothing but honest, personable and upfront from the get-go. I just tend to start imagining us all living together and knitting socks as soon as the “Hello, how are you?” is over.

I was totally crushed on Thursday and Friday – I was not lying on a heap on the floor sobbing, but I felt like my wind had been ripped out of my sails. I just felt flat and well, just flat and had to still get through my busy work day, juggle work and attempt to maintain some sort of normality at home.

On Friday Kennith had spoken to his friend at work about me acting as a surrogate – it was a chat between friends.  E had spoken to Kennith about the problems him and his wife experienced and the potential problems they may face carrying a second child to term.

Two issues that E raised were:-

  1. What were the benefits to our family of me proceeding with surrogacy?  Did Kennith realize that for our family unit there was only negatives for us as a family – there were really no ups.
  2. Did Kennith realize he faced the real possibility of raising these kids alone should things not go to plan?

Nothing that E raised was new information, or something I had not thought about.

But when Kennith posed these in the rather harsh lights of our kitchen – it suddenly felt stark and naked and well, not so good.

Kennith wanted me to understand that though he did not want to be the “handbrake” to this – he wanted me to “see” the high risk and decide for myself that it was time to opt out for the sake of our family.

I am not naive, I am not ill-informed, I am not ignorant – I do realize these key points, I was sort of glossing over them.

How can I argue either of them?

I can’t – they are justified and real points.

My only argument is that for me this is an emotive issue, which is difficult to reason out in the world of logic and pie charts.

Children are not logical.

If we all remained logical, we would not opt to go through pregnancies, a birth, the broken sleep, the stress on a relationship, the high cost of a baby, child and the related schooling.  If we remained logical, we would opt to remain childless and book a yearly holiday to somewhere exotic where they speak foreign.

But the fact that so many of us pursue children and golf, often at huge costs to our relationships, psyche and bank balances, shows that many of our decisions are not led by logic alone.

In closing I did indicate to Kennith that one of two things were going to happen now.

One, I few days/weeks/months would pass and there would be nothing that happened on the surrogacy front.  I would realize that maybe this was never going to work and I would start to think that maybe the risks far outweighed the benefits, and walk away from this plan …. maybe.

Second option, an IP would make contact with me, and I would get all excited, and start to salivate and well things would lead to things.

So that is where we are …. or well, that is where I am today.  Catch me later, things are known to change ….

Take a pill and have a lie down day …..

So I really have had a bit of a week which just felt like crap frankly.

It started on a very high note when there was a potential IP interested in my potential child-carrying uterus.  I got very excited and was already imaging myself in stirrups and knocked up – insert Kennith’s rather disconcerted look here.

Unfortunately the decision did not go as hoped, and I am feeling very disappointment and just a little on the devastated side.

I know we can all wax lyrically about “how it is not so bad” and really you just need to  “relax and look on the bright side..” but I don’t roll with clichés and platitudes. I prefer to lie in the pit of hurt and to lick my open festering wounds, rather than to look on the sunny side of the street or imagine the cup half full.

I know that there is always the possibility that I will be matched with another IP, and they will like my uterus.  And then following lots of hugs and spooning, we will all skip off into the sunset of gestational-surrogacy happy in our various roles.

The problem is that right now I feel that like the ugly unpopular third cousin who does not get asked to dance at the local “dik–sko.”  While all the other chicks are kicking it old school on the dance floor, with their blue eye shadow and shoulder pads.

What must I do to get this show on the road?  Clearly something that I am not doing yet.

I’m considering an A2 cardboard sign “Uterus available, only used three times”  – just trying to decide on the font.  It needs to show desperation, willingness, but not neediness …… difficult to select a font like that.

To add to my rather caustic mood.  I have this huge printing job come through like a storm yesterday.  It needs to go to print this morning or the world will end (someone’s world is always ending here in my neck of the woods…)

The one thing – the one fekn thing – I asked someone to do for me yeterday, they did not do.  I spoke to them, they understood – it was actually their responsibility and I sent them an email to confirm what they must do – I may have also used bullet points to stress the sequence of events and where they came into play.

Shocker, they followed the bullet points up until the point WHERE THEY ACTUALLY had to do something.

The result was it knocked the customer pass out on the proof by several hours.  Which meant that “kippie die k***” -otherwise known as me – was sitting here until late last night playing sort-out-this-job.

I had to get proofs amended and artwork changed, and remain until final sign off was done – fortunately it was a lovely publication, and the clients were very pleasant.

There I was trying to just get through this, while my heart was bleeding from IP rejection – and then Kennith phones and goes: ‘Guess who just took her first steps?”

Not only did I have a super-crapper-liscious day, but I got to miss my daughter’s first steps.

O.u.t.s.t.a.n.d.i.n.g  d.a.y!

<apologise for the overuse of the word fek’n … it somehow makes me feel better when I use it …>

Super Human …

This morning there was a brilliant show on BBC Knowledge called Superhuman.

Clearly a series – and hosted by the same bloke who does “Child of our Times” – also a brilliant BBC documentary.

I missed the beginning of the show, and have never caught the series, but within 30 seconds I was hooked.

When I came in it was all about these parents and how they were going for IVF.  This was the first time I had caught the show, and it really was very interesting.

One couple had had a previous child with cystic fibrosis, and had gone through a horrific experience.   In wanting to fall pregnant the second time, they wanted to genetically test the embis to check if they in fact carried this trait.

They then implanted a pre-tested embi back that did not have cf, so the couple went on to have a healthy son. (I am simplifying the process here as I is simple folk)

The second couple were Jon and Alice, and they called themselves everyone’s favourite aunt and uncle.

They are THAT couple who are dying to have kids but are being th-warped at every turn.  They are the couple that would make great parents, but by some stupid set of circumstances, they are knocking their respective heads against a brick wall.

It seemed to have something to do with when the fertilised egg started to divide.  Alice had an enzyme that caused the embi to not divide equally and eventually the embi would start to disintegrate. (Again I am simplifying it here considerably.)

The reason I am telling you this tale of woe, is Kennith and I are lying in bed watching this while Isabelle (13 months) is bouncing around on our bed.  She is at that bounce around stage – where every now and then she tries to throw herself off the bed, and the only thing keeping her anchored is either me or Kennith holding her leg.

I glanced over at Kennith while we are watching the show, and realised how truly sad he was for these couples on the show.

I could actually see the disappointment on his face when Jon and Alice’s procedure was not successful, and he groaned out loud for them.

I often say that Kennith is a good egg.

The fact that he can look at this situation as a man, and could really grieve for a couple he does not know, made me go all warm and mushy for him.

He could have sat there and scratched his balls   (as you do first thing in the morning), and played games on his iphone.  But he sat and watched the show and showed real emotion for these people who are trying to have a baby of their own.

He is a good egg that Kennith is.

<of course then the show said that in the time we have been watching this show, I have lost three eggs, while Kennith has produced about 20 000 sperm – Kennith then asked me if I had anywhere to put the sperm … sigh>

Of surrogacy and disappointments ….

I feel quite despondent that the path I am attempting to take is being blocked.

I heard from one of the agencies that I contacted regarding surrogacy.

The Cape Town Ethics Committee met earlier this week and discussed my case, and my application to act as a surrogate was turned down.

The reason they supplied was they considered that the risk will be too large to me for me to undertake for a third party.

I accept their reasoning, and no doubt this comes from years of experience.

However that does not stop me being very disappointed that my pursuing surrogacy in Cape Town through an agency will no longer be possible.  I assume the ethics committee includes doctors,  social workers and agencies that work in Cape Town

The agency I contacted in Johannesburg, does not seem to fall under the Ethics Committee’s jurisdiction (I make this stuff up, as I have no real idea of how it works).

They  have agreed to take on my profile, but will then leave the decision to IP to consider the risks, and if a set of IP or a single IP decides to pursue this with me, then it will be subject to an extensive physical to confirm that there is not underlying reason why not to pursue a 4th pregnancy.

Of course I am gutted and disappointed that this is where we are on this road.

Do I accept it is the end of the road for me with regards to wanting to act as a surrogate for someone?  No.

Do I think that the chance are very slight that an IP will select my profile?  Yes.

Do I understand the that chances of me being a surrogate are slim to pretty much nil?  Yes, I think the odds are stacked against me now.

Am I really disappointed?  Yes, unfortunately more than I can explain in a sensible and logical manner.

I really do not do well with platitudes or cliches of “it’s for the best” or “I am sure there is a reason” or something along those lines.

I do feel the over riding urge to scream into the storm and swear at the thunder.

As I type this post I look down at my two children (one is watching a movie downstairs) and I think of how lucky I am I get to have them, and have them as part of my life.

I am gutted that I can’t help someone else just have a third of what I have … however a huge part of me hopes that the agency in Johannesburg will align me with an IP and the process will still go on.

For now it is a case of taking a deep breath and waiting ….

Feel good blog ….

Sometimes when I am having a crap day and feeling super sorry for myself, I like to click through to other blogs and take a glimpse into other’s lives.

Today I was reminded that people do make lemonade out of lemons when I visited  http://www.kellehampton.com/ blog.

Besides the photos on her blog being sufficient to lift your spirit – they are really gorgeous.

If you take the time to read her blog especially the link detailing the birth of her second daughter – http://www.kellehampton.com/2010/01/nella-cordelia-birth-story.html – it reduces you to tears and laughter at the same time.

Spoiler alert:  Kelle gives birth to her second daughter and discovers that her daughter has Down Syndrome after the birth.

The photos and her writing of the moment makes you feel as if you were there, packed into the birth room, holding her hand.

At the same moment that you feel the sorrow and anguish that grips her soul, you also feel the love and the acceptance and the hope, of the life she will be embarking on with her new daughter.

It’s a great read – and the photos alone are worth clicking through for.

So get your cuppa of feeling better with Kelle.

A day in the salt mines ….

I really enjoy what I do at work and I really like the company I work for.

I am one of those people who actually gets paid for something they enjoy doing- – yay for me.

I am ever thankful that I have a job to go to, a nice desk to sit at, hot tea on demand (actually I make it, but let’s just make it sound like it is served to me), and a paycheck at the end of the month.

I am grateful for all these things.

Even on the days that I do not feel like dragging my large lard arse to work, I try to remind myself that I could be unemployed, and no doubt that would have its own set of problems, so then I get up and brush my teeth and get myself to work.

I generally work with really nice people.

I know nice is not a very descriptive word and your standard two teacher told you that you were not allowed to use it in a sentence else she was going to smack your hand with a wooden ruler.  My teacher did.

It scared the crap out of me, and as a result I seldom if ever use the word “nice” if I can find another more effective word.  And who said corporal punishment was not effective!

But the people I work with are nice.  They do their work, they just get on with it, and often go far beyond what is required to get a job done and to a client.  Though they don’t come over and hug you each day, they are generally polite and kind to one another, and really great to work with.  We all share frustrations, but realise we are all sort of in it together, and just well, get on with it.

They also have tons of industry experience and are more than willing to share their knowledge with you, if you ask.

Unfortunately every now and then one meets an individual and you realise that EQ is not dished out to all in equal measure.

I work with that individual – let’s call the individual Elaine, as it makes it easier to use a name and let’s make this person a she, for the purposes of this post or I have to use he/she and it gets awkward and cumbersome .

Everyone gets to have a crappy day.  You are totally allowed to be rude and a total cow every now and then.  It’s like a God given right in fact. But we all get to have that one day.  You are forgiven for being a rude, obnoxious, horrible cow for that one day.

But when it becomes standard issue for Elaine to be this aggressive person every day, it moves past the point of being unacceptable – one starts to have fantasies about a large hole opening up in the earth, or a freak accident that involves a train. a car and a plane.

People actually cannot approach Elaine without wanting to throw themselves through a plate glass window instead.  The problem is that Elaine’s position puts her in a role that you HAVE to deal with her.

Insert really unhappy emoticon here.

Now you are being forced to deal with someone, who actually is not a nice person.  It is as if they have just never learnt to play well with others.  Listen, I have shocking interpersonal skills, but godstruth, I look like Dale Carnegie in comparison to Elaine!

I need to deal through this person to get my work done – work for my clients.   But because you are asking Elaine, she makes it sound like she is doing you a personal favour.

Once you get past the annoyed look that you have dared speaking to her – then you get the look of total disinterest as you are explaining your problem.  Following which you then have to deal with either the total sarcastic biting reply, alternatively the look of  “how the fuck do you think that is going to happen?” – it really gets exhausting just trying to do your job some days.

It is a case of one person’s personality that has the ability to upset the delicate balance that exists in a work place, and just gets under everyone’s skin.

And for reasons that I cannot explain you can do nothing about – like nothing!  You just have got to lump it or leave it, at the end of the day.  This is what you have to work with.

People consciously avoid discussing an issue with Elaine because they are just tired of the dripping sarcasm, or the totally unprofessional reaction one gets most of the time.

I say most of the time, because some days, like one out of twelve, she suddenly becomes professional and the most helpful person on the planet.  Nothing is a problem.

I personally think it is all a ploy to just keep you on your toes … you know, keep the prey nervous.

You really never know what animal you are going to get on a particular day.

It is like four fek’n seasons in a day over here.  Today will be fine, ask the same question tomorrow, and you get your arm ripped off and slapped through the face with the wet end, while being belittled in front of your colleagues.

But no one laughs, as they know it will be their turn next.

The result is a workforce that never knows what they are waking up to.  People look at each other with their eyes opened a fraction too wide, and their jaws slacken every time this crazy person goes off the rails – which is too often to even list.

And nothing in her behaviour denotes that she realises how totally freaking crazy she is acting and the look of horror on the faces of work colleagues.  Because she is so far down the road of nut-job that she thinks her reactions and behaviour are appropriate.

She speaks to some staff members in a tone that I would not even use to speak to my dog.

I figure, you know, I really do have a nice desk.

I really do work for a nice company, and the people I work with are really nice.  I just cannot stand that Elaine gets to walk around like a mini-Stalin reminding everyone that she is  some how superior – and if you forget it, well no worries, because her haughty tone will remind you of the fact.

So the ying and yang of it is that I accept I work at a great place, but that I have been sent someone to test my ability to restrain myself each and every day – some days I fail.

Like today …. crazy mental bitch!!!  (Can I say that on my blog?)

Of colouring in …..

This week I was further reminded what a stickler for detail Connor is, and how upset he gets when he can’t do something along the way that he feels it must be done.

He is the kind of child who not only wants to colour between the lines, but needs to colour between the lines.

I have watched how stressed he gets when he is quietly drawing and Georgia is sitting next to him.  She takes her crayon and just goes “bos” – colouring with total abandon, and like she is possessed.  She just freaking colours like her life depends on it.

The harder and wilder her crayon strokes are, the happier she is.  The more wild and exaggerated her strokes are, the more concerned Connor gets that she might leave her page and end up on his neat page – every now and then she does and he totally freaks out.

Next to her Connor sits and painstakingly draws each stroke with care and diligence – often with his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth in concentration.  Totally absorbed in his task, with everything perfectly just so.

This morning we were running a bit late.

I can blame the lack of cold water, so I needed to boil pots and kettles so I can have just enough water to splash around in rather than stand a cold shower.  I had about 2cm depth of water in the bath, once I got in to it.  But it beat the crap out of a cold shower, or going to work stinky.

I can blame the fact that I forgot it was Speech Therapy day.  I had to find Georgia’s book, then find Pritt and sit and stick all her homework stuff in her book –her homework stuff that I did not do <sigh>.  The Speech Therapy teacher probably has me on the “shit parent” list already – and no doubt tut-tuts that this is exactly why my five year old speaks like a three year old.

I could also blame the fact that Georgia was arguing with me about wanting to bring something to school and a little power struggle broke out in the passage.

I could also blame the fact that I had to turn back and go home, as Georgia had forgotten to put her Speech Therapy book into her bag, though I had reminded her four times, and had actually seen it in her hand on the way to the car.

While driving I casually said: “Georgia have you got your Speech Therapy book?”

To which she answered: “Mommy I think we need to go home….”

I could blame all of those things, but the honest reason is I did not get out of bed until 07h05 – so that compounded with all of the above, made me leave home at 07h55 – for the second time this morning.

That being said, traffic lights and traffic flow were on my side and I drove/flew into Connor’s school at 08h05.  There were still tons of kids being thrown out of harassed parents cars at that point, so I took comfort from that.

I say to Connor: “Listen follow that boy, he is going around the back end of the school and you can just walk to class and go and sit down and no one will know. You are barely late.  Look at all of these kids.”

Connor: “I need to go and sign in and go through the front entrance as I am late.”

Me: “Just walk around the side here by aftercare, and go to your class, I bet the kids are not even inside the class yet, the bell probably just rang.”

Connor: “I need to go and sign in….”

Me: “You really do not need to, you are not really late, but if you feel you want to …. well….”

Connor: “I am going to go through the front entrance and sign in …. Bye mom, bye Georgia!”

So off my son goes, avoids the shortcut that I showed him, so he can walk past the receptionist’s office and sign in, as the rules are the rules.

I think he is going to have a hard life with the need to always have to keep his crayon in the lines.

Your email address has just won you £1 Million British Pounds Sterling

Fabulous it seems I am a 1 million pound lottery winner.

I know, I can barely believe it too.  I thought I would get this quick post in, as no doubt I am going to get really busy after I start cashing in on my good fortune

I just have to fill in this quick form, bank account details and the like, and then tah-dah, I am set.  Won’t take me but a moment.

I also have to answer another email from my good friend Mr David Mark.

David, it appears, is the Auditor for the Bank of the North International, Abuja – he is having a little problem too that only I, his new friend can assist with.

All I have to do is give him my bank account details, and I will be rewarded with a percentage of the 12 million US $ that he is having a little problem getting out of the country – it seems easy enough.

Listen he sounds helluva honest.  He has already referred to me as his friend on several occasions – sure he has spelled friend incorrectly twice in the letter, but no doubt David is busy, and he has other things to concern himself with.

So that is what I have planned for my evening, I will let you know how it pans out.

Mondays should just start later ….. or not at all

This morning was an exercise is total chaos.

On Saturday Connor was playing with his cousins and hurt his arm.  It was still really sore yesterday, so I took him to Panorama Medi-Clinic and it seems he has broken a bone in his wrist.   They put his arm in a splint and that was that.

This morning started with damp school clothes, and Connor not being able to get into his clothes by himself, and then not being able to get his shirt/jersey and jacket  over his cast.  So he started to get upset.

I was still trying to come out of my drug induced sleep and focus, so I told him to just put on his black polar fleece and his black polar fleece jacket.  I was sure that could go over his cast.

Connor is a very “the rules is the rules” kind of boy, and the idea that he was not dressed in his school clothes to go to school got him very upset, and actually a tad hysterical.

He is crying and pleading for me to phone his teacher.  Of course this highlights that fact that I actually do not have his teacher’s number – the ineptness of some parents!! I tried to lie and say that I did not want to wake Ms S, but he said, it was no problem as she would be awake.  Damn it.

Georgia on the other hand is giving me a blow by blow questionnaire of every piece of clothing I have packed out for her.

Besides the Connor’s thing going berserk in his room, which is now spilling in to mine, I have Georgia dancing around asking me questions about things and I can’t even understand her questions.

She has sock issues. I did not realise I had put one sock out instead of a pair, so this of course has given her fresh ammunition and she is going on and on about her socks or sock if you want to be specific.

Instead of her just walking over to her cupboard, opening the door, and getting a flipping pair of socks out – she kept asking in this repetitive voice:

“Mommy, what must I do with this sock?”

“Mommy, what must I do with this sock?”

“Mommy, what must I do with this sock?”

Of course mommy has a classic answer as to what she should do with the sock, but feels it will be lost on a five year old, so I need to bank that comment for later.

All the while Connor is climbing the walls about not wearing his uniform.

I think Kennith was also prattling off about some piece of wisdom, as he gets himself ready to leave.

Bear in mind, I have barely woken up properly. I have not put in my contact lenses. I am still smarting from Georgia telling me my bum is hanging out of my panties … because my bum is too big…. this nugget she threw at me as she went past to use our bathroom earlier on.

I have not had a cup of tea, I am struggling to stand up, or string a sentence together.

I march down the passage with my ass hanging out, because the effort to find jammie bottoms was too hard last night, and this morning will be excruciating.  I figured Pepe has just had an increase, and this should cover this minor infraction on good manners.

I go to Connor who is like a child possessed.  Try to calm him down, tell him I will write a letter and I will walk him in to school and go and see his teacher, it will be fine.

Go to Georgia and solve her sock dilemma – granted she is telling me that I am a Mommy Queen which helps me feel not so bad about my arse hanging out and it being too big for my panties.

I glance at the time – 07h20 = LATE. (Kids need to be at school latest at 08h00, my work starts at 08h00)

Head for the shower.  Figure I will skip going to the toilet as I really do not have time.  As I step in to the shower I hear my phone ring.  I know it is probably Kennith.

Kennith has the inate skill of always phoning me as I am either with my fingers inside a poo nappy, or trying to hold Isabelle down as I disentangle pke out of my hair, or when I am leaning over the toilet wiping poo of someone’s bum – usually not mine – but when ever I am in a position that does not lend itself to answering a phone, I can pretty much guarantee it is Kennith on the other end of the line..

I hear my phone ring twice, but I am already in the shower and trying to shower, brush my teeth, wash my hair, get dressed, and get out the door before 07h30.  I figure they can leave a message and I can deal with it later.

I am in the shower, conditioner on, brushing my teeth – I need to combine tasks to get myself out the door.  I hear this almighty knocking on the bathroom door.  It is not so much knocking as the sound of an 18 kilogram child throwing themselves against the door to get it open.

Georgia rips back the plastic curtain and hands me the house cellphone.

I am naked, my sense of humour has officially left me.  I am in the shower.  I have conditioner leaking down the left hand side of my face into my eye that I am trying to keep closed.  I have a mouth full of Aquafresh toothpaste and most of it is running down my chin as I have been screaming to “leave me alone” every time I heard the thud against the door.

But there Georgia is handing me the cell phone.  You know the only way it could be worse is if it was Pepe handing me the cell phone.

I am thinking – this had better be fucking good!

It is Kennith on the line.

Am I surprised? Not so much.

I attempt to put the phone near my ear.  Can’t actually put it on my ear, as I have conditioner and water out of a shower head spraying on to me – so I go “yes… ” in the most polite voice I can muster – again spitting toothpaste everywhere – I am a charmer I am!!

Kennith then goes on to explain that Connor is really upset about going to school without his school jacket, and maybe I can fit it on his good arm and then sort of drape it over his crippled arm!  Seriously – he calls me now, to impart this gem of advise?  What the hell does he think goes on in our household in the morning?

My initial reaction was to scream at Kennith and tell him is that seriously his best idea and did he need to phone me three times to impart this brilliance – instead, I opted for, “sure great idea, really need to go now!”

Did I ever tell you the time, I was in the shower and Kennith handed me money he owed me …. I was in the shower …. where does he think I will be spending it or putting in … I am in the shower.

What a fek’n morning.