“It’s not your job to like me – it’s mine.”

And that is it really, isn’t it?

I normally do not do these one line pieces of “good karma” stuff, but I saw this today and I thought it was an “ah-hahhhhh” moment there.

Listen, it is not going to stop me running around you like a rabid dog with a stick going “do you like me?’ pant pant “please like me” pant pant “lick, lick, please like me”….. but I thought it was a “powerful” sentiment and resonated with me.

 

Totally not related to this, but I saw this “chat” screen shot floating around and my heart dies for this poor girl.  Total Chat FAIL moment right there.

Worldless Wednesday … even though it is Saturday….

I realy love these “postcards” — they say so much with the fewest words possible….

Protected: It’s always funnier when it happens to someone else …….

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Who said money cannot buy you happiness? Clearly someone who undervalued R5

Connor is really keen on a WII – we are really keen he pays for it himself.

We are funny like that.

He has saved up some money and is always asking me for “chores” for money.  There is not a lot to do around the house as I have a Pepe and a Roderick.

I get him to empty dustbins, water the plants, sweep the kitchen, empty the dustbins, that sort of stuff.

I never ask him to do hard labour or work in a coal mine, or stitch a soccer ball – but I get him to do bits and bobs so he feels he is doing something, and he gets R5.00 – R50.00 for his efforts depending on the level of work.

Yesterday we are driving home, and Connor asks me for “odd jobs for money.”

I know there is nothing I need done.

But then I think “what do I want?”

I realise right now I just want peace and quiet.

Connor can physically not play the “quiet game” as he just speaks way too much, and I know that game will fail before the traffic lights change colour.

Me: “Connor I will give you R5.00 if you do not argue with your sister today.  Over anything.  I don’t care for the reason.  I want to drive home in peace, eat dinner in peace and you two go about your evening without fighting over anything.  How does that sound?”

Connor: “R5.00 – okay!”

Me: “Remember no fights…”

Oh my heavens.  R5.00 bought me peace and happiness for one evening.

Not one fight.  NOT ONE FIGHT over invisible letters, she is touching me, she looked out my window, she is breathing too loud, she is snoring and faking sleep ……

Best R5.00 I ever spent.  I am fine with bribery.  I think we are all learning a valuable lesson.

Connor can make easy money.

R5.00 seems to be a good price.  (I got a flood of them this morning from the PnP lady so I always have them in my purse from this moment forward)

I might keep my sanity (or my rather tentative grasp on it).

R5.00 for one evening x 7 evenings is really not that high a price to pay.

They will fight, odds are I need to bank on 3- 4 evenings at R5.00 at the very most.

Some days my parenting techniques will be spoken about in awe, and with wonder (I wonder how child services did not go and fetch those kids……sooner)

Car accidents and anxiety attacks ….

Monday was a bit of a right off, for all the reasons that would be good reasons when you start the day with a schedule 5 sleeping tablet.

Can’t really comment more on that one.

I slept until about 1pm and then had an appointment to get to, and the rest of the day was the usual blur of fetching and carrying kids and eating toast.

I met my (not so new) new psychiatrist and he gave me a new brown pharmacy bag of medication.  I was
not overly emotionally committed to the first bag, so I am okay with change.

I am still getting used to new side effects, so a few more is not really going to change my world right now.  But let’s see how that fares.

I decided that I needed a Mental Health Day on Tuesday – and asked Kennith if he could please stop and get bread on the way home and also take the kids to school on Tuesday morning as I could then hide under my duvet for a bit longer.

He said yes he would get bread, yes he would take the kids to school.

I thought, great.

Made some tea, stared at my reflection in the kitchen window.

Phone rang again – Kennith.

My first thought was “Seriously can you not go to the shop and make a decision without having to ask me three questions.  You have an MBA, work the bread aisle out!”

I answer the phone: ‘Yesssssss” I drawl, slightly irritated.

Kennith – with the background sound of traffic…”I have been in a car accident…”

Me – I felt my adrenal glands compress and push adrenaline through my blood.

I felt my hippocampus start screaming.  I felt my heart start to beat a bit faster to allow my lungs more oxygen to allow for the anxiety attack that was coming….. I thought about my kids and which one was dead.  Which one was injured, and if one of them was dead, who I would “be able to deal” with better.

I thought of my tea and that I might not be able to drink it.   I thought that I probably will not be able to function moving forward.  I might need to go and live with my mom.  I probably will never recover.  Teh entire universe suddenly became me-my cup of tea-my reflection in the kitchen window-and Kennith’s voice on the phone.

I started to realise that Kennith’s voice was still talking ….as he had not paused for breath from his first statement to his second…”I am fine, the car is damaged, I am fine!”

I knew I had just put the kids in bed.  I know logically they could not be in the car with Kennith.  I had just put them into bed – myself!

However that did not stop my brain from telling my brain  that my kids were possibly dead on the N1.

I had already worked out a loose funeral plan and what I might wear.

Kennith repeated: “I am fine, I can’t drive me car.  I need you to come and fetch me, I am at ……
and can you arrange a tow truck …. call DAL’S …….they are really good ….I am fine!”

I got my bag, asked Pepe to watch the kids.

I stopped and looked in each of their rooms  to make sure they were there and unharmed and had were really not in the car with Kennith.

I went to fetch Kennith next to the N1.

Kennith was/is fine.

Kennith’s car is not.

DAL’s tow service sent over a truck to pick the car up.  I had to phone my friend David to help me make the call, as I could not even remember Kennith’s cell phone number at that  point, let alone arrange a tow truck.

Kennith filled in the forms on the side of the N1.

I stared blankly at the road.

DAL’s took the car, in a very efficient and friendly manner.

Kennith got into my car and I drove us home.  I stared rather blankly out the window as I drove us home.  We had to stop for milk (and chocolate spread).

I am traumatised.

It is Kennith’s accident and I am traumatised.

Kennith’s neck is a bit sore and he really should go to a  chiropractor.  I think he might need a trauma counsellor – I am not being flippant.  I think he is very shaken —  I really think he needs to speak to someone.

That someone cannot be me.

I took a sleeping pill on Monday night – I woke up at 4am on Tuesday morning and stared at the ceiling worrying about every possible permutation of what “could have been..”

Tuesday I did not go to work.. I took a mental health day …I need a mental health week.

I can’t actually sit with Kennith and talk to him about the trauma and the effect of the “car accident” on him and how he saw his life flash before his eyes because I am ….

I am angry.

I am scared.

I am disappointed.

I am afraid.

I am petrified.

I am terrified.

I am panicked.

I am anxious.

I can’t help him with the oxygen bag in the plane, as for fk  sake I can’t get mine on, and the plane is nose diving at a bit of a rate.

I woke up this morning just before 5am and stared at the ceiling and worried some more (that is with a schedule 5 sleeping tablet).

Kennith needs support, and I can barely stand …….  I can’t help him because I can’t help myself right now.

Wordless Wednesday ….. 27 July 2011

Mugshot Monday …..

Today can only be described as an epic fail day.

I wake up, get the kids ready for school, prep myself for work, make tea and coffee, collect Isabelle put her in bed with some milk.

I sit down on the edge of my bed with my “clear lunch box” of medication.

I carefully read what I must take, the dosage and when.  I read them each day, even though I “know” what I should take and in what order.  It’s my little “thing” I do.

I throw them out in my hand and down them with my first sip of tea.

Good.

Me 1: Er, I seem to recall a blue pill in that handful, that looked like Stillnox (sleeping pill).  Was there a sleeping pill that has just gone down the hatch?”

Me 2: “Shit … shit ….. shit.  Check lunch box to see if pill is missing!”

Me 1: “There was definitely a blue pill in that handful.  It is 07h15 and I have just taken a sleeping tablet….shit!”

I phone Kennith and tell him.

He laughs, and laughs some more.

I say, it is fine.  I will get dressed and go to work and take it easy.

Kennith asks if I am crazy?  Considering the circumstances a bit insensitive and well, rhetoric actually.

Kennith then tells me to drop the kids off at school, head home and sleep.

I phone my work colleague to explain my predicament.  I work her up with my call.  Eventually I had to end the conversation because she would/could not stop laughing and I only had few moments of “being awake” left to me and could no longer listen to her raucous cackling in my ear.

I hustled kids into the car.

Drove really slowly.  Hugged the white dotted line the entire time.  Checked and rechecked the robot colours before going or stopping.

Kids got to school fine.

I found myself on two separate grass verges on the way home.

I probably should have got someone else to drive kids to school, it was not my best safe-parenting decision of the day.

However good decision-making & me have been estranged for some time.

I did make it home.  Fell in to bed and slept.

I had to set my alarm as I had a new psychiatrist’s appointment.

I liked the fact that I explained to him that I mixed up my meds and took a sleeping pill this morning, and he totally took that in his stride!

I might like this guy.

Invisible Glasses ….

The only motivation I would ever give anyone to limit procreation to one child in a family, is to “avoid sibling rivalry and stupid brother-sister fights!”

I cannot stand the constant bickering and fighting that goes on in my house.

Over. Nothing.  Absolutely. Nothing.

It does my head in.

And. If you have read any of my recent posts, you probably realise I am “somewhat less tolerant” right now.

But cheese and rice.  I am convinced my kids have made a pact with “who can send mommy over the edge” fastest.

Last night kids are eating dinner.

I left work a bit early to spend some “quality time” with them – well, we know I might not be so hasty to make that decision again.

ometimes it can be a godsend to be available only to kiss your kids good night and turn your back on them as you scratch in the fridge for an unfinished bottle of Chenin plonk!

Kids are eating dinner, I am trying to catch up on work while they natter away.

I am trying my level best to “filter” them out.

But then I realise that Connor and Georgia are arguing about INVISIBLE LETTERS!

Connor is trying to prove a point that Georgia CANNOT READ so she cannot read invisible letters.

I.N.V.I.S.I.B.L.E. L.E.T.T.E.R.S. not food aid to Afganistan or the state of the peace talks in the Middle East.  Invisible Letters!

Connor is trying to make his point as eloquently as you can with a mouthful of rice.

Georgia, not be outdone, retorts in a bit of a weh-leka-pela voice: “I can read INVISIBLE LETTERS because I have INVISIBLE GLASSES!”

It is almost impossible to argue with that sort of logic.

<using my built in fish-wife voice also has a way of abrupt way of bringing an argument to a close>

I was in pains whether to go over and high-five Georgia for coming up with a brilliant come-back, or screaming at all three of them and sending them to bed IMMEDIATELY.

<I opted instead to put my head behind my monitor and snort>

Friday Mug Shot # 1

I think this image sums up quite well how I feel today after this week.

It also implies that I abuse office stationery.

Funny Friday #2

Behind The Awkwardness: Fish Out Of Water

This was my birthday present– fins and a mask.  I’m not sure what is the most awkward part of this photo…my sister lurking in the background, my unenthusiastic stance, or the arrows on my suit pointing to my hoo-hoo.”

(submitted by Andrea)

The Sunbathers


It’s the most important day of your life… for you.

(submitted by Jeremy)

My kingdom for a school acceptance letter ….

Isabelle is 25 months old, and is desperately in need of kids her age to beat up on.

She has her hands inside everything. Has worked out how to unscrew lids, no matter how tightly I tighten them,

Has figured out access to the knife drawer.  Knows how to put the microwave on.  Knows how to slam the microwave door.

Has recently discovered the toilet plunger can be used as an effective weapon against “suspecting” adults.

This child needs a school like no one’s business.  More for my sanity than hers.

I thought I was jolly clever and enrolled early last year in a school, that I thought was the best thing since that guest turned water into wine at a wedding some while back.

I ticked a block, and my type-A personality felt good.  I did not have an acceptance letter, but I enrolled her in 2010 … ages ago!

June swung around this year and I started phoning said school.

Repeatedly.

I think I  was up to message seventy-seven and most of them ended with “please call me, why won’t you call me, please for god sake just call me ….. okay?”

Principal finally did this week.  We spoke.  Well, granted she spoke, I cried a bit.

She told me there really is no space in her school for my Isabelle.  (I am sure she meant there was no space for any more children, but I took it as a personal snub of my child).

I suggested a bribe.  She got a bit snippy, but said she would keep Isabelle on “the list” just in case something changed.

I also could hear my child’s application being torn up and thrown into the steel metal dustbin next to the phone.

I do not really have a plan B, and I usually do.  But I had my heart set on this school.

I made an emergency plan B yesterday

I piggy-backed on my friend Joyce who has been doing some school shopping and purely based on schools she has seen I went along and started applying to schools.

I have an interview on Tuesday for one school that said they “might have space” in January 2012.

I hope they do not recognize me from my blog, or my alarming updates on Facebook.  Or when I screamed at my child at the local mall.

I also applied to another school Joyce said is so fabulous she is thinking about making “monthly donations” to the school now so that it does not look like a bribe when the time comes.

Always helps if you have single-handedly funded a “Kriel Wing” at a school – it does not hurt when they are weighing up your application against whether to take Johnny’s sibling.

That school I also chased – this week (yes I tad late) but I got my application off to them. They have an open day in September and then make a decision in September for January in take.

Dude, I am down with that as well.

Now that my Plan A has fallen through – I am desperately running around finding plan B through G.  I get a bit manic around now (you might not have noticed!!)

I hate rejection.  I hate finding the right school.  I hate all the running around and the hopeful “perky phone voice”  I have to use to try to get my child into a school, and all those smug moms who have acceptance letters for 2012.

Damn them!

Damn that I did not do this when this child was a fetus! I really should have known better.

I plan NOT to tell them that Isabelle is still not talking or is still using a nappy.

If there is a block I have to tick on an application form –  I will be ticking the one that says she speaks 3 languages fluently.  Plays violin on a Tuesday, and cello on a Thursday and has been potty trained and eating solids since 4 months!

If after the first week, I get a distressing call from the school wondering why my child is still on Purity and does not say anything past “caaaaa” and poo’s in her nappy, I will feign ignorance.

Until then, I am simpering and begging for a school to have space for my child.

Kids talking in the car …..

Pepe is back  – hip hip hooray.

I fetch the kids from school yesterday and I explain to them that when they get home Pepe is back and they need to go easy on her, as she is still very sad, because her brother, Kennedy, died.

Pepe was very close to her brother and we had also met Kennedy a few times in the past.

Me – in a very transparent attempt to teach the kids a valuable lesson about how they should be appreciative of each other: “Imagine how sad Pepe is because her brother died?  And how sad she must feel, hey?”

Georgia: “Poor Pepe, because her bwoder is dead.  Pepe’s bwoder is dead.”

Me – hoping we can stop this mantra before we get home: “Yes Pepe is very sad.”

Connor: “Poor Pepe.”

Silence in the car as we sit with this solemn point for a bit.

Connor: “You know who is sadder than Pepe about her brother dying?”

Me – really nervous that this conversation is going in the wrong direction: “No, Connor who is sadder?”

Connor: “His mommy.  I bet his mommy is sadder even than his wife and his sister.  I think his mommy must be very sad because her son is dead.”

Me – trying to hold a clunk of mucus in my throat: “Mmmmhmmm … yes…”

Georgia: “Poor bwoder, he was such a good man.”

Yes, he was.

What is your sanity score?

I am just not feeling better …. right now.

Better than what?  I am not sure how to explain it.  I guess better than feeling like death.

I am not physically sick.  I can’t show you an injury or a bleeding elbow.  But I physically feel in pain all day,

My medication has definitely made me feel less worse than I did – and really for that I am grateful.

Thanks to Stillnox I am sleeping like the dead.  Thanks to Nuzak I appear vaguely alive during the day.

I have a few other things thrown in for good measure.

This is without a doubt the worst I have felt for the longest time, since at least 2003 – 2005.  I think.  But my memory might be hazy and I may well be mis-remembering.

I cannot actually believe how crap I feel.  Right now I am doing breath-breath-breath, everything else is detail and somewhat unnecessary.

I know I should be all these things that I should be: thankful, grateful, glad to have a job, happy for all I have,my beautiful precious children, my caring partner, but I just feel so “dead” to everything.

Still.

I have definitely lost my mojo.  Somewhere.  Some how.  I am just not sure where to go and find it right now.

<If someone could tell me where my mojo is, I would gladly go there and collect it.  Really, I would.  I’d go right now. Immediately and grab it.  No questions asked.>

I am trying very hard with my kids to not give them the impression I am struggling (more than usual) and trying to appear patient and willing to read stories and spend time with them.  And do it and appear happy.

I am trying.

When they are in bed, I literally crumble like a paper mache that got wet in the rain.

Today I added a neck ache and a head ache to my day – I really wanted to take a Cataflam and a few Panado – but I was nervous that I had to get through the day and I had no idea what the combination of medication would do.

I need to give the semblance of functioning.

I made the rather disastrous error a few nights ago of eating dinner, took my sleeping tablet and my night medication, had a glass of wine with dinner.

Granted it was not a small glass.

But I was totally out of my tree while I was still sitting in front of my dinner plate.

I had no idea how I got to bed.  No recollection of locking the security gate or getting in to bed.  I found my glasses I wear when I watch television lying in the middle of my bedroom floor.  Some party I must have had without me knowing it.

So, I am guessing that combination was not the best idea I have ever had.

My pill doctor is a loon, so I need to shop around and find a new one.  In practice I will skulk away from her and pray I do not run into her at a mall.

I have had one appointment with my clinical psychologist who specialises in cognitive behaviour therapy.

We have a ways to go before we start with the heavy lifting stuff –  but I am already intrigued by his manner.  But let’s get to three consultations before I go and tattoo his name on my arm or something.

He suggested something mildly interesting in our last meeting – that I might have been inaccurately diagnosed in the past.

But I think he is going to keep a “new label” as a surprise for a later visit.

I did get a good feeling from him (but bear in mind I did also get a great feeling from my earlier pill doctor, and well, I was clearly …. er …… wrong, so do not take my opinion as authoritative on too many things right now)

I saw this interesting ‘are you crazy’ or better ‘how worried to you need to be by your level of crazy” on-line survey.  I think the fact that if you are doing it sort of tells you that you are a tad “crazy” but it is interesting that it highlights some areas that might be a concern and you might need to look at.

So it is not conclusive, but it definitely holds up some red flags that you might want to think about going forward.

I do want to confess that it was remarkably accurate – but I am all sorts of crazy right now, so really a blind guide dog could work that out.

I plan to retest myself every few weeks and see how it goes.  Out of interest, not for any therapeutic guidance.

So if you want to pop along and check your sanity score – let me know how you scored.

I tested earlier today and I came up with 157 (I think.  I did not write it down, so I am trying to remember accurately.  I just did the test again and got 151).

<the summary it gave me was: Based upon your answers, you appear to be experiencing a great deal of distress at the moment —  your overall mental health is greatly affected by this distress.  People with similar scores experience life as overwhelming and have a great deal of difficulty in coping with life, relationships, work or school.  If you have been feeling this way for longer than 2 weeks’ time, people similar to you have sought out professional care from a mental health professional, such as a psychologist, psychotherapist or psychiatrist. – handy advise me thinks>

Would you do the test?  What is your number?

(you do have to sign up, which is a case of a user name and password, so it is pretty simple stuff)

Two TOTALLY random things I learnt today …. Pubic Lice & STI …..

I really have lost my mommy and child prattle mojo at present.

Just not “in the mood” to tell you how Isabelle hurled the equivalent of cottage-cheese sized vomit chunks on to me with such force it blew my hair back.

Or that Kennith is on a business trip and has missed our first wedding anniversary.

If you can interpret “business trip” as drinking your way through every ‘pub that has large glasses of beer and look really really happy doing it posted on Facebook every 4 hours’ – it was that sort of business trip.

Kennith is always telling me how exhausted he is after a business trip.

I can’t imagine much better than being on an aeroplane for 12 – 18 hours and being allowed to sleep, someone bring me food, and no one ask me to wipe their arse.

Right there that sounds pretty good.

Sleeping in a hotel bed with a full continental breakfast every morning – sh*t it must be rough these business trips.

I hope he is okay.

I wasn’t quite sure how to introduce this topic, but I thought it might be cool as a dedication post to JoDon.

JoDon, because you appreciates totally irrelevant pieces of information, in totally out-of-place places presented in the most/almost unlikely environments – this chick is for you:

Pubic Lice

No, not head lice – the ones we are more ready to admit to – but pubic lice.  Here is a vaguely interesting fact you can pull out next time there is a lull in conversation on date night.

Pubic Lice: (Phthirus pubis) Commonly passed through sexual contact and is often called crab lice or ‘crabs’.

The reason head lice does not turn into pubic lice and visa versa is that pubic lice have larger “claws” to grip on to pubic hair as pubic hair is coarser than head hair.

Head hair lice in turn have smaller “claws” and thus cannot grip onto pubic hair.

Interesting?  I thought so.

Heres a picture incase you are struggling to picture it “in your mind’s eye” with my description.

In the event that you are pulling your face back in disgust and wondering how civilisation has come to this.

Take comfort, here is a print from a 12th century scroll, where shaving was the only solution to pubic lice.  <I really am not sure why the girl is cackling in the background, because my guess is she is probably carrying a dose of it herself>

I bet you did not know that!  <on the upside if you have this little issue and too afraid to “forum about it” – you can pick up an ointment from your local pharmacy to make your new friends go away.>

You cannot pick up an STI/STD from a toilet seat …

Contrary to what your well-meaning-mother told you, and all your years spent trying to balance yourself over a public toilet seat as you took a wee, you cannot pick up an STI from a toilet seat.

You would have to wipe your nether regions onto the toilet seat rather profusely if there was an STI there and you were going to catch it.  Even that is so unlikely you can go along and wipe yourself all over a public toilet seat at your leisure and odds are you still would walk away STI free.

Granted you may well pick up some bacteria from someone’s faces, but it won’t be an STD/STI.

It is unlikely you might believe me, but take it from this gal:-

“To my knowledge, no one has ever acquired an STD on the toilet seat — unless they were having sex on the toilet seat!” says Abigail Salyers, PhD, president of the American Society for Microbiology (ASM).

I have shared them with you, and you in turn can share them with two people and sooner or later we will be an entire group of people talking about pubic lice and toilet seats.

But if you think you need something to assist you in switching your brain from either image, try this advert from 1976 or thereabouts.

I do think the Love Rug is more disturbing that pubic lice, but that it my opinion.

Have a good Monday, what ever mental picture you are going to keep with you today!

PS:  Georgia has just showed me a picture of a Barney character she has coloured in.  She then danced around the dining room saying “BJ” five times.  It still makes me wonder what the Barney creators were thinking when they went with that as a character name.  Georgia appears to like BJ …. and that is wrong on so many levels, I am not sure exactly where to start.

Hansel and Gretel – child services should have got involved earlier!

A discussion recently reminded me of how much I “enjoy” classic fairy tales.

I really get intrigued by‘traditional fairy tales’ and what we are teaching our kids when we read to them – or just the message that comes through.

I think I enjoy them more as an adult than I did as a child.  They are by far more interesting to me now.

To be honest I really do not think kids hear the stuff we hear in these tales.

We can have hours of conversation about subliminal messages – but really – I am more scared of clowns than I have ever been of wolves.

And clowns never featured in fairy tales.

I listened to fairy tales as a kid, and I can’t say I thought very hard about the troll under the bridge or how the wolf managed to eat the gran in one bite and then how the woodcutter could get her out, it all seemed quite ‘normal’.

The stories seemed to have the ingredients to make them exciting, with the good little girl/boy; the wolf who you know is going try and eat someone; the woodcutter, who always appears available to chop someone’s head off with one stroke of his large blade; the evil and mean stepmother; the good looking prince, who is always needing a wife – and happy to setlle for a commmoner.

The sense I get is that  middle century Europe must have been a very dark and foreboding place for “well meaning” adults to come up with these stories as bedtime tales for kids.

No doubt there was always an element of warning in them – to counsel children to remain on the path (Red Riding Hood strayed – but granted she had been sent a long distance by herself, through a dangerous forest.  Where were the protective adults in all of this I wonder?)

I was thinking about Hansel and Gretel.

Hansel and Gretel’s parents left them in the woods twice!

Hansel and Gretel returned home to them – knowing full well the same parents had purposefully abandoned them in the woods with the hope that they would get eaten by wolves or what ever else lives in the forest.

I mean exactly how many times do you have to leave a child nd they get lost before they really learn the lesson, and not come home?

I think the quick lesson here might be – do not go picnicing in a remote area with your parents.

If you have no other options, picnic, but do not fall asleep after lunch under any circumstances.  Kids, write that down!

Possibly this is why I fear camping.

Hansel and Gretel, awake – realize they have fallen for the same “let’s go for a picnic and abandon you “ trick.  Right there one must question about how much Omege 3 and 6 they were getting in their diet.

They stumble off to find the nearest gingerbread/sweetie house and start gnawing away at it.

Of course I wonder if a witch has the power to turn a house into edible confectionary, surely she can conjure up a child as a meal easily enough if she just popped off into the local village.

It does seem very complicated she would use such a ruse like a sweetie house, in the middle of the forest, where few people walk past to lure little kids in.

It just seems odd, and unlikely.

I think she must have had a huge ant problem.

Hansel is captured and the witch tries to fatten him up while using Gretel as a house slave.

I am not sure exactly what the “hidden message” is in this rather dark, yet popular fairy/folk tale.

Possibly it is optimism?

Hansel the little scoundrel, remains optimistic.

Though he has been abandoned twice.

Has been “captured” because he tried to eat a house, and he has been locked in a cage, and his sister is held as a prisoner and a servant –  but somehow our little scallywag manages to “trick” the witch that he is still
a bit skinny (in case you are not familiar with this part, it is because he  holds out a chicken bone when the witch asks him to put out his finger so she can judge if he has fattened up sufficiently for the pot).

This little guy perseveres.

Of course it does paint Gretel as being a total dunce – or at the very least a rather helpless little fraulein.

She managed not to do anything to really help the situation.

We know the old crone was blind – so really it would not take a genius to dig a hole and push her in, or say hit her  in the head with a chair and free her brother.  Agh, maybe it was the Stockholm Effect, or maybe the witch was particular cunning.

Gretel instead stands around rather helplessly while her  brother is in a cage.

But at some point there is a large fire and a witch involved (Gretel’s starring role incidently) – here again it seems to be okay for kids to not knock someone out, but to actually throw them in a fire, is encouraged.

No calling 911 here!!

The kids – who are really lost waifs who have been captured by a murdering cannibalistic maniac who lives in an edible house –  then manage to find an inordinate sum of gold (not sure exactly why the witch is living in a remote area of the forest if she has this much gold at her disposal…. but maybe she has a bit of OCD combined with some hoarding issues).

What do our little Hansel and Gretel do with it?

Dude, they head straight home to the parents who LEFT THEM ALONE IN THE WOODS ON PURPOSE twice.

Of course the question is, if they  could find their way home then, how come they did not do it after the picnic – when they were lost the second time and had probably walked to the spot in the woods?  How long does one walk to a picnic spot before getting suspicious that your parents are going to leave you behind?

If I left my kids in the woods even by accident – even once – there would be nothing I could say to get them to go to the woods again.  Suggesting ANOTHER picnic, would really not fly with my lot.

I have no idea how Hansel and Gretel’s parents got them to go for the second time.

When the two finally get home they find out that the father was  so “heart wrenched” since he “purposefully lost them the second time” that he  has now abandoned the horrible step mother.

Fabulous – might have been good had he done that before he “agreed to lose” his kids for the second time.
Instead of agreeing to it.

But these kids are clearly forgiving.

Which really paints the father as a workless, pennyless, good-for-nothing dad, who is willing to abandon his kids for any woman who comes along, and who at the same time does not appear to make good judgments of women if he married a step mother who wanted to kill/abadon his kids.

Granted he does suffer some remorse.

But what really happened to that stepmother?

I think if the dad could “lose his kids at a picnic” there is a good chance that some “cadaver sniffing” dogs might find a few locations of interest around that log cabin.

I just think that from the beginning child services should have been involved after the first picnic.

These kids really need to be in some sort of therapy for their abandonment issues.

CSI needs to be called to check out the rest of witch’s cottage.  Clearly Hansel and Gretel weren’t her first crime, she seemed to have a taste for it, and it seemed well orchestrated.  Who has a cage in their kitchen, big enough for a child?

The only lesson I can pull out of this story is “stay optimistic even when Ted Bundy locks you up” and “if you ever get a pot of gold  run straight home to your parents and share it with them, no matter how shockingly they have treated you…”

That’s all I have out of this story.  Not sure if there is another moral there that is wasted on me?

My Skype FAIL Moment …

Yesterday afternoon I am chatting to the guys at work and I am talking about the fact that I do not know how the camera/video thing works on my laptop.

They have MACs. I have a PC so they can’t really offer advise.

I figured I could just work on it later and figure out how it works – which applications it works with and so on.

Really not critical (to be honest I was trying to use it to “scan” something in as we do not have a scanner anywhere nearby.)

Fast forward a few hours later – it is about 9pm I am in my old, grey, torn jammies with my laptop on my lap sitting in my lounge alternating between sips of wine and Flourexitine.

I figure out the camera works if I an in Skype, and then I run it as video and “take a photograph” that route.

All seems fine.

Photographs are always crap, and you know how that goes – lighting bad, you have laptop on your lap, so you and your 3 dozen chins are on show.

But I am getting the idea and can’t seem to export the images. But I fiddling around and the issue is more about the capturing and exporting the image than the quality of the image.

Just to reiterate I AM IN MY JAMMIES – – this is not even a good pair of jammies.

I am trying to see if I can take a photo and copy it out – to edit in another package, and I am not getting it right, but anyway, finish that off, turn laptop off, go to bed.

This morning, I put my laptop on (it’s a work laptop and I check mail, and we do a lot of work with clients who we physically never meet, so it is all done via SKYPE).

I repeat the same exercise this morning as I arrive to see if maybe I can figure it out now that I am more awake – but then I get distracted with work, and carry on with something else.

Later this morning my boss guy (who is in the UK) is chatting to me on Skype and he comments about my new photo on my profile.

I am like WHAT?

And I immediately get this sinking really bad feeling.  You know the one, when you suddenly realise that it has all gone horribly, horribly wrong.

My photos that I have been mucking around with on Skype in my frkn jammies have been posting to my Skype profile.

The rub – is that I deal with clients in a ton of time zones, so someone was on when I was in my grey jammies and happily posting close ups of my left nostril, and exposed pores.

The only “thank goodness” moment is the last image was one at my desk this morning – I was not even aware of it, so I am sort of half in the frame and half out.

My boss guy sent me the screen shot BECAUSE I KEPT GOING WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE IS A NEW PHOTO OF ME.. I might have had a hysterical aspect to my voice at the time…..

This is one of the jammie shots my entire company has now seen of me.

I realise it is probably not quite a naked sex tape, but ideally you really do not need your clients seeing you in your grey, torn and dirty jammies.

It sort of detracts from the hint of professionalism that you have tried to project.

<I am not subjecting you to the other ones because I only have the ones I saved out, the ones that were happily positing to my Skype status are of course now on the web, so I wish them bon voyage>

<It has now occured to me that I will no longer be playing “with my camera” while my network cable is plugged in …. what a douché bag>

Not sure what they were thinking with this advert?

What exactly where Kia thinking when they approved this print advert?

I get the edginess.

I think, but I am really a bit “huh” when I look at it and go really, advertising about teachers seducing kids, and “seeing” them as consenting adults … that IS a super campaign.

Well done Kia on this one!

 

Footnote:

Note from Kiki – July 14, 2011 at 11:39 am

I thought I was in love … but I am just not that in to her ….

I had my second session with my psychiatrist yesterday morning.

Basically to see if I was able to sit on a couch and hold down a conversation.

Tick for that – job well done. And I did not cry.  Not even once.

We adjusted my meds a little bit, but the decision right now is to stay with what I have and see if that is fine for me. She did give me some additional “pop in an emergency” pills, so when I feel an anxiety attack (not the correct term, so forgive me there) coming on.

I can take one, and I believe that should be able to calm the storm – or stops me jumping off our one storey house, which ever is more apt.

I was sitting at my laptop last night and doing some photo editing and I felt this growing anxiety in me.  Totally not related to anything I was doing.

It started in my chest and seemed to spread out across my body.

I put it down to being really tired, and took a sleeping tablet and headed to bed – because I felt like it was a panic/anxiety attack, and was trying to hold a semi-normal conversation with Kennith while it was going on.

Some days I really need to get an “oscar nomination” for the work I do in appearing normal.

Some stuff going on with me:-

My mom and my step-father have been kind enough to take the kids for a few days, so I only have Isabelle at home which makes the “coping” easier.

Kennith leaves on a jet plane today for a trade show/or something, so he is gone for just over a week.  That makes me feel very anxious.  I can cope.  I can cope better when I know he is nearby.

Our freezer packed up last Thursday.  Fortunate told me. I forgot.  She told me again on Friday afternoon.  By that point I realised everything had melted or was melting (we have a big chest freezer number.)

I told Kennith on Friday late afternoon.  Kennith gets home (and this is why he needs to be called Captain Underpants) – he looks at it and goes “let’s buy another one.”

I want to clarity, it is Friday night at about 17h30.

He phones House and Home (or whom ever) and speaks to a guy who deals with Fridges.  He says you know model so-and-so fridge-freezer-double-stand-up-thing.  Guy goes yes.  Kennith goes, have you got one?

Kennith hops in the car and flies through to pay for it.

I am busy throwing a chicken in the oven.  Kennith gets back.  Before chicken is out, guy delivers our new fridge-freezer-double-stand-up-thing. (IT IS FRIDAY NIGHT, HOW THE HELL DO YOU DO THAT?)

The unpacking and repacking of the fridge and the fact that our kitchen looked like a grocery store had thrown up in it, made me very anxious,  So Kennith unpacked and repacked the fridge and freezer.

Of course now we have a broken chest freezer lying in our backyard.  The similarities to trailer park have not been completely lost on me.

Our lovely Pepe suffered an unfortunate personal blow last week.  Her brother, Kennedy died suddenly/under strange circumstances.

We found out in the morning and by 3pm she was on a bus/taxi back to Zimbabwe.  She is the card that my entire “house of cards” rests on, so that is a bit traumatic for me (I am not taking away from the fact that a death is a traumatic thing for her….. I know this is not all about me).

I am not sure how long Pepe will be away for.  I am worried about her and her family.  I am worried about me coping without her.

I have Fortunate helping me out (for which I am thankful, and yes, Fortunate).

What I mean is that Fortunate is deathly ill, and I have found enough meds to keep her vertical.  No really.  It appears I have a face that a pharmacist feels no qualms about giving S5 meds to without a script.  Clearly I have a winning smile and a kind glint in my eye.

It is unbelievable what I have got without a script.

Fortunate is at home alone with my young daughter.  I phone every 60 minutes to check she is conscious and has not set herself a light.  Clearly that is making me very anxious.

I had my first cognitive behaviour therapy this morning at 07h30.

I was really excited to get started and get some of “my stuff” on my list actioned.

I arrived bright and early.  Dr R arrived bright and early.  He looked at me.  I looked at him.  He looked at me.  He looked at his appointment book.  He said my name is not in there.

I felt our relationship was not off to a good start.  I left feeling a tad deflated/defeated/rejected.

I try again on Friday.

On the upside, can’t be much worse that today, right?

My psychiatrist mentioned “chakra” once too many times for my liking.

I really need to move on.  I think when she mentioned I need to “keep a notebook of things I am appreciative for” near me and jot stuff down.  That was probably the final blow in our relationship.

I mean, seriously anyone who has known me for 4.2 seconds would not suggest that to me.  Unless it was an April Fool’s joke or there was a bottle of wine involved.

I had booked an hour with her, so I did not feel rushed.

I was ready to leave after about 35 minutes.  Actually I was keen to leave after 15 minutes, but it is a bit like a date where you feel you must order coffee before leaving, so as not to appear rude.

I really do not need a pill doctor that I can lie on the couch and chat to, but I just need him/her to adjust my meds and then I can have a rational conversation with once a month.  My problem with the divine Dr D is I feel I am the rational person in the room, which I think is a recipe for disaster.

I really thought Dr D and I had a special relationship and I was nearly at the point of carving her name on my desk with my NT Cutter, but I think I need to start “looking for love” again, as it just is not working out.

Of course I feel terribly embarrassed to tell her that, and might need to reject her via sms ……

I got a forum b*tch slap, and it stung …..

Kennith often talks to me and tries to remind me that blogging and forums are not reality.

Kennith is a spreadsheet guy.  If you can put it on a spreadsheet, hook it up to a pie chart and point to it with a laser pointer, he really gets turned on.

Emotions and “soft skills” are not his forté.

He is not unemotional – he cries every time he looks at images from the 1994 Rugby World Cup (he saw the advert last night for “team of a million” and I am sure I saw a tear run down his cheek).

He just does not feel an overriding urge to talk about “what is on his mind or how he feels”.   For what ever reason, he is able to process his stuff internally and quite successfully.

I am not suggesting that there is anything wrong with him because he prefers not to chat about his stuff with a few dozen strangers.

I am suggesting we are designed differently.

I like blogging.  I like forums.  I like chatting about my stuff.

I like listening to other people chatting about their stuff – however I do draw the line at your child’s teething patterns, and your lack of sleep because you do not want to implement a workable sleep routine …..

The rather over-used cliché of “it is cheaper than therapy” does apply when it comes to blogs, and especially forums.

I use forums as a daily tool.  Sometimes to my benefit.  Sometimes to my detriment.

Sometimes I have a total po&s collapse and behave like a tw&t – sometimes, but on most occassions I try to behave well and comment with respect.

One of the problem with forums is that (me included) are not experts or professionals, and we are not dishing out “scientific” advise.  We are dishing out opinions based on our experiences.

About three weeks ago I had a real desperate moment.  Like the type that needs chronic medical intervention, and possibly a man with a large needle that gets plunged directly in to your heart.

My way of solving these problems is to take it to a forum.

My ‘normal’ forum really just was not geared up for the type of chat I needed to have because, well, it really is just not that kind of forum.  (It is a lovely forum, and I really heart it a great deal.)

But I needed something different, or maybe just a different level of input.

I found another forum which is an international one and really geared more towards people with mental illness/depression/stuff.

I really should have been a bit more weary when the word “crazy” was used in the forum’s name, but being blindly unawares I merrily stumbled into this forum, and had my little “breakdown, and someone please offer some assistance based on what you have been through…..”

At no point do I want to slate this forum as it really is great, and no doubt has assisted a lot of people not to swing from a rafter or jump off a building.  It is crammed with people with sage advise, and people who need it.

… the thing with forums is that there are newbies and there are people-who-have-been-there-too-long.

Newbies are all bouncy with energy and are all chatty and often a bit melodramatic, and granted often need a slap to bring the sense back to their rather over-inflated sense of worth.

On the other hand the Oldies/Dinosaurs on this particular site, have probably seen it all, heard it all, and taken every script available (as have most people who have been on a forum for a long time, you kind of start becoming the cranky old granny who lives next door who complains about dogs sh*tting on your lawn ….. you sort of sigh rather weakly when a newbie comes along because, well, you have seen it all …..)

Let’s just say they are just a bit well, jaded, and maybe “do not suffer fools or newbies or people on the verge of having a total break with reality” well and do not really take cognisance of the tag “handle with care…”

I came out with an issue that for me was a huge issue – you know when you know that it is a problem, and at no point are you trying to deny the issue, but maybe someone else had been through something similar and can offer something in the way of guidance.

Fekn hell!

To say I got ripped apart and stomped on might be an understatement.

I might also be a tad over sensitive …. I might.

It felt like I had literally been hit in the head with a spade.  I physically felt attacked.

My ears were ringing.  My heart started racing, and I felt absolute dread, as a few posters had taken my situatino and my need for a possible solution/guidance and turned it into a field day.

I try to console myself that they were trying to be truthful and not hurtful and actually just mean.  I try to console myself.

My normal forum is all “cyber hugs” and “smiley faces” – this forum was “The Omen” meets “The Terminator” and in case you turn your back we will give you a bit of “Scarface” they don’t do frkn cyber hugs.

I actually cried – but bear in mind I am feeling quite low and totally “naked and vulnerable” right now, so i do actually cry when the milk is spilt.

I learnt a very quick lesson in forum etiquette and not running where angels fear to tread.  Another was, er, keep your head down.  Do not step out without a helmet and a filled script of ante-anxiety medication on standby.

Do not assume people care about your sh&t because really they have more crazy sh*t going on, and they are actually on medication.

I really stood there in cyber space whimpering and I had a good cry – in my toilet cubicle at work – magic moments those.

I was quite traumatized, and then this lone little voice in the distance stood up and said:

“I admire **** for sharing what is, by all appearances, a very sensitive, painful aspect of her life – a longstanding one in which she’s sought help and is actively seeking further therapy.

I won’t name names, but several members crossed the line from helpful and/or constructive, to antagontistic and just plain, well, douchy – imo.

Anyone of us could, if we chose (I know I certainly could – I can be witheringly  sarcastic and mean spirited when the mood strikes me – it’s sort of what I’m famous for in real life) enter into any topic and tell (insert member name here) to just grow the fuck up and stop doing “x” – but I don’t think that’s the point of this website, or, at least I didn’t, I could, of course, be wrong.”

Clearly my need for affirmation is rather huge right now.

I really really can’t tell you how much it buoyed me to have this lone voice standing up for me, as opposed to what felt like I had just been beat up by the school bullies.

It has not been the huge declarations of support and encouragement that have struck a chord with me as powerfully as the very small, yet sincere ones that have made my soul <sigh>.

So my lesson today is : If you think someone needs a bit of support, stand up and offer it, do not sit there quietly and think “it’s cool, they will be fine” — they just might not, and sometimes your little “hey chick, thinking about you” can mean the world.

<I know this is not a well worded blog post and a bit scattered.  Third week of new meds, I am feeling very scattered at the moment.>

Johannesburg envy …

I seldom get envious that I do not live in Johannesburg.

Actually.

I do not think I have ever said “I wish I lived in Johannesburg..” but this might be one of those times.

Okay, maybe I did not actually wish to live in Johannesburg.

Maybe I just wished I had a Fairy Godmother who handed out wicked air tickets on a wing and a prayer.

The gorgeous Raising Men and her merry troupe of bandits, are planning a little soiré in Johannesburg for anyone who blogs and anyone who wants to specifically stalk bloggers.

Actually blogging is option, you just need to like cake, tea, and be able to read ….. a bit ……… the rest they can fill in for you on the form provided.

Even if you do not want to stalk bloggers, or stand next to cardboard cut-outs of them (I am sure there will be cardboard life size cutouts to pose with), there are some really yummy-I-am-so-jealous-and-I-am-glad-I-am-on-Alzam-or-I-might-start-feeling-really-anxious-right-now prizes as well.

Spot prizes.

You do not have the be the prettiest or the cleverest, you just have to show up – dude, that is easy pickings.

I mean really …… no getting 300 of your closest friends on FB to vote for you, just show the freak up!

Yes, we have not 1 but 2 Kodak digital cameras (RM – I think I fell over when I swooned) and 3 x ghd Iconic Eras of Style handbags and a YEARS supply of Pringles (RM – oh my giddy aunt, I could die happy, rolling around in Pringles … we are talking about the chip and not the leisure wear right??)  and a Living & Loving pampering  hamper and 5 x Snack Factory gift bags and 5 x Canderal gift bags and finally a  months free coffee at Wolves.

So get your blogging hats on and come say hi to us on the 13th of July at Wolves Cafe on Corlett Drive. It all starts at 6pm

I am really jealous right now …….. the only way I could be any more envious right now is if they had white wine with the cake  …..