When your kids are not mainstream kids …

I had a conversation with my friend Karen that reminded me of an issue I have with regards to Georgia and her fitting in to a main stream school situation.

Georgia is a “creative” children – not in the way that she does glorious pieces of art, but just that her mind does not function along the set paths – she struggles to follow “main stream” rules and she likes to talk about Smurfs as if they REALLY do exist.

Connor is a main stream child.  He likes rules.  He likes set parameters.  He likes you to give him clear boundaries and off he will go.  He is creative and a content soul, but he like his world to be presented to him clearly – and then he is happy to conform – thrilled in actual fact.

Georgia likes to run around with a bucket on her head!

Georgia is not naughty or disobedient, though she often makes me want to hit my head against a brick wall – repeatedly – because she does not “listen” to me.

She just functions in her own little world.

She cannot be “punished” in the established manner.  If you gave her a hiding, she would be traumatized, but would be doing the thing you just told her not to do in three minutes time with no clue as to why you appear somewhat exasperated!

You can give her time out, but she will make up a little game in her head, and you will come back in the room, she may still be on the chair, but she is far away as the lead character in her little fairy story she has made up.

Georgia is not really aware of what you are doing, as it has very little to do with what is going on in her world.  The result is that you being happy/sad/annoyed, has little or no effect on her.  Whether I speak to her nicely or I scream the instruction, it has absolutely no effect on whether she is going to follow the instruction and the speed at which she reacts, or does not.

You can take tv/dessert/nintendo or what ever away from her – she really does not mind.

At the moment she has three big loves in her life.

1.  Her doll named Chocolate.  Who is not a doll, but her daughter.  I need to be on the look out for a plastic dark chocolate coloured boy who may be the father,

2.  Her Smurfs.  She is obsessed with her smurfs and plays hugely involved games with the figurines for hours.

3  Her bedroom door has to be closed – she cannot function if her door is not closed, whether she is in the room or not, if her door is opened and she is in the kitchen and hears her door opening, she goes totally “ape sh@t” – to put not too blunt a term on it.

This year I have her in a government/main stream school.  I wanted to see “how it goes” as I was not convinced it was actually a feasible option for her.

So far she appears to be doing well, and really enjoying her class.

I got a call earlier today from her teacher to say that Georgia is doing really well, adjusted and paying attention in class ..  this was of course after I had a nervous breakdown when my caller ID’d the number …. teachers and schools should legally be compelled to start all conversations with parents as: “Your child is fine, no one is bleeding, no one is dead … your child is fine …. can I carry on or do you need to take a few deep breaths into a brown paper bag?”

I am really thrilled she is doing well – I will confess that I anticipated the worst.  She loves her teacher.  Loves her class. Loves her aftercare.   Really LOVES her day at school.

I can’t tell you the weight that lifted from me when I did some maths in the car with Georgia and she could do the maths (6 + 2 stuff, not how many oranges does the bus driver need if he drives from Transkei to Cape Town on 26 December?).

I know my child is a bit different, and at the same time I am glad I did not need to implement “extreme” measures and she seems to be adapting well (for now)

Maybe when her teacher asks all the children to make clay snakes, and Georgia decides that she does not want to make a clay snake, and will instead make a clay butterfly – and point back refuses to make a clay snake, then maybe we can have another discussion.

I do think though that the majority of people my age come from a school system where we all “made the clay snake when instructed” and did not question the motives of the teacher or the system.

We did we were instructed en-masse and then just hoped we would pass and not get detention.

I do feel teachers and doctors are quick to suggest Ritalin as a way to “control individuals or have them conform.”

I am not really for or against Ritalin (actually I am more against….)  I have not read enough on the subject to have an informed opinion.  My opinion is shaped by the “hysterical” media reports I have read, so that is hardly a balanced opinion – but medicating a child to make it easier for the teacher to control the group does have some inherent problems.

I am not sure of how the future will be for Georgia.  I am not sure if it will include clay snakes, butterflies and smurfs, but I do want her to stay as “wacky and bizarre” as she is … I would also like her to listen to me, but I am sensing there may be easier things to wish for.

If it means finding a school or a school system that caters for her “specialness” at a later stage, well then I will cross that bridge when I get there.

I would like my daughter to get the best out of her schooling, but I do not want her schooling to break her to mould and shape her.  I’d like my daughter to be left in tact to dream about fairies and smurfs, and magic… sans-medication!

Still gabbing on about the Chemist ….

I tend to have absolute faith in doctors and chemists. (dentists too actually….)

I like to see them as these infallible creatures who are able to dispense information, wisdom and good health.  When I sit in the doctor’s chair, my brain leaves me, my IQ drops and I am a sponge to what ever they say.  I am the patient, they are the miraculous healer!

I hand the responsibility of my  health over to the person sitting on the other side of the desk, with an MD certificate.  Doctors (and chemists) are almost godlike in my eyes – not to be questioned, to be thanked with a small, yet gracious, bow or curtsy.

Yesterday’s realisation that they are actually fallible, and make mistakes, unfortunately does shake the foundations of my belief system a bit.

Granted all I have to show is that I had three months of feeling “not quite right…” but it could have been worse.

I had the benefit of having a few months of intensive “psyche care” last year, so I knew that I had something to fall back on as things start to shake slightly off their center axis over here.

But, for someone else that situation might not have been that supportive.  Their breaking point might have come earlier.

I don’t feel an overriding urge to go to my chemist and stand there and throw my toys.  This does not take away from the fact that I feel angry that I have had to do this slide and this crumble, when in fact I did not have to go through this.  I could have continued on my road to the “unicorns and zen gardens” but instead did a little detour through Hades.

I do feel I want to take my little tupperware dish and go and explain to him the situation, so possibly he uses this as a “ah hah” moment to take more care going forward.

The part that makes it difficult is that I start to think “I am sure this was my error….” or “Chemists are much too important to worry about my trivial little issue…” or “I am sure it is nothing, I will just leave it …..”

I know I should go to the Chemist and show him that he did muck up … but it makes me feel uncomfortable, and I start to feel guilty that somehoe this was my fault <>

For now I will take my “new” stuff and wait for the cracks and tears to heal up ….

Should I send this email ….

I saw this today, and I decided I will keep it on my desktop and refer to it on a daily hourly basis.

I like the one > is it about dogs  > Yes > Are you a Vet > No > Almost 10% of employers have employees who have been fired for non-work-related emails ………



<but that aside, there are some good tips in this graphic>



Crazy people need the right meds …. really

No secret that I have some challenges and I have a script.  The script is meant to help me help myself, I guess.

I see a psychologist every week.  We do cognitive behavioral therapy and we slowly work through the way I see the world.

It is all very well to have a quirky outlook on the world, but sometimes it helps to have someone assist you in how you process the information you have got coming in.  Sometimes a chicken crossing a road, is not always just a chicken crossing the road.  On the hand the chicken crossing the road is not a plot against you.  It’s just a chicken crossing the road.

December was December.   January seemed to start way too soon.  Was up and running too fast.  I have been feeling edgy, anxious and a bit “funny” and it has started to climb.  I thought it was a December thing, then a January thing, but now I am wondering it if is February thing.

I started wondering if I am heading for another little “break” and I am not quite ready to go down the rabbit hole so soon, after coming back from the last little trip.

I knew I was not feeling great, I just did not know why.  I was taking my meds.  I was doing my therapy.  I was doing the work.

I made an appointment with my Pill Doctor – first appointment I could get was for today (I booked this in January already.)

I keep my medication in a little tupperware dish.  It keeps everything together, makes it easy to slip in to my bag, or to put in my cupboard away from the kids.  Works well.

I take it with to doctor’s appointments, as if anyone asks, I can open it and say, I take two of these, one of these, and one of these.

They always ask, and I never know the names.  Tupperware in bag a better idea that you think.

Today was no exception.  Pill Doctor obviously knows my script, as he wrote it.  But he started asking to find out whether I was experiencing side effects, and just to touch base on what I was on.

So I go: “I am taking one of these in the morning…”

Dr Pill Doctor: “That’s wrong, you should be taking three Zoloft, not one of the Serdep….”

Me: “When I received this from my chemist I thought it was wrong, so I called back and asked him, and he confirmed that he had given me the correct stuff and the correct dose.  I even took the box back to him and asked again.  He again said that it is correct at one a day of Serdep — I said the grammage did not seem right, but he said it was!”

Dr Pill Doctor: “I am sorry it is wrong, the script I gave and that you were on since June is Zoloft and three of them a day…. so you are on 1/3 of what you are normally on, and have been on since June last year ……”

Moer, I am annoyed/angry/pissed off.

Clearly a taking-your-meds-101 error!

I have been “struggling” since December, and kept wondering what the hang is going on here.  I was desperate to get an appointment with Dr Pill Doctor as I thought maybe he could order a set of blood/hormone tests as clearly there was really something wrong.

Before June 2011 I felt like shit, after clinic and meds and August 2011, I was definitely feeling better. Things were stabilising and I felt like i was getting a better grip on what was going on.

November I saw Pill Doctor we agreed to keep script the same, took script to Chemist.  Chemist said that I should swap the Zoloft for the Serdep.  And that is where it went all a bit very wrong.

Chemist put me on to 50mg and I was on 150mg before.  When I queried it he said that it was correct.  But being me, who feels awkward to put my hand up and say “er, that is wrong…” telling my Chemist that I think he made an error, was not exactly easy.  When he told me twice that he had not made an error, even though I still felt that something not quite right, but I decided that I am clearly wrong, so I nodded, went home, and took my pill.

The problem is that I have not been feeling “quite right.”  My anxiety and stress has started to climb, and I have been looking around for what could possibly be the problem.

I have been convinced that “the slide” is starting again.

I find out today that my chemist is actually an idiot and cannot read a script.  My Pill Doctor wrote the new script out and wrote on it in fairly legible copy DO NOT USE SUBSTITUTES!!

I am glad that my medication has been adjusted and hopefully in about 4 – 6 weeks I will start to feel a bit better, and get back on to the right road.

I am so chipped off that I have been feeling this amount of “breaking” for the last 4 – 6 weeks which has been totally unnecessary and could have gone horribly wrong.

I am so angry that when I said that something was not right, my chemist did not take the time to go back and recheck the script and what he had given me.

I am sure I will see the happy side soon.

Connor likes to run …. I like to panic, we all have our roles ….

When we drive home in the early afternoon/evening from school, Connor often asks if he can get out the car and run home.

He is not suggesting running from school.  He is asking I let him out the car at  the top of our road, or the previous road – maybe 200 metres, or less – I am never a good judge of distance.

He asked me today and I was “er, do you really have to?”

Loosely translated as: “I really would prefer you not, because you are going to run, and I am sure a car will ramp off the road, and kill you as you run on the pavement, and I will need to watch as you get flattened to death.  Could you just stay in the car, with your seatbelt on and we can get the hell home in one piece!?’

But he asked again and used the “Can I? Can I? Can I? – repeat until ear drums bleed – argument.  Which, inevitably has the response of wanting to throw him under a moving vehicle.

I eventually stopped and let him out.

I gave him STRICT instructions to run on the pavement on the right hand side so he faced traffic.  I then proceeded to drive my car next to him.

Isabelle – who does not speak was screaming : ‘GO GO GO GO !!!” … I was driving so slowly that I even motivated a non-speaking child to acquire the ability of speech!

Georgia was yelling: “Leave him behind, leave him behind!!  Drive MOMMY, drive MOMMY!” … props to siblings who love each other.

Connor asked if Georgia wanted to run with him, she said: “If I run fast I will twip, and the car will get there quicker any way …” Bright girl!

When a car came down the road, I pulled to the side of the road and put my hazards on.  I realised I am a totally OVER PROTECTIVE parent, and staying CALM is just not really something I can do.

I can’t even let my kid run on the pavement without freaking out.

I try, for hells sake I try, but as you will note from my flashing hazard lights on the side of the quiet road, which is actually a crescent so gets almost no passerby traffic, to check that my 10-year-old child, running on the pavement, with ABSOLUTELY NO RISK of getting knocked over (well if you disregard cars reversing out of their driveway … which I did not) .. then I was totally panicking about nothing.

Tomorrow I can attempt something braver …..for me, not for him.

Everyone needs a friend named Dave ….

I have this friend Dave, I like to think of him as Captain Dave!

You know how in the hero cartoon, the key character always manages to be in the same place as where the bank robbery takes place, or the aliens arrive?  Dave is like that.  Action/fatalities/crime/car accidents attract and attach themselves to Dave, in a measure that I can’t even begin to hint at.

So Dave tells me this story yesterday:

So we drove back from Knysna to Cape Town via Oudtshoorn, and about 40km from Oudtshoorn we came across a miracle, right after it happened. The man you see below was really able to ‘Dodge the bullet.”

The driver was proceeding from George towards Oudtshoorn and a KUDU suddenly sprang from the bush (afterwards we were able to find its tracks and the actual launch spot) and jumped right before the car. It was killed on impact.

<<these images may disturb sensitive viewers, especially if you have an issue with faeces, and kudus inside Toyotas….>>


Not only did it hit his car, it smashed the windscreen, tore a section of the roof away and flew right through the car, blowing open the rear hatch.

The driver ducked instinctively as it happened and was able to avoid most of the carnage. He also held tightly onto the steering wheel, suffering only slight injury to his one hand and a whack to the face from the airbag.

When he lifted his head he was on the gravel on the ‘wrong side of the road’ where he was able to stop the car without losing control.

The KUDU went right through the windscreen, leaving an awful mess on the way. The impact blew the hatchback as the KUDU left through the back of the car…

Fortunately there were no other passengers or they would be covered…

The KUDU left some of his lunch in the boot … and also his large colon …..

KUDU escape route ….

 very lucky man, who probably will not look at KUDU biltong again in the same light ….

The morale of this story:

1.  I could drive down a thousand roads, and I would never see this shit, David will always see this sort of thing.

2.  A KUDU is not to be trifled with.

3.  Seat belts do not save your life, it would seem eye-ducking co-ordination is all the rage this season.

4.  If he did not have a hatch back where would that KUDU go?

5.  I liked the idea that this guy was prepared for all emergencies, but the Booster Cable in his boot helped him not at all.

Incredible – he could have glanced away from the road to change the channel, adjust the air-conditioner and it would have been a totally different story.

So I went to the beach …

Cape Town is not hot, as much as it is “I think menopause has started” state of affairs – it is just stupid hot right now.

I like a bit of sunshine, but geez louise this is past ridiculous. It is 21h29 and ridiculous hot still.

Today I thought I would go to the beach.  You know embrace my surroundings and all that.

Off I scamper to the beach with my friend Joyce and her daughter.

It is me, my three, my dog, and the beach.

I should have done the bright thing and driven to McDonalds drive through and ordered an ice cream cone.

I am not sure where exactly it went wrong.  Possibly when:

1.  We arrived and all three kids decided in consecutive order they needed to wee – Georgia pee’d so much it gushed, Connor caught a few splashes in my car, Isabelle just wee’d on her shoes.  I had to construct an impromptu toilet between the two open car doors. In the parking lot.  Not an ideal start.  So Jack Parow though.

2.  Isabelle decided she was not really in to sea sand, and started screaming the minute her feet touched sea sand.  At the beach. Tricky situation from here on in.

3.  Dexter decided that he was going to wrap him self around my leg and then go and lie under Joyce’s thighs. The result was a dog huddled under her, but with his leash stretched out everywhere, so that was super great as it caused the kids to keep tripping and falling or cutting the circulation off on my hands as I held his leash.

4.  Every time I filled Dexter’s water bowl with fresh water a child emptied it out – on me, on the blanket I was sitting on, on the hamburger … insert what ever is suitable.

5.  Dexter has never been the beach – it was all a bit overwhelming for him, especially as the tide came in with the sound of the crashing waves.  Two little girls kept screaming AT THE TOP OF THEIR LUNGS every time the tide came in.  Definitely not really calming stuff.  Stressed dog who needed to drink water …. but that was covered in point 4.

6.  Isabelle decided to throw up.   She choked on a chip, and then threw up everything she had eaten since last week Thursday.  Can you say bury vomit in the sand?

7.  Georgia needed to wee.  Again.  And went to squat in the waves.  Unfortunately the water was only up to her ankles, so the beach saw her squating and actually just pissing in her costume.  How do I know the beach saw her?  There was a 6-year-old girl next to me laughing her head off.

8.  Connor caught two fish, and put it in the a bucket.  Dexter thought it was fresh water, drank the water with the fish in them.

9.  Kirsten kept feeding Dexter chips – which I know will induce more splatter bum in Dexter, not Kirsten. Kirsten appears to have a stomach of a steel cauldron.

10.  Quite soon in, I had more sand on my blanket than I would have had had I just sat in the sea sand to begin with.

I can say I have ticked the “beach” block on my things to do with the kids this year list.  I might get around to it again in 2013.

Beach.  Tick.

When you make your child anxious ….

I was watching the slightly annoying show that is “The Worst Mother in the World.”

Nice idea, but I am a bit over Super Nanny and the range of similar shows, and no longer lie spread out on my bed as I watch other parents struggle with bratty kids – this could have been retitled “The Most Annoying Mother in the World” but I digress.

This one turns up, and generally the children are not the problem.  The problem is the parents who are a bit of the “helicopter” variety.

So there I sat, ready to judge.

Instead I said: “Yes, that is a bit extreme.  Hey, that one is fine, I don’t see any problem with not letting your child ride his bike on the road.  Okay, that one is fine, she is clearly not a helicopter parent ….. that seems fair…”

And so it went on.

It does not take a genius to work out that I was siding with the helicopter parent as being reasonable.  Why?  Clearly because I have some problems of my own.

Light Bolt Moment – watch out:  Anxious parents create anxious children.

Seems a fairly simple principle.  I would be more excited if it was not true.

The presenter mentioned that 10 years ago the biggest problem facing kids at school was “relationships” – now it seems to be “anxiety”  – she did not give me the scientific report reference, but the statement seemed logical to me.

I am not an overly anxious parent when you look from the outside.  I appear a bit glib, a bit jaded, a bit been-there-done that, almost lacksy-daisy you may say.  I almost appear relaxed (…oh how we laugh …..the we are the voices in my head and my internal anxiety driven centre)

What you do not see, or might not realise, is that I am a very anxious parent.  (For the record, my parents were what ever is the opposite of helicopter parenting ….. like the totally polar opposite)

I find parenting very stressful.  I worry about my kids in all sorts of ways.  Few of them reasonable.  Few of them sane.

If my children move out of my eyesight, in a public area, I can feel my heart rate start to climb, and I feel very anxious.  I get very agitated.

I prefer not to go to a public area with my kids, it is not relaxing.   But I still go – because that appears normal, but I go, and the entire time I am there, all I want to do is leave and go home, where I feel safe(r).

I don’t feel comfortable if my kids play outside, in our garden (which has high walls) unless an adult is watching them.  They can play in the backyard if I am in the kitchen.

They are not able to play in the driveway, which has a huge gate, unless I am sitting on the steps watching them.

I never let my kids cycle/scooter in our cul-de-sac unless I sit with them.

The entire time I am there I am so anxious that it makes me feel nauseous.  I set rules that they must stick to if we are in the cul-de-sac, and I feel like I am running around ensuring they do not hurt themselves, or a car does not come flying down the road and knock them over.

I usually can go about 5 -8 minutes in the cul-de-sac  and then I need to hustle them inside.  I just can’t take the stress any more.

It is like that with a lot of things.

But the idea that “hit home” for me last night that the things that I am anxious about:

1.  They will not get lost, they will get stolen by pae.dophi.les.

2.  They will not just move out of my eyesight, they will get stolen, forever.

3.  They will not get jeered at whilst at schools because they are doing something strange, they will become “that kid” – the kid whose life is made a nightmare by jeering and taunting.

4.  They will not bump their noses/bums on the floor of the pool when they dive in, they will snap their necks and be paraplegic.

5.  They will not slip when running around the pool and hurt themselves, they will fall into the pool unconscious and drown.

6.  They will not gag on a sucking sweet, they will suffocate and choke.

7.  They will not just move out of my eyesight, they will get stolen, forever.  (getting stolen is a bit of a recurring theme … so I have mentioned it twice)

8.  We will not have a fender bender in the car, someone will drive in to us and we will all die – so wear your seatbelt all the time, because it is just a matter of time as to when that person drives in to us.  I literally (not figuratively) shit in my pants if the kids take their seat belts off and the car is moving in any way what so ever.

9.  I do not move my car unless the kids are like 8 metres from the car, I think that if I move, and they are out of the car, they will fall under the tyres and I will drive over them.

And so it carries on.

I have realised that the anxiety I feel – and there is a lot of it – can so easily be transferred over to my kids and become their reality.

I know what it is like to be anxious all the time.  We are not talking mild anxiety here, we are talking escalated debilitating anxiety that physically makes me sick.

I don’t want that for my kids.  It is not as much fun as it looks.  And I know I make anxiety and depression looks like what the cool kids are doing this year! Not so mcuh.

The only way I can try to help them, is to step away from things that make me uncomfortable, and just let them be.

Let them do what they need to do to be kids.  It does sometimes mean averting my eyes, as I feel a mass of vomit come up my throat, and all I want to do is run up to them and sweep them up and scream no.no.no!!

I understand helicopter parenting – but at the same time as we want to say “but I need to do it for the safety of my children” what are we actually doing?

We are reacting to the stressful life style we live in – and we are then anxious for our children’s safety. (Watch one news bulletin, and you could not be anything but anxious.)

But in our quest to keep our kid’s safe, we are doing them an injustice.

We really are sucking the “fun” and “exploring” out of their lives, and instead giving our children “anxiety” “worry” and “suspicion” ….. I think it is less likely that we will have kids who discover, who explore and who really savour life if we continue standing on the sidelines gasping every time they appear to slip out of the finger of death and disaster.

I am the same, really, so I am not about to get on to my pulpit and start telling you how to change.  I am as stuck in this as you are.

I think that is why nature provides moms and dads (metaphorically speaking).

Moms are usually wildly paranoid and anxious with their kids.  Whilst dads prefer to send them out at 7 to tend the sheep, and fight off the wolves.  Dads also teach kids to swim.  Dads throw children up in the air (and usually catch them.)

Mothers sit on the side lines and worry and wonder how long this stupid monkey play has to go on until we can sweep our children up and hold them against our beating heart and smother them in kisses.

But anxiety-motivated parenting it probably one that solves today’s problem – today you are worried about your toddler/young child dying – but they (inadvertently) create an entire new set of problems when your child is no longer able to be with you 24 hours out of the day.

No, I do not have the solution, just putting it out there.

You need to …

Pinterest has the ability to make me smile … almost every time I stop by … today was no exception.

Must remember this comeback …


When your kid posts sh*t about you on Facebook ….

There is this great video on youtube at the moment.

In summary.  There is a girl named Hannah who is 15, nearly 16.  She is unsatisfied that she has way too many chores around the house, and balancing that with going to school is just too much.  As we all were at that age.

Unfortunately she has access to Facebook, which she feels is a private enough platform to post a rant about her parents, and their treatment of her.

She is unhappy about all the work she has to do, and has the usual issues that 15/16 year olds have.

Her first mistake was to post a rant about her parents on Facebook when her father (Jordan) is in IT …. oh dear, clearly from there it all goes downhill.

Her second mistake was to think that her parents would not see it.

Her third mistake was to argue with a man who wears a cowboy hat and owns a hand gun.

Her fourth mistake was to leave the house and leave her laptop, with her father, who wears a cowboy hat and has a handgun, and a few hollow point bullets lying around.

Her fifth mistake was to not think her father was not going to see the post, or see the rant, or suggest that she will hate the day when her parents can’t wipe their arse, and that she won’t be there when it happens.

Her sixth mistake …. well, it does not really matter as she is now grounded until 2026, she has to buy her own laptop, as the old one has 6 bullets in it, and I am thinking she can shove the 16th birthday party she was hoping to get up her freaking arse.

Do I think it was right that her father put 6 bullets into her laptop?

Damn toot’n YES!!  I don’t think it was wrong.

I think he got his message across, no one was hurt, no one was injured, and Hannah (if she has learnt something here) knows her father does not muck around with this type of thing.

I think we can have a debate for ages about whether he did the responsible thing, and how great is his parenting – and whether you should be using violence in reaction to your children to teach them a lesson.

Personally, I do think that kids need a bit of force in some instances, and this pussy-footing parent where we all sing kumba-ya around the fire is not really working for me.

Jordan did not fire the gun at his daughter, near her, or when she was at the house – the pan out video clearly shows that he lives in what appears to be a large open area, and gun fire barely made the cow raise its head in the distance.

Jordan destroyed property that was his, he had given it to his daughter and she was using it as a vehicle to teach her a lesson.

I think there is way too much focus on how we must parent along this invisible line of what is right according to this “social pressure”.

Based on my experience with kids in public places, birthday parties and at my kid’s school, I am thinking this “responsible mature parenting vehicle” is not really working, and sometimes use of a handgun in an open field is not the worst thing I have ever heard of.

I instantly liked Jordan, the father.  My guess is he is frustrated and the “right” method of trying to adjust his daughter’s behaviour has not worked, so he is taking it to the next level.

I am going to hold this video and show it to my kids in two years time, then every night of their birthday until they are 21, or have moved out of the house.






















































<<click on the above image and the link should take you to the you tube video>>

Dad of the Year?  Or lunatic dad and poor daughter who needs a new laptop?

Kids are brutal …

I am not sure if when you think back to being at school they are happy thoughts, or you are possibly gripped by a sense of nausea as you reminisce over how mean and cruel kids were.

School is like a dirty petri dish of social pressure, with you having a bad-hair-year, buck teeth, braces if you were super unfortunately, and a combination of gangly limbs with bad skin.

To fit in to the “social structure” that exists at a school is brutal.

I would not wish it on anyone, and unfortunately I drop my kids off at school each day to go through it.  I am scared of high school for my kids, and they are years away from it – but primary and pre-school are bad enough.

I often get stories about who was mean to whom, who was horrible, who called one of them names and so on.  Some times my kids are really upset.  Often it makes me want to turn the car around, drive back to school, find the little sh&t and smack them against the side of the head.

I have twice phoned parents of kids that my son has had an issue with, and generally my experience has been, it has not really made a huge difference.

I have realised that it is rather naive to think all kids are going to like my kids, and really my kids do not have to like every one else.

As long as they do not beat the crap out of other kids, and visa versa, then that is the best I can hope for.  I can’t hope for anything more in the world that is the Nirvana of schools.

Kids are brutally honest, and really horrible little people, who say really mean things, and are too small to box in the face.

They say mean things to each other and hurt each other’s feelings.  This goes on all day, and sooner or later someone says something mean to your child and then your child is crying to you about how “everyone is mean to them….”  and you are going to feel like a dagger has been plunged in to your chest, and your “I am the lioness and I will defend my child” moment will happen to you.

I was lucky enough to have older brothers at the schools I went to (barring the Girls’ School) and they helped to pave the way for me arriving.

There is something “safe” about arriving in a school if you have had a sibling there already.  For one you know a few older kids, and you always have a posse in the event someone bullies you, and you have established “street cred” to a degree.

Well, that has been my experience.

Someone recently had a conversation with me about how they were feeling anxious about their child, who is considered “mixed race” and how this child will be accepted at school – and how they will be picked on and what they should do.

Honestly I have no idea.

I think the “trick” might be to give your child a safe home and a good grounding, that they know who they are, but we aware to teach them to bestreet wise and judge a situation for what it is – rather than what they think it is.

Tell them at home they are beautiful and clever, so they believe it, and have enough of the positive vibe before they get to school and get the snot kicked out of them.

After that there is really nothing you can do.

Kids are mean and really cruel.  If you have anything different about you, kids pick up on it and use it as the point to pick on you.

It is lovely to have a quirky child, but I like to try to aim my kids into the main stream centre – for their own protection.  They can be all quirky and skew eyes in the privacy of their home, but when they go into the “gladiator pit that is school” then I need them not to spread blood in the water to attract the sharks.

Connor is blonde.  Connor has blue eyes.  Connor is an attractive child, and does not have a third arm, or an eye in the middle of his forehead.

Connor does not really have a personal hygiene issue (more than any 10-year-old boy).  He is friendly, well liked, and has a good gaggle of friends.  Connor is pretty main stream as kids go  – so he just fits in.

Connor gets picked on because he has freckles.  That is what the kids decide to make fun of him about, and call him names, and that is what he comes home crying about.

I think my point is that no matter who you are, or what you look like, you will get picked on sooner or later.

Your child as well!!  So brace yourself for it.

Valentine’s Day Massacre …

Last night around 19h00 – Connor tells me he has an oral to present today.

I try not to smack him along the side of the head.  But he reasons with me that he already knows what he is going to say, so it really is not a big deal.  I ask him does he needs props or posters, or pyrotechnics, like previous orals?

He looks at me in a way that indicates “yes, there needs to be a light show and some solid gold dancers…”

I take a deep breath, and try to remember that I actually do like my children, but for a moment there understand why one would send a child in to the woods, with a little red cape, a basket of food and knowing full well that a wolf might well eat your little darling en route.

Knowing this, you still send them off.  And pack some food into the basket to elicit the interest of wild hungry animals.  I now so get these little fairy tales.  All makes sense.

I suggest that I print some pictures out for him, and he can use that. Connor agrees that will be fine.

I sit down to do this task, trying very hard to keep the anger I am feeling at bay.  I am so tired of being told last-minute things from my kids.  It is exhausting.

Anyway, I do the pictures, we get kids into bed – as Connor comes in to say goodnight he reminds (insert tells me for the first time) that tomorrow is a Valentine’s Day picnic, and he needs to bring a picnic blanket and picnic stuff!

I freak the hell out.  Kennith tries to calm the situation down, and explains that we have enough odds and sods in the cupboard to put it together, so really nothing to go bezerk about (however bearing in mind no one packed this basket with goodies, as it was added to the things I should tackle in the morning, you know, because my mornings are so breezy and relaxing……)

This morning, I am getting Connor’s stuff together for his picnic, I am chasing kids to the car, the usual chaos of the morning – you know how it goes.  Packing bags into car, and Georgia goes: “We have a picnic at school, please can I also have a picnic blanket ….”

I think the vein in my neck popped.  Like through the skin – blood pumping against the garage wall — or it just felt like it.

I know I swore like a sailor.  I do think my kids all took one step back from me, because this was what they knew was going to happen, and the day had arrived.

I mean seriously, it is their stuff, how am I meant to remember everything? And whilst I am remembering, rushing to work, doing all the other shit that is life, I must have the “crystal ball” skill to know all the stuff I am not told, but have to prepare for.

It really annoyed me this morning.  Like EPIC PARENT lose your mind stuff.

I stand there and weigh up whether I should just say “well fk it, if you did not remember it, you do not get it …” and then know they will be the only kid at school without.

That will be fabulous, so of course I can’t let that happen, and now I kick into higher gear than I was before.

Get them in the car, get them each a picnic bag, blanket, we drive through the traffic to the shop – traffic is hectic.

I am sitting there quietly trying to work through why I am so angry, and that I should not use the time to rant in the car, because Connor will take it all on as “his fault” and I am not wanting to make him feel bad.  I have the radio off, as I think I will kill Kino Kammies this morning if I hear his stupid voice.

I am focussed, I just want to drive and not kill anyone.  Just get them to school.  To their safe place.  I promise myself a McMuffin if I behave.

So we are driving, and I am thinking about what I will get at the shop, and that this really is not a big deal, it is fine, no worries, just remind kids AGAIN to please tell me with sufficient warning.  It is fine.  This chaos is fine.  Really fine.  I am trying to remain in my “calm” place.

Then suddenly I get this feeling.

This morning I told Connor twice to put the “photographs for his oral” into his school bag.  Twice!

My hands grip the steering wheel a bit tighter.

Me: “Connor, please let me you put the photographs in your school bag, like I told you twice.  Please tell me you did not leave them lying on your desk table.  Because I sat up late last night to do them.  And I reminded you twice they were on the desk and you must put them in your bag.  This morning.  Twice.  Do not tell me that they are still lying on your study table…”

Silence … and this little voice “sorry mom….”

I really do not know at which point it would be acceptable to lose my frikn mind!  I swear on my Mcmuffin, that if I do not remember it all, and do it all, it fkn just does not get done!

I am seriously at my wit’s end – and it is February.

Please bear in mind, I have notice boards with notes on them in each kid’s room.  I tell them – clearly – that they need to do something.  I remind them.  I remind them again.

I try to stay on top of all this stuff – for them.  But I get no warnings, I am constantly been put on the back foot.

They do not have the milk the cow, or walk 25 kilometers to school – most of it is done for them, I give them 2 or 3 things to do per day.

Small things.

The problem is they still do not do it – unless I remind them over and over again.

And then really it is just easier to do it myself.

But I don’t – they must do it – they must learn some responsibility … right?

I swear how the hell are these things happening in other people’s homes?  I have clearly got this entire chapter on child raising wrong …. horribly wrong.  Are there study notes someone can send me?

Is the solution to just let kids eat, sleep and shit, and you pretty much do everything else for them, because they do not appear to retain a memory of anything.  Nothing.  Except of course if you promise them a lollipop and forgot to give it to them – then they remember if forever and bring it up repeatedly as a sign that your promises are worth sh&t.

It does not matter how much you scream, threaten, curse, promise treats, threaten to take things away, give things for doing, buy stickers are prizes for getting it right – I am so over this stuff – nothing works for a long time.

I have officially been beaten in this parenthood malarky.

I really need a holiday.  From my life.

It appears I can train three children, but not this dog …

Dexter is seriously doing my head in.

When he arrived he spray-sh&t everywhere.  I felt really sorry for him, as no one likes a splatter bum, so I took him to the vet, and changed his food and tried not to get upset when he kept sh&tting on everything.

But now his tummy is fine – but the bugger keeps crapping inside.

He can be outside for 4 hours, I open the door, he says hello, and once he gets past the bum-wagging (he does not have a tail) he finds a textured spot to go and take a crap on.

Our entire house is tiled or laminated flooring – but Dexter does not poo on the easy-to-clean smooth surface, he constantly puts his crap on the carpets or the skins on the floor.

I am nearly at my wits end with him.  I so want him to be an inside dog, who can lie around, smoke a cigar, make coffee, and when he needs, go out the gate and take a dump in the garden. I dream of that day.

But instead I have take-a-dump-Dexter crapping on everything when ever he is inside.

I think I would be far more impatient with him, if he was not so goddamn cute.  With that face and those googly eyes I can nearly forgive anything.  Nearly.

I forget stuff ….

At the moment I am finding it really tricky to stay on top of things.

Fetch kids from school today – it was 17h00 – I am holler-holler for being early…or so I thought.

Connor is all “it is science fair day, and we need to go to the school hall, and they will not have this for another 10 years…”

I had forgotten about it.  Though the school had easily given me half a dozen reminders.

I pushed my Clicks sunglasses to the end of my nose and look at Connor thinking “wonderful marketing campaign they have dreamt up my boy…” and thought shit “it is late, I really do not have any cash on me, and I really have a runny tummy …. so please gawd do not make me stand in the middle of a school hall …. please …for the love of wine…”

More importantly Grade 1 – 3 are doing science fair from frk-knows-when until 18h30 and then the Grade 4+ take over from there.

It is 17h15 now …..

I said okay kids, you have 15 minutes and then we are out of here …. then they whined, and moaned …. and yelled and negotiated ….Connor re-explained that as he was in Grade 4, he could not take part until 18h30 …. I appreciate sometimes he talks to me in a way I can understand.

I stil l had a runny tummy and no where to go. I do not do public toilets.  I don’t do school halls with screaming children and too many people.

It became purgatory in a school hall with very loud children, stupid paper areoplanes and capatilism until way past where you humour departs and your large colon decides that there is only one way out of this situation.

I eventually had to leave at 18h05 as Pepe needs to go home.  Granted she goes to church as she sings in a choir, so I really can’t make an issue against it.  The minute you bring religion or menstrual cycles in as an argument, you pretty much disarm the other person.

I race home with Georgia, sms Kennith that he needs to buy the “blowey balloon thing” as she saw it and now she will not stop about it.  I had to leave Connor at school – alone …. well alone with 600 other people.

I get home, Pepe zoots out the door.

I give Georgia dinner, I go down the passage to go the toilet – my tummy has been a bit funny today – so I can’t leave Isabelle walking around as she will probably paint san.at.ic symbols on the outside walls, so I head to the toilet, for a crap, with Isabelle sitting on the shower step eating her biscuit.

Georgia did come in three times, to explain why she was not going to eat her pumpkin.  At a certain point I seriously thought about throwing pumpkin+dinner plate out the window.

But I was on the toilet so could not actually reach the bathroom window and still retain my dignity.


The rest of the evening pretty much went to plan.  Other than Kennith singing lyrics from Jack Parow.

But then I sms’s a person who I did not know.  By accident.  And then I had to have a conversation via sms that was all sorts of strange.  With someone I sms’d by accident.  She is coming over on Saturday night.  Still do not know who she is.

Such is my life.  <reach over and sip some wine….>

Sometimes a picture says what you think …..

I really am a fan of blunt cards and the way they say exactly what I am thinking.  In the most politically incorrect manner possible.

Before you start clicking your tongue in judgement and wondering whether you should compose a quick note to me drawing my attention to the joys of motherhood, and what I may missing, please don’t — really please don’t.  Not this week.

I love my kids – I know at times with the amount of emotional vomitting I do, you are starting to wonder at which point do you actually call Child Services.

I have realised I just don’t enjoy being a mother all the time.  The job is hard, it is thankless, it is monotonous, it does not pay particularly well, and it stretches your patience level more than your IQ level.  I know we are all programmed to say how much we doggone love it, and that it is the best job in the world, but seriously I have no idea which spin doctor is selling that sh&t to us, and more importantly why we are eating it up.

I am having some concerns it is possibly men who would rather go to the office than clean shit of tiles, and also previously disgruntled moms who figured if they had a shit time of it, there is no way they are telling in the event you find a way to get out of it and rob them of the happiness of watching you have a nervous break down.

I have no idea how this conspiracy was started.  But I appear to be as much of a “victim” as the rest of you chumps.

I know that I need to just keep my head down until it passes and I am all unicorns and fairy dust, until then, not so much.  But that being said this Blunt Card so perfectly tells you what I want to say – or say as a whisper to myself 1/2 the day at the moment.

The next person who ….

The next person who tells me …

to believe and it will be … will seriously get a smack in the face.  With a wet macoroni. I believe it will be “dishes done” – I believe that I it will be “me sleeping until noon undisturbed” … I beleive, it does not MAKE it happen, now bugger off with your khumba-ya-m-lord thinking, it is exceedingly irritating.

to cherish every moment … will be sentenced to fetching my kids from school for a minimum of seven weeks. They can fight over lost juice bottles and who is sitting too close to each other.  If you think that you seriously would like to cherish EVERY freaking moment, do not hesitate to drop me a note and we can work out a pick up and drop off kids schedule.  No worrries. Email now, or forever stop your ridiculous happy bleating.

to just be happy …. will get a rusty spade between the eyes. Fk you and the stupid unicorn you rode in on.  Some times this shit is not happy, and stop making me think everyone is happy — really stop.  Life he is not happy.  Life happens.  You make a plan.  That is the way it is.  Some moments make you smile, some make you cry – you cannot just “be happy” ….

think they are so fkn happy on Facebook and keep giving us sunny updates…. I am so sick of your happy-go-lucky-life-is-super Facebook updates, that I am seriously done.  FB is not actually that much fairy dust, get a life, get a reality check and start status updating that your husband is not as happy as you think/that your child is wetting the bed and they are nine/that your child ran with a limp at the last sports day, or really that you woke up this morning and you were not as sunny as you keep telling us – for goodness sake, do you actually think we believe this amount of “how freaking happy are you” crap?

that good mothers are made …. okay seriously now I am going to ram your head into my venter trailer.  Good mothers are cultivated with great wine and promises of everlasting life, no one, but no one enjoys looking after small children all freaking day long.  It is a fairly repetitive, fairly thankless and actually does not challenge you IQ at all.   Bad mothers are born every day.  We are all crap, and it is about time we started admitting that it was not all wine and roses, but we do what we can with what we have got.  And some days get it right and some days, not so much,

wake up and choose to be happy … will undoubtedly have to swallow 25 of my ante-depressants with two quarts of Captain Morgan, and see if they can call me in the morning.  Now go and be happy somewhere else.

that motherhood is a joy … needs to come the shit over and wipe poo off the side of the toilet seat and argue with a six year old as to why the blue toothpaste is as good as the green one, for the twentieth time this week.  It is not a joy.  It is hard and thankless work.  And it tests you every day as to why you should not run your head through the wall.

I am so sick and tired of these stupid pinterests and facebook status updates that keep telling me how freaking good this deal motherhood.  How good life is.  How happy it all is.

Accept that motherhood is frkn hard.  Accept that some days ramming your head into a wall might be better, or at the very least give you about 8 seconds of silence before the screaming starts again.

It is not all that wonderful, no matter how many happy baby/toddler/couple pictures you post.

Can I please have a shout out from the moms who do it, and think it sucks lemons, but still do it – each and every day – we get through it, and it suck, it sucks rocks, but we get through it, because there is no “do not pass go, do not get collect $200.00” card …. fkn hell – February is a hard month – or is it just me?

Am I the only one wanting to run away from this year?

What the hell happened?  No seriously, what the hell happened to this year.

It is the first week of February and I feel like I have already been beaten by a rather larger, heavy and wet stick.

I am totally stuffed, and it is only the first week of February.  I have already suggested that I need a (several) weekends off, away from the kids – I just want to eat, read, drink tea, and sleep, and then repeat cycle, until I do not want to do any of the above.

I do not feel well rested.  I do not feel like I have built up sufficient resources to get through this stupid year.

The idea that I need to get through 10 months of this year before it is the “end” paralyses me with fear.

I do not have the resources to survive this year based on where I am and that I still need to cover a few dozen school books, do school projects that are given to me in the last minute, clean up dog poo as the stupid dog refuses to be house trained, probably go through the entire recruitment exercise to locate a new Pepe, make decisions about whether to eat a McMuffin or drink Herbalife every morning – for the record McMuffin has pretty much won hands down this week, and the rest of the stuff that life has to offer.

I am totally frayed and exhausted and have zero emotional cushion for this year ahead.

It is the first week of February, and I seriously cannot do an hour a day of driving kids to and from school, with them fighting and bitching and arguing.

I seriously cannot get through another hour trapped inside my car, with three kids fighting about who is looking out their window or who is touching who.

You know when you grab the steering wheel, and your knuckles go white and inside your head you are convinced you have burst an artery.  I am already at that point, and it is February.

I am actually trying to brace myself at the moment for the drive home with kids, I really really cannot do it today.

The next person who tells me to “savour every moment” is going to get a slap.  through the face. with a rusty spade.

On a related topic.

It is the first week of February, and I miss Aden Thomas on 567 more than I can say.

I listen to 567 Cape Talk when I drive the kids around.  I really am not a fan of loud incessant music, so the chatter of good folk, warms and often calms my soul.  I like to hear adults talk about adult things, in a fairly intellectual manner, and open subjects up to debate.  I learn something most days listening to Cape Talk.

This year I am stuck with Kieno Kammies.

Oh gawd, it has all gone so horribly wrong, and so quickly – I barely had a chance to regroup.  One minute I was happily listening to CapeTalk and bracing myself for the day, next thing I was wondering if I would have to find another radio station.

I love 567 Cape Talk.

Or I used to love 567 Cape Talk.

Now I am feeling somewhat betrayed that I am having to suffer the village idiot in the morning.

Could I not have Redi at 6 – 9am and who ever wants to listen from 9 take Kieno. Actually if Kieno went on from 13h00 – 15h00 there would be less of a chance that I hear his voice.  Africa, could I interest you in an early morning slot?

I feel more passionately about this than the referendum from 1994 or what ever.  I would so stand in a queue on this issue.

I would swap, good grief, I would so swap him right now.  If I had the power, I would push the copy and paste button and switch their schedules.

Aden Thomas used to ease me into my morning, and he was the calm in my morning drop off mania – he was the calm voice of reason – I chuckled with him, and sometimes I disagreed with him, but I still liked to listen to him

Now I have Kieno who makes me want to stop the car.  Dig in the boot to find my kid’s school bag.  Rummage through it for their stationery bag, then find an HB pencil and STAB MYSELF IN THE EAR.

I am almost sure a ruptured ear drum would be less painful than Kieno Kammies.

This morning I turned off the radio at a certain point as I could no longer bear him.

I ask you with tears in my blue eyes – karma what the fk are you doing to me?  What am I left with in the morning?

Screaming, arguing kids … that is what!!!!

Aden please come back.  Can we send Kieno where ever it is that you went, and leave him there?

I cannot do this year already.  I know I can’t do it with Kieno Kammies … when life hands you lemons, find an annoying kid with a paper cut!!

Epic Fail Chirp —- American Idols

I am watching American Idols.  Girl walks on stage – she is giraffe tall, but absolute stunning.  She is 15 years old.  Clown sized feet, giraffe tall, but spectacularly beautiful.

Conversation goes on, turns out her father played/plays for the Cardinals, and then she goes and gets her dad, her mom, her sisters, her friends, and the entire crowd are standing in the audition area.

She is in the center, belts out her song, lovely voice, she is cool and moves around with confidence that far exceeds her years.

Everyone says “Yes.”

Steve Tyler goes <<or something in this vein>> “It is hot, humid and happening in here, just like your daughter!!”

Screeeeeeecchhhhhhhhhh …. halt moment!

The girl is 15.  It’s her father standing there.  Steve Tyler is everyone’s future ex-husband.

I do like Steven Tyler as much as the next girl,but if I 64 year old man made a rather “come hither” chirp about my 15 year old child and I was proficient with a baseball bat, I may well walk over and smack him against the side of the head.

Total fail chirp.  Well, I thought at any rate.

Showering … and the fantasy of an uninterrupted two minutes …

To paint the scene – Pepe is on leave this week, so that should hint at how crazy the mornings are.

This morning, I thought I would risk it and shower this morning, rather than last night.

I fell out of bed, went to wake kids.

Connor and Georgia were awake and had got dressed.  I don’t know how, I had not put out their clothes.  I was sure they had used the dirty old clothes from yesterday.  I decided to let it go, and rejoice in the fact they were dressed.

Got kids to breakfast table – put Pronutro into respective bowls.  Isabelle decided she did not want milk in her bowl, so proceeded to eat dry Pronutro.

I was lathering kids with sunblock while they were eating breakfast, kept reminding Georgia to eat her food – I need to do this every 45 seconds or she drifts off and forgets.

I did Georgia’s hair for school, Connor went to brush his teeth, Isabelle continued to manoeuvre dried Pronutro into her mouth.

She has opted not to take milk with Pronutro … I have stopped trying to convince her otherwise, and now just put her milk in a cup for her to drink spill over the counter.

Finished hair, sent Georgia to the bathroom to brush teeth, checked Connor’s teeth for quality of brushing, dressed Isabelle, took Isabelle to the bathroom, got toothpaste on her toothbrush, got Georgia’s toothbrush and toothpaste.

Bear in mind Georgia has already been in the bathroom for 10 minutes with the only direction to brush teeth. She STILL had neither touched her toothbrush nor picked up the toothpaste.

I have no idea what she was doing in the bathroom.  Sanity has stopped me questioning this any more.

Got girls brushing, barked an order at Connor to please feed Annabelle (the dog.)

I got into the shower.  Realised that as I took the clip out my hair, and my hair did not move, that I needed to wash my hair.

I step in to the shower.

Connor calls me: “Where is the dog food?”

Me: “In the spare room….”

Connor: “Where..?”

Me – swearing under my breath first:”It is in the spare room, it is the only bright orange bag of dog food in the spare room….JUST LOOK!’

Connor: “Found it..”

Me – brushing teeth in the shower – Georgia walks in and starts talking: ‘Uhm …… uhm……. mommy ……….uhm….”

Me with the curtain pulled back, toothpaste dripping down my chin: “Yes Georgia….”

Georgia: “Uhmmmm …. mommy ….. uhmm …… you know …… uhmm …. you know ….. mommy …. at school …. you know ….uhm …. mommy ….at school you know …. uhm …..”

Me realising that I was officially going to lose my mind!

Georgia totally obtuse to my tortured face peering out the side of the shower curtain: “Uhm mommy ….. at ……. school ….. there is a science fare …..uhm …. mommy …. you know … at school ……..”

Good grief, seriously!!!

Georgia: “uhm … at school … you know there is a science fair …… you know …. and we can buy things ….”

Me: “Georgia, I am not giving you money to buy things at school ….”

Georgia: “Eowwwwww…”

Me: “Just let me SHOWER! PLEAEESSEEEE for god sake!”

Connor from outside: “Where is Annabelle’s bowl?”

Me: “Connor look, just look – it is there outside ……”

Connor: “But where?”

Me: “Look, just look, look towards the floor area …… LOOK DAMMIT JUST LOOK……”

Connor: “I can’t find it…..”

Me – thinking – seriously I need to get that child’s eyes tested again.

Connor: “Found it…”

Me – for fk sake, just let me shower.

Kennith walks in to the bathroom.

Kennith believes that shower curtains have a special chemical that blocks sound waves.  So when he talks to me he must jerk the curtain back.  Allowing cold air in, whilst I stand attemping to risk/soap/rinse myself.

Kennith: “Georgia is only having one pour of milk with her pronutro, if she does not eat it in time, then it goes hard and she does not get any more milk…”

Me …. losing the will to live …… but still have a glimpse of the will to have a shower ….

Sort of nodding, because right now I would agree to painting the house purple if it would mean I could just shower in peace.

Kennith: “Okay Georgia ….”

Me – wondering why I am a part of this — and cannot shower by myself.

Georgia: “Okay ….” Georgia leaves the bathroom.

Kennith: “Okay bye …” – Kennith leans forward to kiss me goodbye – I make the effort to atleast wipe the conditioner which has dripped down my face off my mouth.  My left eye is searing in pain, but I have decided that it is not worth the effort to rinse properly.

I move the curtain back, try to rinse the toothpaste foam from my face, which has now mixed with the conditioner and more than likely is having a reaction with the urine running down my leg.

I can’t lie – some days it is just easier to pee in the shower …. there I said it.

Isabelle appears: ‘Muuuuuuuummmmm ……….. muuuuuuuuuuummmmmmmmm….”

She has just started saying Mum – but then does not end it with anything further, so she gets my attention, but then confused me as I am trying to figure out what it is she is trying to say.

Me: “Yes Isabelle….”

Isabelle: ‘Muuuuuuuummmmm ……….. muuuuuuuuuuummmmmmmmm….”

Me – for fk sake people please just let she shower.

Georgia: “We are playing hide and seek, and Isabelle is hiding ….”

Me –  wondering how she is hiding when she is standing in the middle of the bathroom and clearly not hiding her bulk well.

Me: “Great girls, can you go and play in the room, I will be there now….”

And so it went on.

I am sure showers are meant to be invigorating refreshing experiences – I am not sure that is the way it goes in my home.

I have also realised that it is pointless trying to close the door, as then I will have Isabelle throwing her weight up against the door crying/screaming/invoking the apocolapse, and I would have to get out the shower to go and open the door and then return to the shower.

I really have dreams where I am showering, alone, uninterrupted … I really don’t care if it ends with Norman Bates stabbing me in the end, at least I get two minutes of uninterrupted shower time.

The one about the Potty …..

I am often amazed how life with kids arounds teaches you little lessons.  Constantly.

Small incidents that remind you of exactly where you are in the large fuzz that is the navel of life, and well things just happen.

This morning I got up bright and early.

I took 3 x Myprodol and a cup of tea and headed out to see the lovely Vera.  Vera likes to pour hot wax on me and then rip my hair from it’s roots with a smile and a wink.

I find the Myprodol makes our relationship better – I think you may want to apply that principle to several people, they do not all have to pour wax on you.  I actually know several people who will be made “better” if I took 3 x Myprodol, but any way, that is not the core of today’s story.

Vera does a mean pedicure.  I thought seeing as she was going to be seeing my butt crack, her seeing my Frodo feet probably would not affect her too negatively.  So I had a wax and a pedicure.  I had a lovely chat with Vera about life and the universe – Vera is very cool to chat to, and even when you are lying there naked barring a few strips of yellow cotton which is attached to your skin briefly before she rips them off, you still somehow chat to her – though you might be bleeding from your eyeballs.

I walked out  feeling that maybe today will be the day I sort some of my shit out.  Vera is a very wise owl and gave me some wisdom, and it is always nice to just unload to someome.

I treated myself to a healthy fat-melt-off-your-hips McMuffin and I slowly wove my way home.    I was all Dr Phil and Karma rolled up in to The Secret meets Oprah kind of moment.

I got home, made some more tea, prepared myself to sit down to work.  I was feeling positive, and almost happy.  I do not really hum or whistle, but if there was ever a time I was going to do it, this might have been that time.

I saw Isabelle had wee’d in her potty.

I again congratulated myself on what a clever two year old I had, and how she was potty trained and I was moving her to a big bed and how well she had adjusted to her school, and really what an absolute joy she was.

I thought how brilliant it was that I had a Vera who could wax me, pedicure me, and chat to me, and make me feel so much better.

I was thrilled that my job allowed me flexibility to work from home some days, and I was really feeling happy and just groovy.

I smiled at how I had it all so taped.

Then I poured the contents of the potty into the toilet, missed the toilet totally, and ending up with pee all over the mirror and the floor.

And so the day began.