How do you get something back once it is on the Internet?

{Apologise this turned in to a bit of a rant.  I did not realise I was this annoyed/angry/disappointed until I started putting some thoughts down… not parent or child related in any way I am afraid.}

I have been listening to Cape Talk through all the discussion about “The Spear” – and for some reason, and it may just be poor timing on my part, when ever I am in the car listening and there is a person from the “ruling party” talking about this artwork and what they think should be done with it – they always sound a bit, well demented and unhinged – and seem unable to present an opinion without somehow making it a racial issue or a flash back to Apartheid.

{But I may have only heard a few interviews, and maybe there were more sensible ones that I did not hear … maybe.}

Earlier today I heard a sound bite from an interview and this woman was explaining {I am using this word generously, what I actually want to say is she was ranting like a demented lunatic} that the painting should not go to “this some German people” and that this is “all like apartheid…”

I have no idea how this painting has turned in to the lunatic asylum that it has turned into.  I am really not wanting to get into a huge political debate and stand and defend or demonise a piece of canvas.  Really I do not, I am just having a wee vent here in my corner of the blogosphere.

I have been known to vote for the ANC, so  I am not violently opposed to them.  This is not about which political party I support.

The part I am unclear on in this entire frucus, is if the painting is sold, and no longer on display, and is going to be taken out of the country, and is defaced and you are no longer allowed to see what was considered “pornographic” then what is the fuss about?  It’s art.  Not everyone agrees it is great.  Not everyone is meant to like it.  But someone bought it.  It is no longer owned locally, or on display.

It is done, and over, but people are still foaming at the mouth.

Is the president now “that guy” who we cannot poke fun at or make political or social comments about – either in print, media or art?  Has he become that reverred a fellow?

Can the “ruling party” really stop someone portraying the president in an unsavoury manner?

In that case, maybe he should stop acting in an unsavoury manner …. I don’t see anyone depicting Mandela or even Julius with his member exposed.  I wonder why not?

So why does JZ get to have his trouser snake on display in such a manner??  Something about the shoe and fitting I suppose.

The part that I am REALLY  confused about, is the furor around removing this image from the Goodman Gallery’s website.  Okay so they do that, so what!  Then what?

Anyone who has google will be able to access this image – and 1.8 million similar ones – so why exactly is pressure being applied to the Gallery?  And clearly the message is, art is fine as long it does not taint our honoured leaders,a nd offend the “ruling party.”  (I am getting a Zimbabwe feel about this entire thing ….)

I personally did not think it was an offensive piece of art.  I have seen other images that offended me more.  I have seen Axe deodorant commercials that offend me more.

Jacob has been portrayed as this poor innocent soul who has had his reputation tarnished.  Whose wives and children are horrified as they have been exposed to his member, in public.

Caution me if I am incorrect, but JZ does not exactly strike me as a guy who is not a bit shall we say liberal with disrobing before concubines and daughters of his friends.

I must say, when he was on trial for rape, I sort of lost a bit of respect for him.

When he got off on that trial, which really was a bit “justice blind” and he had the entire AIDS/Shower fiasco, well I sort of lost a bit more respect.

When it was clear he slept with someone who it appears he “took advantage of” well then I lost a bit more  respect for him.

When Julius made his infamous statement about a raped woman not having breakfast and waiting on taxi fare, and the president’s camp remaining quiet and not immediately slapping Julius silly … well then I lost a bit of respect for him.

When he impregnated his friend’s daughter, well that sort of made me lose a bit more respect for him.

When he married for the umpteenth time, when our country really needs a different kind of role model, I lost a bit more respect for him.

When it turned out the woman he was marrying had an 11-year-old child from him, meaning he had cheated on his then wife(s), to impregnate her sort of made me lose a bit of respect for him.  All of this while he was explaining the concept of plural marriages and how it is good for families and I assume does not make husbands step out of their marriage, he was clearly shopping around a bit.

I really am not sure how many bits of respect I have left for him at the moment.

{Please bear in mind that I tend to think the “best” of people until they absolutely fk it up …. really up until that point I reserve judgement.  I believed Hansie was innocent until, well, it was impossible to believe it any more.  I stood up for him.  I even felt bad for Joost and his underpants debacle, and thought, well he must be innocent, because he says he is ……}

I do tend to take the high road and believe innocence, but wow Jacob has made it a bit difficult for me.

This painting barely pipped on my radar, until there was so much screaming, hair pulling and shirt wrenching, that I could not “not” pay attention to it.

The painting did little in the way of make me think “less” of our president, but definitely made me think “less” of the party he represents who used intimidation and other means to ensure this painting was pulled and that City Press issue an apology (of sorts.)  I can’t imagine that this was done without his consent or knowledge …..

Do I think a in a painting is offensive?

Well that would depend on the comment the painting was making.

Does anyone else get a bit of a George Orwell feeling here in reference to the “Animal Farm” and how the pigs who have taken control of the farm, are doing the same things that the farmer used to do before??

I assume everyone got the Lenin reference … not exactly subtle ….. if not then here it is, just in case you had not made the connection.  Considering the “history” of Lenin one would think that JZ would be a bit more offended by that reference, but it appears not.

My original point, which I appear to have got a bit side-tracked from is how is the “ruling party” going to remove all 1 million 8 hundred thousand images that are on the web?

Does fighting with the Goodman Gallery to take it off their site really matter at this point?  I mean really?

In closing …. the fact that the “ruling party” has seen fit to spend more money and time on this ridiculous “spear painting” cause whilst they have seen it fit to NOT to fund and expend the same amount of energy on ensuring that  the Sarah Baartman Centre  {which supports abused women and children} remains open, as it serves an especially needy sector of our community.

The Centre was forced to announce it had insufficient funding and was due for closure.  Eventually there was public support and it has a lifeline to continue doing good work. The government in the interim is a bit busy seeing to one

A centre like this is under threat of closure.  Only 45% of school children receive text books.  Every minute 6 600 child p.orn.ogra.phic images are downloaded in this country.  There are police stations without police vans or police officers qualified to drive them.  There are 9 year old girls at school, pregnant.

But instead of dealing with some of these issues, our mighty leaders and policy makers, and unions, are expending time and energy, on whether there is an acrylic p.e.nis on a canvas.  Sold.  On it’s way to Germany.

Well that disappoints me more than 1000 picture of the president with his p.eni.s exposed.

Remember Physical Education class at school?

When I was at school, PE/Physical Education was a subject you got given, whether you liked it or not.

The part that always used to amaze me was that the PE Teacher, was always the largest (weight) person on the staff body.  She always used to wear that stupid matching track suit which made you think that she might have once coached or done hockey, or maybe women’s wrestling.

Her hair style was usually something that you would get done at the barber.

You were always just a little bit suspicious as to her sexual orientation.  You did not actually know what “sexual orientation” meant, but you were still a bit suspicious that things were not quite as they should be.

Personally I had no qualms about PE – I did not love it, but I sort of got by.  I did sport most days, so a bit of running around on the field during school time was no real issue.  (if we exclude the horror I had to go through when changing…. I developed really late ….. it was all a bit tragic)

You always had to wear the most ridiculous clothes loosely terms as your PE uniform.  It even made skinny pretty girls look like they had a camel toe and a hunchback.

It was all in all just not attractive.   In was in a coed school from standard 6 – 8 so that was also its own set of torture.

But this was the same era that gave you Dynasty and Sue Ellen on Dallas, so abysmal fashion decisions were pretty much the norm.

The thing I hated about PE, and I think has mentally scarred me for life was when Ms PE Teacher wanted the class to play a team game.

Everyone would mill around, then she would call out two random girl’s names “Sharon” (I was of the generation where there would be between 1 – 3 Sharons per grade) and “Leeanne” – then Sharon and Leeanne would each pick a girl for their teams.

You know all the girls they liked, who were popular with them.

As each name got called out, there would be some squealing and maybe hugging as the girls would go and huddle behind either Sharon and Leeanne, and stand and smirk at the group of girls who had not been picked i.e. me.

There I would stand “quietly begging” that I got chosen – please choose me, please choose me, I promise to catch/hit the ball.  Promise!!!

See I can jump.  See I can run.  Look Janet Look!!

You would want to edge together with all the girls “not yet chosen” so there was safety in numbers, and at the same time you did not want to stand near anyone who was really unpopular in case you were tainted with the cooties.

The result was a mass of girls sort of twitching and having that look of nervous anticipation combined with rampantly unreliable hormones, and too tight fitting shorty shorts and a vest number!

I hated the fact that I might be the last one left, and not really chosen as much as being a team member by default.    If I was chosen by Sharon or Leeanne then I would also go and stand in that rather selfish little group behind and smirk and the group of “unpopular” girls who had not been selected.

There are few things worse than being the kid who stands there last and has to be in either of the team – it’s lonely and it is so painful being “that kid.”

The fear of that is enough to sympathise (and envy) girl who always said she was having her period or had a note saying she did not have to do PE.  There were usually 3 – 4 of them.

My friend Claudine Steyn and Joanne Mustoe did not EVER do PE.  I have no idea how one has a period that long.

I realise I am trying to link two rather vague points to each other here so bear with me and I stumble forward – but for the love of gd, please go and nominate me – the 2nd Annual Mommy Blogger Competition 2012 is on, and I am having that nervous shuffling on a field feeling again.

Mommy bloggers have had a bit of a bad rap at the last Blogger Awards, so we are all a bit desperate for anything that makes us say “winner, winner, chicken dinner” right now – trust me we would get excited if the prize was a McNugget Happy Meal + a toy!

I have no illusions about winning.

There are far better mommy bloggers out there with moms who really “sweat” and work their blogs, and do really pretty things and well make a huge effort.

I am attempting to appear that this sort of thing does not bother nor interest me.  You know being jaded and all.  And all.

I am a fair weather blogger, and I do not try very hard to remain popular or clearly attract sponsors!  Clearly the idea of me associating with a brand has brand managers and communication managers developing symptoms of thrush (the itch and the part where it hurts when you pee!)

I have no real drive to run around and pimp my “please vote for me” all over Facebook and every other place you can beg for a vote, but I just don’t want to be the fat pimply kid who does not get picked for PE teams by Sharon and Leeanne.

I don’t have to win, but I just don’t want to be left on the field like a total loser!!  Cheese and Rice, it is like primary school again!

<link for voting –>

You chew that apple and I am going to stab you. In the eye.

I have been sensitive to sound for almost forever.  But in the last 10 years it has got remarkably worse.

These are a couple, in no real order, that drive me to anger and rage almost instantaneously:-

1.  Kids chewing cereal …. even Pro-nutro … but you can only imagine what the sound of crunchy cereal does to me head/mind/sanity.

2.  Slurping tea or coffee – and my best is slurping soup.

3.  Repeatedly tapping of feet onto a surface (my kids kick the centre pole in our kitchen whilst eating) or Isabelle picks up her spoon and drops it on the counter, picks it up, and drops it — repeat until mother bursts a blood vessel.

4.  The sound of normal chewing …. I always sit next to Kennith at the dining room table, and I have been wondering whether it would be rude for me to move to the other end of the table.  We have an 8 seater, me on one end, him on the other at dinner time … strange much?

5. Sucking of marrow bones, or chicken bones or anything that makes your lips smack …without a doubt this is when I excuse myself from the table to go and attend to a child … even when I am out without my children.

6.  Sniffing…. I keep tissues in my bag for the sole purpose of handing to my children and strangers.  I make it look like an act of guidance or caring.  Meanwhile.  Not so much.

7.  A door that isn’t closed properly that knocks every time a breeze blows down the passage.

8.  Someone flicking through television channels, and the variance in sound that occurs as they move from one channel to another.

9.  Reality shows – especially American Idols or X-Factor – there is a severe pitch variance, and a lot of screaming and loud voices and then the low sound as someone says something deep and meaningful and then the screaming again.  Does my head in.

10.  Wind that whistles through window joints, and the bang-bang-bang that usually occurs on windows.

11.  The squeezing and sucking sounds caused when someone drinks from one of those water bottle numbers.  I can’t.  I really cannot bear it.

12.  Teeth sucking …. like after dinner and then there is this teeth sucking.

Okay let me stop.

Now that I make a list, I realise that the list is rather long and I have not touched the ice berg of the things that make me lose my shit completely.

I think there are lots of noises/sounds that we do not like.  But with me it does more than just annoy me.  It makes me angry, and irritated, and well just fkn angry.

My heart starts to pound.  I can feel my eyes narrowing.  I focus on the sound at the exclusion of everything else and then I can feel I get angrier and angrier as the sound gets louder and more acute in my ear.

Kennith always says that if we go to the movies, I will attract the guy with the slush puppy who sucks, and does that shoesh-shoesh-shoesh sound as he pushes his straw through the slush to loosen up the liquid, for another suck.

Kennith is probably right – I attract these people like nobodies business.  But the reality is that no matter where the slush puppy person sits, I will be able to hear them.  And the added problem is that I can’t hear the movie, as the sound gets louder and louder and louder for me.

This issue alone is probably the main reason I no longer go to movies.

Of course I just put it down to the fact that I was a miserable cow with too many issues to number – seems fair enough, so let’s not totally discount that as a good reason for my being irritable.

Then I saw this word on Friday “Misophonia” and suddenly so much makes sense, or at least I do not feel so guilty for always feeling so damn angry when there is a sound that sets my teeth on edge.

I thought this definition was bang on the money:

The response has been described as a reflexive emotional flood of rage and panic with a storm of fight-or-flight reactions becoming paramount. Adrenaline flooding, face flushing, heart-pounding and/or shaking and the need to physically flee or attack are often experienced. The mindful thoughts that the emotional reflex/response is unreasonable given the facts of the stimulus is often actually harmless come only after the fight-or-flight response is in full force and the affected person may find themselves in a constant mode of “talking themselves down” into a normal state of calm.

The hypocrisy of it all, is that I make a noise when I eat, and I often flick my nail when I am alone – I also love chewing raw pasta — all of these sounds would drive me to commit manslaughter if someone else did it.

According to my research there is no cure – one either must avoid the sound, do extensive CBT or take enough medication to not hear anything.

One bloke suggested moving to a quiet town, and never being in public places so the sounds of the masses do not drive him to insanity. He also has opted to work from home as “office” sounds also set him off.

Sadly I think it is too late for me.  What is sadder is that I understand his point of view, and his plan does not seem that unreasonable to me.

Georgia and Chocolate …. racial slur or just child speak?

Georgia has a doll daughter named Chocolate.

When Georgia was two or three we went along to the toy shop and she could choose any doll she wanted.

She chose Chocolate, and then called her Chocolate.  Georgia took all of Chocolate’s clothing off as Chocolate had a t-shirt on – so Chocolate gets taken nearly everywhere with Georgia, in exactly the manner as she is pictured above.  <The plaster on Chocolate’s leg is due to a recent inury….>

Chocolate goes EVERYWHERE.  When Georgia was at pre-primary the rule was “no toys or dolls can come to school … with the exception of Chocolate…”

Georgia would take Chocolate, and when I arrived to collect Georgia most of the teachers and staff would say goodbye to Chocolate, and mention they would see her tomorrow.

I have recently put in a system where Chocolate can only go to school with Georgia on a Monday and  Friday, the remainder of the week Chocolate needs to stay home.

I spent a fair amount of time having the discussion that “Chocolate” is not a politically correct term to call anyone who has a skin colour the colour of chocolate.  But after about a year I gave up, and decided that I don’t actually find it offensive, and I find it “endearing…”

I have no idea how Georgia came up with the term, but as a child she did, and there was nothing about the term that indicated a sense of smugness or disdain or that it was discriminatory.

Chocolate is Chocolate, and Georgia says that Priveledge (our nanny) is a chocolate colour.   She also says her bestie at school is a chocolate colour – but her bestie has a name and is clearly not called Chocolate.

I remember the first time Georgia said “chocolate” and I cringed.  I felt it was so awfully politically incorrect – I recall the rucus about calling “peach coloured” crayons “skinny colour” and I recall that the term upset many people.

At the time I was all nodding agreement, but since then I think I have mellowed to the concept.

Would I have felt better if Georgia referred to her skin colour as black or coloured?

I know I should have a deep meaningful heart to heart with my child about how derogative the term “skinny colour” and “chocolate colour” is but I actually don’t think it is.  I am not going to convince her not to see colour, because that would be a bit stupid.

She can see that we are all different colours – and she expresses this, but she does not indicate that a “skinny” colour is better or more anything that a “chocolate” colour.  The colour is just a fact – the equivalent of her having hazel eyes and me having blue eyes.  It just is.

She does not mean it in a horrible way, and it is not offensive to me, but is it offensive?

Possibly I am in the minority.  Possibly this is one of the things that people have just blown out of proportion in the quest to be politically correct about everything, and maybe I need to see it in a more “factual” light.

Would it be better to refer to people by their pantone reference number?  I am around a Pantone 7401 matte not coated.

Where do babies come from #6

And sometimes it is the simple answers to a complex question …

Parenting … not for everyone ….

Parenting – not for everyone …

How the hell does Kate do 8?

I am not a big television fan.

I get home, I tend to do what I need in terms of dinner/bath/bed for kids, and then attend to myself in roughly the same order.  Out of choice I would rather read a book, but Kennith has other plans, and Kennith is the one who holds the remote.

Any the way, I don’t DSTV channel surf much, as I am seldom allowed to hold the remote.  But now that I am at home and I sit in my little pseudo office, I turn the television on and switch to a documentary and leave it in the background.

That being said I have managed to catch several inserts of Kate Plus 8 or Kate Makes 8 – or what ever it is called.  Key point woman who is divorced, has a set of twins and then a set of sextuplets (is that the correct word?) and all these kids are under 10 years old.

Any the who, most of the shows I have caught are her on outings with her 8 / EIGHT kids – I seriously have no idea how she does it.

Today I fetch the kids from school.  I stop at Woolworths, and I want to run in – I want to leave all three of them in the car and pop in.

Isabelle starts screaming her head off as she wants to come with me.  Georgia and Connor start screaming – not raising their voices – but screaming “I’M THE BOSS, I’M THE BOSS, I’M THE BOSS…” and then arguing vehemently about who will be the boss whilst I am away.

I am sitting in the driver’s seat wondering if I should just gas us all now – but then I think of how dos Kate copes with 8?

She always appears to have good hair, well french manicured nails, no roots showing, and usually is wearing heels with shorts.  She sometimes appears a little ruffled, but I never hear her cursing at her kids or going ape shit – maybe they edit those bits out.

I am just trying to pop in to Woolworths for a Macaroni and Cheese with Bacon (I had a craving) and I can’t even do that without my three going totally bat shit.

I have no idea how Kate Gosselin does it.

To get divorced and not fight for the other parent to take custody – with 8 kids!!!  That is really one of those times when you want your partner to take the kids, and you get visitation every second Wednesday night for three hours, up until they are about 12.

Anyway, I am going to google Kate (with 8) and figure out if she is on medication, because god’s truth there is no way any earthly person could look that good, have eight children and not be drinking by 10am!!

Leaky fish tank and other emergencies ….

Me sitting re-editing 400 images I already edited, but made a photoshop 101 error on, so I am sitting and redoing the editing, and not exactly loving every moment.  Editing once is fine, editting the same thing again because you are a tosser, really is somewhat unsatisfactory.

Phone rings.

Me: “Hello….”

Little voice: “Hello Mommy…”

Me: “Hi Connor, what’s up my boy…?”

Connor: “Mom, are you busy?”

Me: “Er, a little bit, what’s up Connor?”

Connor: “My fishing tank in my class has a leak, can you go to the pet shop and buy another one, and bring it to school now?”

Me: “errr…..”

Connor: “Please Mommy….. please …….”

Me – wondering how to argue with the fact that he knows I am not working.  He knows I am at home, he has a fish tank leak, which I can offer little in the way of advise for. Can I actually say NO when he is obviously speaking on his teacher’s cell phone with her and all the kids listening?

The short answer is I went to buy a fish tank, a cover and some pebbles and delivered it to Connor’s school within 45 minutes of his call.

So that gets me a Mommy of the Week Award.

The part where I lose it, is that I had his teacher’s name wrong (not slightly, totally wrong).  So could not find her class (as I had never attended a teacher-parent meeting clearly).

Fortunately only managed to find Connor’s class because he was standing at the front of the class and I was looking through the little glass window in the class room door.

Home of Hope ….

I mentioned before that I cleaned out our garage.

“Cleaning out our garage” is not code for anything, it really means I went through a dozen years of stuff that was lying in our garage and packed it up.

Some I took for recycling, but there was a lot that was useful and I did not want to throw away, but I also was not arsed with asking 100 people if they needed two blue bean bags.

I packed up our stuff and I passed it on to people who could use it.

Thinking about cleaning out your cupboards, this is a good place to take your stuff.

Party 911!!

It’s under a month until Isabelle (10 June) and Georgia’s birthday (20 June) and I have done nothing in preparation.

I have drawn up lists and fretted, and phone a few places, but following that, nada.

The result is no birthday party at this stage, or plans or lists I can tick off.

Birthday parties make me all kind of stressed, and the last kid’s one we did was Connor’s.  Kennith agreed to do the organising of the party as I really did not think I could handle another birthday party.

The result was a fishing party that did not occur due to rain and wind, and the final result was 8 boys trapped inside our house.  But Kennith bravely took this lot on and turned it into a Wii competition and various other things, and kept the boys entertained.  At the first glimpse of sun, he had them outside and the boys swam.

Kennith did make a party 101 error and planned the party from about 09h00 through to about 15h00 which is about 5 hours too long for any party, but we survived.  I fled to my room several times as I thought I was going to go a bit off my rocker, but Kennith held the ropes and the party worked.  And I was so thankful he did all the party organising and co-ordination, as it took a huge load off me.

But that was in December.  It is now end of May.

So back to my problem, I have no party, and no plans.  I really need to get my shit together and do something.

Like today, or the girls will not be having a party, and then they will use this a reason to make psychiatrist appointment and moan about their Mommy!!

An additional problem is that June is generally rainy so it has to be inside.  Inside+screaming kids=not a good time.

I was also a bit crushed to find out that Crazy Chameleon no longer operates in Cape Town.  So that got crossed off my list of people to use.  As we speak I am going over Child Magazine, their party edition with a fine tooth combed, and hoping that something jumps out at me!!!  Soon.

Anyone got any party suggestions – that is geared for a 3 year old and a 7 year old and includes Smurfs??

School mornings and misplaced school bags …..

Arrive at school with kids this morning – kids bale out, Connor grabs his school bag and says the usual “love you mommy, bye”

I look at Georgia and she is looking into the car and there is no school bag.

I look at her, I look at the empty car and ask “Georgia, where is your school bag?”

Georgia: “er, I think I left it in the tv room….”

Me = sighs heavily and looks at her with the exasperation I often am confronted with when dealing with Georgia and her inability to “just get with the programme.”

The school bell rings, and the kids go off to class.  Georgia sans bag, and with a total lack of concern that has forgotten her school bag at home.

<bearing in mind she is wearing the wrong school shoes as she forgot her proper school shoes at school yesterday, so the ones she has on are too small ….>

I stand and wonder if I should just leave her bag at home to teach her a valuable lesson about “remembering things” and then I think of the teacher’s face as Georgia tells her she has left her bag at home, and I am shamed in to going back to fetch it and take it back to her.

I go home and there is her bag – standing in the middle of the kitchen.  Just to further set the scene, I have had Isabelle going bezerk in the backseat as I did not take the turn to her school when I usually do, so she has been screaming in the back seat as she thought she was not going to be going to school.  And because she was screaming so much she could not hear me trying to explain to her that I am just going via home and then will take her to school.

I am quite looking forward to my kids going to boarding school so these problems are no longer my problem.  {sigh}

Where do babies come from #5

I thought this was really funny and probably is a great example of the answers Siri gives me ….

Few really know who you are …..


I could write a thousand words to explain this … but this image is brilliant … how many people do you encoutner who appear as pure as the driven snow …. but meanwhile ……

Post It Notes from the edge of reason #1

I really do not understand this concept.

The bulk of the kids I see at my kids’ schools are dropped off without wearing seat belt, lets not even comment on the lack of safety/booster seats – just seat belts would be a luxury at this stage.

Standing between the front seats is as common as candy floss for kids.  Small babies/toddlers/children being held by moms sitting in the back seat appears to be standard practice.

I am not maths higher grade, but I can work out that even if you are buckled in and you are holding an object that is not, your car come to an unexpected stop, your body will fly forward at 60/80/120km an hour until something stops its forward motion…. but what ever is in your arms will continue travelling 60/80/120 kilometers until it meets a stationary object that stops it.

Stationary object being the windscreen, a wall, the road you are travelling on and so on.

It is impossible (virtually impossible) to hold on to any object with that sort of force/speed ….. but why do moms (and dads) persist in not buckling their kids up and either let them stand free or allow them to sit on their laps?

What is it that I am missing?  What is there to gain by not buckling a child up?

I feel people should be fined who are caught with kids unbuckled in a car.  The parents should be subjected to 5 days of community service, served in emergency rooms like Red Cross Hospital and the morgue who regularly receive children who were not buckled up and have died or been injured due to not being strapped in. 

Alternatively the parents should be smacked in the head.  With a chair.  Repeatedly.

side bar >>  Some one suggested that I should not get upset by this behaviour.  I should view it as evolution’s way of culling the simple minded.  Stupid people do not buckle up, stupid people die in car accidents and so do thier children, so this is nature’s way of skimming off the stupid. 

A bit lost and found ……

So anyway, I feel like I have fallen off the edge of the earth a bit.  Apologise for not updating my blog, I really have not known what to say.  And I did feel an overwhleming desire to hide my head under my duvet and feel quite sorry for myself.

I am so used to getting up in the morning, screaming at kids, putting my clothes on, brushing my teeth, chasing everyone out, doing the morning drop off and then dashing off to work, and that is where I spend the next 8 – 10 hours of my life.   Frantic.  Chaotic. But generally enjoying what I do.

The last month has left me feeling a bit “lost” – I get up and do all the parts, but then I have no where I have to go.

I know if anyone is a working mom and reading this odds are the thoughts are “enjoy it, go where ever you want….I am so jealous…” and of course it is all very nice not having to be somewhere and rushing there, but at the same time it isn’t.

I need to work.  I really do.  I get to do that heart shaped movement with my forefingers and say “you complete me” when I go to work.

First week of no work I ran around a bit in a frenzy of “fk sake, must find a job, must must must!!!”

Week two was a bit more of the same and running to interviews.

Week three was where the steam ran out of the “little engine that could” and I sort of slumped and felt a bit at a loss of what to do.

End of week three and into week four saw me on the couch vegging and watching Game of Thrones.

Week five saw me relaxing and celebrating my birthday.  My fortieth birthday.  40 puts you as close to 60 as you are to 20, which is past depressing.

Other than the age issue, I had such an incredible birthday weekend.  Relaxing, and a wonderful time.  I spent  it with lovely, generous and funny friends and equally gorgeous wine.  Really just what I needed.

I swore that on the 11 May I would pick myself up and aim myself in a direction and attempt to look wholly committed to something.  Anything.

I have had a touch of flu, so Kennith was kind enough to let me have a sleep in on Friday whilst he took kids to school.  The result was I really committed to a good long sleep until about 2pm – and the 11th got crossed off the list of the day that I got moving.

But this weekend I said, really I am going to get behind something. And. Monday is the day.

I dropped kids off, and then felt that usual funk I get when that part of the morning activities are done, but this morning I decided I am going to put on my big girl panties and get my A in to G.

I got home and then cleaned the garage.

Like wild frantic mad woman garage cleaning.

The one where spittle forms on your chinny chin chin  And you get that slightly deranged look about you.  Just like that.

I sorted out the kids’ tv room and moved furniture around and set myself up a little work nook.  Let’s not call it an office, as I need a drinks fridge and a wine display before I will call it an office.

Haven’t done any work yet, because I am exhausted from cleaning the garage, but I believe tomorrow is another day.

Off the couch and out the door ….

You know how when you work, you are so busy, but make these mental plans that if you had an afternoon off you would re-arrange the spice rack, cure cancer, and figure out how to reset the flashing time thing on the oven.

I also had those dreams, aspirations and misguided delusions that all full-time working people suffer from.  If only I had some time.

Since finding myself in my altered state of employment,I have proceeded to do next to nothing.  Last week I sat on the couch. Okay I lay.  Not as in the grammatical incorrect “to tell an untruth.”

I literally lay on the couch from Monday through to Wednesday.  I just did not feel like doing anything.  What I did instead was curl up on the couch, with a blankie, a cup of tea and two seasons of Game of Thrones.

That series is brilliant, if you do not mind full frontal nudity (boy and girl) people randomly having explicit sex (this makes Californication look like something you would put on for the kids).

There is a lot of having sex, killing people (sometimes at the same time) a very complex system of kingdoms, and wildly different seasons – but if you look past that (or are motivated by that) a really brilliant miniseries.

I did push myself up off the couch on Thursday and decided to finally get down to the South African Jewish Museum, and the Holocaust Museum in Cape Town.

I have never been, and have been meaning to go there for years.

I had some time after that – what with not exactly needing to get to work and found myself at the South African National Art Gallery.

I must confess that I really had a fabulous day.

But then I sat in traffic for 1 hour and 40 minutes for a drive that should have taken me 20 minutes, and that did take away from the shine a little.

{photographs taken with my iphone using instagram}

Update on Georgia … in the wars …

Georgia’s mouth looked pretty grim this week.

Her chin and bottom jaw were pretty banged up and bruised, with the result that she was not moving her bottom jaw to speak or eat, or brush her teeth.

Her gums were swollen, and I was not convinced that her teeth weren’t damaged.  We also couldn’t really see her front top and bottom teeth as everything that was either bloodey or swollen blue/black – and there was no way you could get in to see what was going on.

I know the right thing to do is to wait it out, and then things would look better, but I was convinced that the teeth that took the brunt of the fall were going to need to be pulled, or something very similiar, and each day seemed to bring a fresh crop of anxiety and panic about my daughter ending up looking like a troll, as I decided to “wait and see…”

Like any slightly hysterical mother I was disappointed that the doctor did not do what I thought was required i.e. a full head x-ray, a EKG, a full blood work up, a CAT scan and what ever else sound important – with a STAT at the end of it {I have clearly been watching too much Grey’s Anatomy}.  Instead he put a plaster on her chin and sent me and her on our way, wtihout ordering one unneccesary test. 

When I mentioned that Georgia has a tendency to fall/trip a lot, his response was: “Maybe she is just clumsy…”

Bear in mind we have come from a fall at school – where she was playing by herself and fell on her face.  Walking from the car at the ER to the ER door she fell again, I kid you not.  So you can see I might find it difficult to accept my child is  “just clumsy”- any the who, clearly I felt that we had been abadoned by the entire medical fraternity and decided to take matters into my own hands.

I was recommended to a really good (=great equipment but really expensive, and medical aid does not cover his rates) dentist in the area and took Georgia along to the appointment.

I love a doctor/dentist who takes the time to examine a child correctly when the mother is clearly having a freak out.  This guy clearly had met a few overraught mothers in his time, and knew exactly how to proceed.

There was also a television in the ceiling, and the dentist chair was covered in the same cow-patch plastic material they use for all Spur furniture – makes children feel safe if they think that there might be a Spur burger or Chicco the clown in the deal. 

Georgia eased in to the chair, he put the movie on and she opened her mouth and gave him a look to indicate the less he spoke, the more she could watch the movie.

He checked what he could.  He could not get in to her mouth as she could not open her jaw, so he used a small camera to take photos of the inside of her mouth.  He was concerned that her gum was very bruised, and there might be a jaw fracture.

I don’t exactly like to high five and say “see  I was right to be concerned” … but well, no doubt you know how it goes.  He did a full jaw x-ray and it showed that there was damage to her milk teeth, but the permanent teeth had not been damaded.  The permanent teeth that had taken a bit of the impact, did not have a root system, so were fine and would probably move back in to place.

By yesterday her swelling had reduced, the pink had returned to her gums, and the bruises looked much better. I could have left it, but it would have added to my worry.

I think the point I am trying to make is that when I took her to the ER, I should have insisted on a jaw x-ray, and should not have settled for being bustled out the door with a band aid, and a “call me if there are any problems…”

You mean more than the cut, the bruised chin, the teeth that are bloody, and the fact my daughter can’t move her jaw.  What other problems are you referring to?  Coughing up blood?

I stood there in silence and the doctor took control of the situation.  I really have no idea why doctors/people in white lab coats have this hold on me.  It is like I am fully in control and have vocal ability until I cross the threshold and then I turn into this simpering parent, and forget that this is actually my child, and last time I checked there is a bill that gets paid, hence the reason I am elevated from being a patient to a customer.

Note to self: I really must learn to grow a pair!