Bad Mommy Moments …. my comments

I am going to weigh in on this post that went up by Jess over at “From There to Hear”…

This is one of those posts where comments should have been closed a long time ago, but one often does not realise how big this snowball is going to be until it gains so much momentum that it crushes you, as you stand innocently sipping on your gin and tonic with a slice of lemon looking out at the scenery.

Clearly Anonymous really had a beef to settle, but let me leave their stuff over there in their land.

Jess listed some of her “deep and dark” mommy secrets, and I think it would not be so “catch your breath” unless it was so damn true.

There really was only one where I raised my eyebrow and went: “okay, that is not ideal …..yikes!” but overall I totally understood where she was coming from, and more importantly the tone, the essence of the blog post.

I think we all like to think we are perfect mothers, the reality is that we all cut corners for sanity/time constraints/the lure of lying down for just a minute, and some times well, just because we just do not feel like doing something.

I fake sleep often whilst my kids are screaming like they have lost a limb. I try to fake sleep more than Kennith as I figure if I lie there long enough he will get up.

Unfortunately he is faking the same thing, so we lie there both faking, until something happens when heavy breathing and limp limbs no longer cut the mustard.

I am well-known for my idea of a balance meal being a McDonalds Happy Meal with an Orange cooldrink.  I don’t know what is in the orange cooldrink, but I figure it looks healthier than the green one.

When my children were small, I would leave them in the shower for an hour.  So they get tired, are clean, can’t drown and then hopefully can go straight to bed.  On occasion I would also hand a yoghurt to them with a spoon and call it dinner.  No Mommy of the Year prizes being handed out there I can tell you.

The only reason my children get bathed and fed each day, is because I find it suits my sticking to a schedule.  The sooner they eat, the sooner they bath, the more likely I am able to get them in to bed, and then I can take a breath and congratulate myself on surviving another day.

I bath and feed them out of self-interest more than because I think it is good for them.

I love my children, and even like them most days.  But there is so much about being a mother that is so damn tedious.

But in this “HEY FKRS LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME!” time we live in, people are constantly crowing about what a fabulous time we are having as mothers.  Then you feel a bit shamed that clearly you are doing something wrong as you are not having as much fun as the other Facebook moms!  Shit must work on my Facebook Status updates.

I am hard-pressed to look excited when I am standing arguing with my kids over food they must eat.  Or trying to get Isabelle to unclench her mouth so I can get a teaspoon of noodles in.

Parenting often is about as much fun as douching yourself by accident with VIM.  Yes we love our kids, and we are so damn lucky and and and anchovies!

The idea of motherhood is often much nicer than the realities, the tedium, the pull-my-eyes-out boredom of the entire thing.  I mean seriously once you have done “where you, where you, where you?” for 15 minutes really, it is about time to well kill yourself.

The realities often require you digging out poo from under your nails, wondering at dinner with friends whether they can smell the milk vomit in your hair, and wishing wishing that maybe you could be involved in a minor car accident to get you just one night in hospital where you could sleep and pee alone!

Society dictates that Motherhood must appear fun.  Sublime.  That you are having the time of your freakn life.

We must make it seem so, else we risk appearing like bad or at the very least indifferent mothers.  It is very hard keeping your head up when you really want to hide in the bathroom so you can just get 15 minutes to yourself.

Jess listed a few things that she had, shall we say, let slide.  Please read her post, and I have added the main gist of each point and then my thoughts on each.  None are worth flogging her in the town centre about ….

Sterilising Items :  I stopped sterilising at under 6 weeks … before you go all dirty-nasty-environment on me, please be aware that Isabelle who might have had sterilised bottles until she was 5 weeks, is the least sick of my three children.  No paed, seldom sees our GP.

Nappy Changing :  I do think changing your child every 15 minutes is a waste of nappies, bum cream and patience.  If your child is uncomfortable in their nappy, they will tell you in no uncertain terms.  So what if you “forgot” “overlooked” a nappy change.  Big freaking hairy deal.

Purity instead of a 5 course meal : Oh heavens, who of us hasn’t pulled this one.  I still will throw a cut up apple and a container of yoghurt at my kids and call it dinner if I can get away with it.

Bathing : There was a time not too long ago when the idea of bathing once a week, even for a baby was not that ludicrous.  Based on how clean our general living environments are, I think a child could safely go unbathed for two weeks, and probably be a damn side cleaner than most babies live – quite healthily – in most 3rd world countries.

Nappy Changing : See above, I think though realistically I would be a bit shame faced to arrive at a nursery school with my child’s nappies weighing more than their school bag, but hey that is me – and maybe Jess had a bad night and a suicidal morning.

Hiding in the Bathroom : A girl after my own heart!  I still do this.

Administering medication : I do not think a TRUTHFUL mother exists who has not slipped their child some off the shelf medication when she feels one of them needs some sleep.  I think MANY mothers will crow about who they NEVER do this, but then there is reality.

Visiting people who lighten your load : This has got to be the best trick ever!!  I need to find friends like that.

I will confess there were a few of Jess’ points that I raised my eyebrow on and did not smile about as much as the others, but I took it in the tone of the post and the tone of your blog.

Stepping back and seeing it in the context it was presented.

Bloggers are not true-life documentary writers, and I think sometimes readers forget this.  Correction.  Usually readers do get this, but Trolls will always exist and lie there quietly until the day you say something mildly controversial and then they will have Child Line on speed dial.

Bloggers often write in a particular manner.

If you read my blog your perception might be that I am coked up on antidepressants all day and drinking wine from the bottle with a straw by 11h00 …. it is not far from the truth, but it is not the WHOLE truth.  Some where in this I do manage to be a fairly effective mother, and pull unicorns and rabbits out my arse on demand, and do a bit of work as well.

Bloggers write, we expose ourselves publically – and the downside to this, other than the very cool “hey you are so cool, high-five chick” is that there are people who disagree.

If you are going to write for the public, expect a public bitch slap from time to time – it happens.  If everyone loved what we wrote, I don’t think it would be as interesting.

I think Jess was brave to put up the post she did, but if you are going to fire off fireworks, you must expect the odd dog to bark and someone to complain to the SPCA.

But that is my take on it at any rate!

Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Review {too funny not to share!}

Joanne Chemaly is probably one of the funniest people alive.  I really need this girl to get her own show.

Earlier this week she sent me an email with the “Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Creme 200 ml review.”

Holy Crapiolla.

I thought I was going to laugh, but I ended up snorting and guffawing, which is far better than polite laughter.

It is one of those classics which is really too funny not to share.

Reading through it adds a bit of warmth and a eventually a wet spot to your underwear that only a really good TESA adult sanitary towel can help with.

Funny man – like stupid funny.  If you haven’t read this, enjoy, enjoy — and buy a tube of Veet for your man!


Most Helpful Customer Reviews

22,833 of 22,984 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars DO NOT PUT ON KNOB AND BOLLOCKS 24 Jan 2012

By Andrew

Being a loose cannon who does not play by the rules the first thing I did was ignore the warning and smear this all over my knob and bollocks. The bollocks I knew and loved are gone now. In their place is a maroon coloured bag of agony which sends stabs of pain up my body every time it grazes against my thigh or an article of clothing. I am suffering so that you don’t have to. Heed my lesson. DO NOT PUT ON KNOB AND BOLLOCKS.

(I am giving this product a 5 because despite the fact that I think my bollocks might fall off, they are now completely hairless.)


3,270 of 3,324 people found the following review helpful

3.0 out of 5 stars LOCATION LOCATION LOCATION 17 April 2012

By The Cantankerous Tiger

I like the clean shaven look down in my gentleman’s log cabin, so for the past few years I’ve used a shaver. However the hair keeps growing back which means every 6 months I have to spend 20 minutes trimming again. As I’m sure you’ve realise this is valuable time I cannot waste. So I decided to get to the root of the problem and purchased this product.

Probably the first thing you will notice after using this product is the pain. Although as a man I lack the required experience, I’m going to estimate that using this product is at least eleven times more painful than childbirth.

Imagine sticking a rusty razor blade into your favourite eye, before tying your hands behind your back. Then imagine that you use the entrenched razor blade to slice open a raw onion. All the while being butt naked. This product is slightly more painful than that.

However if we ignore the blinding, crippling and debilitating pain I should point out that this product is remarkably effective. Before, all manner of organisms great and small lived down there, now nothing can grow; not even on a cellular level. Sadly this includes my genitalia; I’ve spent the last four hours staring fixedly at Carol Vorderman’s arse, all to no avail.

My tinkywinkleton hasn’t even so much as perked up, so if my review seems a bit harsh, it’s only because I wanted children.

All in all an effective and reasonably priced product – 3 Stars.


1,844 of 1,877 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars Increased Sports Performance Bonus 24 April 2012

By Tagnutt Mandeville

As a highly competitive amateur athlete, I have long been aware of the benefits of a highly polished scrotum pole and hair-free saddle-bags, especially when going for the `longer look’ as displayed by Linford in his famous lunchbox.

Previously I had used the old-school method of a cutthroat razor, but as you can imagine, this was a tricky and delicate operation, and to make matters worse, it was difficult to get into a comfortable position in the chair at my local Barbers. Anyway, I am quite hairy down there and my snippet valve looks like Brian May’s plughole so eventually the Barber said he could no longer perform the task for me. He also said that looking up my whizzer every Saturday at 11:30 put him off his lunch, as he usually has toad-in-the-hole followed by chocolate-coated donuts as a Saturday treat.

He did not want to leave me in the lurch and said that he had read some excellent reviews on Amazon about Veet for men and suggested I give it try.

Like many other reviewers, I made the mistake of not reading the bumph properly; I used the whole tube and completely coated my cock eggs, barse and nipsy with the stuff. Anyway, I lost track of time, and it was the foul stench of dissolving clinkers and melting hair that brought me to my senses.

As I looked at my watch through the putrid fog that had formed around me, I could see that it had been applied for exactly 5 minutes 59 seconds.

This presented me with a problem, as when the searing pain began, I was outside my flat, sat in the communal gardens, in a deck chair precisely 100 meters and 3 flights of stairs away from my bathroom.

It was as if I had lowered my under-carriage through a volcano and into Hades, whereupon Beelzebub, annoyed by the uninvited intrusion, jabbed me in the rectum with his fork.

I took off from the deckchair like Usain Bolt out of the TV adverts. Within 12 seconds, the bathroom was filled with steamy fetid barse broth, and I had the clock weights, biffin’s-bridge and Sherriff’s badge under ice-cold running water at the tap end of the bath. This did not please the missus, as she was relaxing in there at the time surrounded by floating petals and candles, although she did say that the sight of my ringpiece flashing like a brake light was impressive, and she was pleased to see that my arse barnacles had all but disappeared.

When I looked at my watch again, I realised how quickly I had made it up the stairs and the idea dawned on me that I had discovered a 100% legal sports performance enhancer. Now when I compete in a competition I dab a small amount around my Samantha Janus and taint exactly 6 minutes before the race is due to start. If I am doing the hurdles, I change the ratio and put more on my barse to make me jump higher. This proved to be particularly effective a couple of weeks ago, as after crossing the hurdles finish line, I accidentally won the high jump and steeple chase too, looking for the water jump to wash the stuff off.

Now I can hear you all thinking that none of this is particularly extraordinary, especially given the reviews that you have already read. However, when I tell you that I am 45 years old, 5′ 4″ tall and weigh 15 stone, and I used to do the shot-put that should put things into context.

As this is an Olympic year I think Tagnutt and Mandeville or whatever their names are, should be redesigned with hairless nether-regions and the British squad should use my technique and be sponsored by Veet, although I don’t recommend it for the beach volley ball team.

5 Stars from me.


6 of 7 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars Chicken., 29 Aug 2012

By deaks –

This review is from: Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Creme 200 ml (Personal Care)

I decided to buy some of this for my husband who was looking untidy in the trouser dept. I left him to it while i went to the supermarket, fully expecting to arrive back home to see him laid out on the bed with 2 hardboiled, shelled eggs and a big smile. Wrong!!

Instead i arrived home to him shouting ‘ oh yeah, thats good…ooooh so good. Bursting into the lounge, i was confronted by the sight of my naked husband with his todger in the arse end of a frozen chicken, that i was intending to use for sunday lunch the following weekend! By the time i had recovered from my horror at this sight and coaxed the cowering alsation out from behind the chair, he had crawled from the sofa, which had a large burn all the way through the cushion, springs and wood flooring beneath it, towards the bathroom, still with the chicken attached to his manhood but with the rest of the bird wedged between his legs and plumes of smoke coming from his plums.

Confused, i followed him as he crawled up the stairs ( by now the chicken was defrosted and beginning to cook )He was screaming something about firemen, ambulances and divorce, but i was more concerned with wondering why the scotchguarding on the stair carpet wasn’t stopping it from melting.

Eventually, he managed to get to the bathroom, where he slid into the bath ( with the chicken still attached to his knob ) and assumed birthing position with one leg over either side before turning the cold water tap directly onto his sizzling and spitting garden. Imagine the snap, crackle and pop sound of Rice Krispies, but magnify it by several decibels. Three weeks later, he was still there!!

Once the burns healed and all the scabs fell off, I can honestly say that this stuff worked.

Plus points…

It will strip oil and grease from driveways in less than 5 seconds.

It will defrost and cook a chicken faster than your microwave will.

It’s a great contraceptive.

Minus points.

It will melt or set fire to anything coming into contact with it.

If you’re planning on having a family, forget it!


5 of 7 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars Grab life by the bollocks, 17 Aug 2012

By Josh C – review is from: Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Creme 200 ml (Personal Care)

Jesus christ, for the love of God, please, please read the warning signs. I didn’t and covered my Meat and two veg and can honestly say it was the most horrific experience in my life, and this is coming from a man whose been on The Oblivion. The burning sensation was absolutely awful. It was like pressing an iron on your thigh and I screamed like a school girl in Gary Glitters bedroom. It hurt to urinate for three weeks and I never want to go through such a traumatic experience like that ever again.

In the words of Erasure & Wheatus, ‘give a little respect’ to this product and read the warning signs. Peace.


55 of 59 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars Veet — the Men Hair Removal Gel Creme (from hell) . . ., 30 July 2012

By John W. Osborne Jr. “Josbo7” (St. Petersburg, FL) – See all my reviews

(REAL NAME)    This review is from: Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Creme 200 ml (Personal Care)

After having been told my danglies (American: “dingle-berries”) looked like an elderly rastafarian I decided to take the plunge and buy some of this as previous shaving attempts had only been mildly succesful and I nearly put my back out trying to reach the more difficult bits.

Being a bit of a romantic I thought I would do the deed on the missus’s birthday as a bit of a treat.I ordered it well in advance and working in the North sea I considerd myself a bit above some of the characters writing the previous reviews and wrote them off as soft office types…oh my fellow sufferers how wrong I was.

I waited until the other half was tucked up in bed and after giving some vague hints about a special surprise I went down to the bathroom. Initially all went well and I applied the gel and stood waiting for something to happen. I didn’t have long to wait.

At first there was a gentle warmth which in a matter of seconds was replaced by an intense burning and a feeling I can only describe as like being given a barbed wire wedgie by two people intent on hitting the ceiling with my head.

Religion hadn’t featured much in my life until that night but I suddenly became willing to convert to any religion to stop the violent burning around the turd tunnel and what seemed like the destruction of the meat and two veg.

Stuggling to not bite through my bottom lip I tried to wash the gel of in the sink and only succeeded in blocking the plughole with a mat of hair.Through the haze of tears I struggled out of the bathroom across the hall into the kitchen by this time walking was not really possible and I crawled the final yard to the fridge in the hope of some form of cold relief.

I yanked the freezer drawer out and found a tub of ice cream, tore the lid of and positioned it under me. The relief was fantastic but only temporary as it melted fairly quickly and the fiery stabbing soon returned.

Due to the shape of the ice cream tub I hadn’t managed to give the starfish any treatment and I groped around in the draw for something else as I was sure my vision was going to fail fairly soon.

I grabbed a bag of what I later found out was frozen sprouts and tore it open trying to be quiet as I did so. I took a handful of them and tried in vain to clench some between the cheeks of my arse.

This was not doing the trick as some of the gel had found it’s way up the chutney channel and it felt like the space shuttle was running it’s engines behind me.This was probably and hopefully the only time in my life I was going to wish there was a gay snowman in the kitchen which should give you some idea of the depths I was willing to sink to in order to ease the pain.

The only solution my pain crazed mind could come up with was to gently ease one of the sprouts where no veg had gone before.

Unfortunately, alerted by the strange grunts coming from the kitchen the other half chose that moment to come and investigate and was greeted by the sight of me, arse in the air, strawberry ice cream dripping from my bell end pushing a sprout up my arse while muttering…” Ooooh that feels good ”

Understandingly this was a shock to her and she let out a scream and as I hadn’t heard her come in it caused an involuntary spasm of shock in myself which resulted in the sprout being ejected at quite some speed in her direction.

I can understand that having a sprout farted against your leg at 11 at night in the kitchen probably wasn’t the special surprise she was expecting and having to explain to the kids the next day what the strange hollow in the ice cream was didn’t improve my status…So to sum it up Veet removes hair, dignity and self respect……. :-


8 of 11 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars OK so they were right, 18 July 2012

By TodggerBurns – This review is from: Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Creme 200 ml (Personal Care)

I think they are making it up I thought. I am sure that it may tingle a bit and that the reaction was the equivalent of man flue.

Mistake 1

So when I got the pack home and while the girl was in the shower I stripped down and gave the meat and veg a good going over and having some left gave the exit shute a good smearing to.

I did pay attention to the instructions so i set the girl’s egg timer going

Mistakes 2 & 3 (this will come to light later)

I decided while waiting to go down stairs and watch the news. As I sat down the phone rang, it was a mate who was asking if I was going down the pub later. So there I am sitting on the sofa with a tea cloth over the lap chatting and did not see the cat come to investigate the smell. This where mistake 2 comes in, helps if you check the timer actually works.

So when the burning started I leapt up, yes another mistake, as cat was still exploring. The afore mentioned cat being startled dug its claws in. I can’t say I felt this as someone was applying a thermic lance to my nether region so was overruling all other nerve feedback. I hurtled up the stairs in style that only the flash could mimic only to discover mistake 3, she was still in the shower with the radio full blast and therefore could not hear my pitiful mewling.

Being a resourceful chap I broke the speed of light in my decent to the garage and turned on the pressure washer and applied (yep another mistake compounded because being a man I had not read it’s instructions either).

Apparently I was bouncing off walls drooling and wailing still with a cat clinging on when the door burst in as the Police entered (my friend on the phone thought I had had a home invasion and had called them). It was around this time my body said enough is enough.

When I came home from A & E I was left with the last sausage on the BBQ, two pan roasted peppers and a rear passage that had reduced to 1 mm. Though I must say I now do not have a strand of hair left in that region and the cleanest colon going. Bad news is the RSPCA took our cat away and say with time it may regrow it’s fur.


16 of 19 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars …must…type…..quickly………, 17 July 2012

By M. Page “Matthew” (Chesham England) – This review is from: Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Creme 200 ml (Personal Care)

As a gay man, excessive body hair in the party zone can be troublesome. I have been plagued by a particularly hairy `valley of fun’ which causes not only embarrassment, but impinges upon the practicalities of being intimate with my partner.

He quite often has to resort to using a comb, and has said many times that finding my point of entry is so difficult he would one day do a DIY hair removal with some packing tape. I thought I had found salvation with Veet hair removal gel, but little did I know.

I assumed the position a slapped a good handful downstairs, smearing it liberally round the old bike stand whilst paying particular attention to my balloon-knot. The heat which began to build was somewhat troublesome, but the searing pain which quickly built in and around the vicinity of my starfish was so intense I found myself praying for the first time in my life.

I became instantly aware of how Edward the second must have felt during his execution (google it), but with no sweet caress of deaths icy fingers to ease my pain.

Once I had managed to stop screaming, I hobbled to the bathroom where I spent the next six hours with a steady stream of cold water straight onto my sheriffs star while my partner fed me pain killers. He returned from work to find me in the bath, sobbing uncontrollably. But his initial concern at my predicament soon turned to hilarity as I described the preceding events.

I eventually managed some fitful rest, but when I awoke the true horror of the damage done became apparent.

My anus now resembled a pink iced krispy kreme doughnut, only bigger. It brought to mind those round rubber rings people sit on when suffering a particularly bad case of hemorrhoids.

But there was worse to come. I became aware of a need to `drop the kids off at the pool’ and recalled the extremely spicy chick pea curry I had eaten the previous evening. With seconds. As my motion began all the pain experienced previously seemed mild by comparison. So much so I passed out halfway through and was revived by my partner who was in the process of delivering CPR.

It has been three days since that event, and I have not eaten a thing, so great is the fear of a repeat performance. I am beginning to feel dizzy performing the simplest of tasks, my vision is blurred, and just the effort of typing this is causing me to black out periodically.

My crack however, whilst still swollen, is completely hair free. Five out of five.


16 of 19 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars Bring on Sigourney Weaver, 3 July 2012

By Conrad Bevan “Renegade” (Gloucester, UK) – This review is from: Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Creme 200 ml (Personal Care)

I’ll keep it short and sweet, this is what the Alien has for blood, molecular acid in a tube. Slap this on your gentlemen bits, and trust me, they will be able to hear you scream in space.


7 of 10 people found the following review helpful

3.0 out of 5 stars It is worth the pain, 2 July 2012

By georgestark – This review is from: Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Creme 200 ml (Personal Care)

OK, I tend to shave my winter coat in the summer, but thought I would give this a try instead, let me just say I have not been in so much pain since I accidentally mistook “Fiery Jacks Volcanic Vapour rub” for my hemorrhoid cream. All i can say that i no longer need to switch the bathroom light on at night to pee, as the red glow lights the bowl perfectly.


If you still feel you need a bit of a laugh, or are trying to kill your family member with a weak heart, then pop along to Amazon and read some more reviews.



Please vote for The Reluctant Mom as Mommy Blogger 2013 – please pop along and VOTE today.

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Happy Winesday … just because …

I’m over at Medi-Clinic Panorama today …. while arguing with my child that no she cannot have milk or something to eat, whilst I attempt to control her in a room full of sick children we are all booked in for grommets, adenoids or tonsils.

I am looking forward to being surrounded by haggard faces of other worried parents as we all wait for our mites to meet the anaethetist ….. trust you may be having more fun than me today.

Either way Happy Winesday!

{feel free to steal the image for a Facebook Timeline Cover Image if you like …. steal away}

So Grommets it is then ….

We did the Cortisone route and we waited it out.

Isabelle started speech therapy this week and is having two sessions a week until the first week of December.

This week I stopped in at speech therapy and asked if they would mind having a look at Isabelle’s ears to see if they looked a bit clearer and if the sticky stuff behind her ear drums have reduced.

I was feeling buoyant and a really quite optimistic.  Yep, I was feeling pretty chuffed with my old self.

Then the audiologist looked in her ears, and you know when someone’s professional very bland face changes.  They try to hide it, but you can see their eyebrow shoot up, their eyes widen and their pupils dilate for that split second.

Usually they compose themselves quickly, return to the “Be Calm … No Problem” here face, then she checked the other ear.  I could feel my optimism plunging in a nose dive to the hospital issued carpets.

She put a little thing on the probe and did a little echo thing to see how the eardrum was holding up.  I am sure she was preparing her face and her tone so as not to make a Mommy panic, but this Mommy can’t abide bullshit.

Me: “So, how bad is it then..”

Her: “Well, I am not really qualified to …”

Me: “Can you just tell me WHAT YOU SEE …. I realise you have not done a full audiology exam, but tell me what you see..”

Her: “Er, well ….. what did Dr P say?”

Me: “Dr P said she should get grommets and I should not pass GO or collect R200.  What do you see?’

Her: “Er, well …..”

Me: “What do YOU see? ….. honestly just tell me, what you see and how much it differs from the original chart?”

She went on to explain to me that Isabelle’s one ear drum was “extremely” inflamed, and the other one was not exactly looking great either.

The liquid behind her ears was still there.  Other than grommets there was no way to get it out.

The “echo test” (I am sure she used a more technical term) showed that her one ear drum had zero response to the echo, and the other ear was not loads better.  I insisted there was.  She calmly told me that there wasn’t.

Me: “Shit, I really was hoping that the medication would work … I know she needs grommets, I was sort of avoiding them as long as I can.”

Her: “If this was my child, I would get her grommets fitted tomorrow.  We fit children with this level of hearing loss with hearing aids.  If this level of hearing is permanent Isabelle will need a hearing aid.  You need to book with Dr P for grommets, so that you can check again in a week, two weeks and hope for an improvement.  Taking her for speech therapy now, is wasting valuable development time for Isabelle.  As she sits here she is technically almost deaf!”

I tried to look brave.  I try not to cry hysterically.  I tried not to wipe snot on the lapels of her white starched jacket.

I thanked her for her honesty.

I walked down to the first floor with Isabelle, and booked the first gap Dr P had.

Isabelle has a date with Medi-Clinic Panorama on Wednesday, 29 August 2012 and she gets her shiny pair of Bilateral Grommets.

I am trying to take a deep breath and not hug her too much!

{yes I realise it is only grommets, Connor has had three sets, but Isabelle is really my little monkey, and right now grommets seems like a major deal, but I will calm down …. eventually}

{feel free to steal the image for a Facebook Timeline Cover Image if you like …. steal away}

Boys who climb trees ….

No secret that I am a little on the paranoid side.

At first glance I may appear like a relaxed mom, lounging with a large glass of Chenin, whilst her kids play in the distance. But this is all an illusion of being relaxed and a no care attitude I like to exhibit!

The first sign that all was not well, in my brain, was when I started to develop a phobia about leaving the house with Connor.

This was when he was about 12 – 18 months old.  It did not get better, it got worse each day, and each outing made it more and more excruitiating to go out.

It eventually got a point where I just could not go out with him – it was too stressful for me.  I would rather remain at home.  Safely at home.

I kept seeing the amount of ways he was going to die. (notice it was not that he might die, it was an inevitable happening…)

I never felt he was going to go missing at the wall, I always felt he was going to be snatched by someone.  And be gone. Forever.

He was never going to trip and fall, he was going to trip, fall, shatter his skull and die.

He did not balance on a small brick walkway.  In my mind, he fell.  His face broke his fall, and his grey matter was spilt all over the crazy paving.  And then he would die.

I would love to tell you that now I am a no-worries parent.  The reality is what you see is a facade as I nod in the general direction of my kids going “don’t worry, they will be fine.”

I still prefer not to go out with my kids, it is too stressful.  The screaming and fighting makes me want to kill them, personally. The constant “threat of death” from other avenues, other than me, is actually too much to bear.

We have a pine tree in our backyard, it is about 2 storeys high.

Connor loves to climb trees.  Boys climb trees – Kennith assures me.  Every time Connor climbs that tree I quietly stand and wait for him to fall and break his neck, or split his skull open. It is not a case of if, it is a case of when.  There is a large stone under the tree.  In my mind’s eye he always fell and hit his head on that rock.

It is winter, so I get a respite from tree climbing and the related stress that is associated with it.  In summer it is all tree climbing, diving in to the pool (excuse me whilst I throw up from worry) and other rather adventurous activities. In terms of rough and tumble, girls are far less stressful.

The most I can expect from Georgia … actually never mind, she did fall off a very low brick walkway to smack her mouth and her teeth to kingdom come, so please scratch that.

On Monday Priveledge said that her nephew fell out of a tree.  He fell from the tree onto gravel and hit the surface hard with his head taking the brunt of the force.

The little boy could not regain consciousness and he was taken to the hospital.  The hospital said that his injuries were so severe that he may never wake, and if he did he would be seriously mentally effected (not from waking, but clearly from falling….)

The family held out hope, though there was very little to cling to.

Yesterday morning a 10-year-old boy died in Paarl, from a head injury from a tree that he climbed often.

My son is 10 years old.

The problem with paranoia is that when it is confirmed by real life, then you realise that maybe you actually weren’t over reacting.

I feel so very ill today and the thought of the pain that Priveledge’s family must be going through.  All because “boys climb trees” and sometimes “boys fall out of trees.”

Facebook Cover Images #2

Feel free to use or steal the Facebook Cover Image/Facebook Cover Photo.

Another classic FAIL parenting moment ….

Connor has tennis and cross-country on a Monday.

I yell about him packing his school bag and preparing his bag for the morning, the night before.

But experienced parenting, and starting to lose the will to fight the recurring parent fight of “HAVE YOU PACKED YOUR ________ {INSERT CORRECT ITEM}?” and then to repeat the same thing at least 5 times in one evening, because each time Connor will go: “No Mom, thanks I will go do it now….”

And then he gets distracted by a shiny bauble and does not do the think and then I have to shout/ask/beg/plead: “HAVE YOU PACKED YOUR ________ {INSERT CORRECT ITEM}?”

At some point in the evening I was so tired and sore (I was not feeling well) and wanted to take some medication, a large hot water bottle, and go and have a lie down, I went to set out the kids things for the morning, pack the bags and then just go to bed.

The fight for me was over, I was at the point of, I will just do it myself.

I go and collect Connor from school today, and true as nuts he has two left shoes on.  I packed him the left shoe from two very similar looking grey takkies.

Connor did tennis to the absolute mirth of his tennis coach, and then proceeded to do cross-country in his two left takkies.

{please do not send me a parenting tip on how to persevere and that when I give in, then he never learns ….. please please please …. this is not a great week/month for parenting tips…. it is a great week if you want to come over and do it for me …. then come on over ……. sleep in required …..}

Nelson Mandela and Black People ….

We are driving home from school yesterday and Connor tells me about the theme they are doing at school. It’s all about Mandela and how things were pre-1994 and how things have improved/changed for people of colour since then.

Georgia goes: “Apartheid was when rainbow children went to a rainbow school, black children went to a black school and white children went to a white school…”  It would be nice if it was that simple, but yes, that was one of the things that was in place pre-1994.

Connor started asking me what I thought when Mandela was released.

I said – quite honestly – that at the time I did not really know who he was.  I knew he had been in jail, I knew that there had been a lot of jostling and negotiating to Release Mandela, but further than that, I really knew little about who Nelson Mandela was.  I did not even realise we had “apartheid” going on. Of course I never stopped to think where the black/coloured people went after the sun went down.

Connor asked me what it was like when I was at school and black people were treated unfairly …… I actually am embarrassed to say it, but I really was not “aware” of what was going on.

I recall when a state of emergency was announced.  As far as I knew “black people” were rioting and causing damage.  I recall us talking about how  “black people” were going to come to our school and burn things and some kids opted not to go to school – my mom didn’t roll that way, and riot or no riot we were going to school.

In our home we did not discuss politics – it was like we sat in this little bubble and lived in fear/concern of the others. We were always taught not to treat someone differently because they were not white.

But we still referred to “garden boys” and “petrol boys” and “nannies” as girls, so I guess we were being taught one thing, but in practice experiencing something totally different.

We never say black/coloured people as my school was white.  When I caught public transport I seldom saw black/coloured people unless I travelled in to Cape Town.  And they all seemed to be busy doing what ever it was they were doing, and I sort of got on with what I was doing.

The first time I started to question whether Apartheid was something that I should maybe think about was when we had to do an unprepared oral in Standard 9.  I was at a new school, and was up in Kimberley.  Kimberley Girls High was a small school, and a lot of the students did not live in South Africa.  They lived in Botswana or some of the other neighbouring countries.

The girls were far more liberally aware than I was.

Unprepared Oral and Lyndsey McLaren stands up and starts explaining how the Apartheid system is like a badly built house, that mustn’t be taken down one brick at a time, but is so terrible and such a danger, that someone should go in with a bulldozer and flatten it.  She made a plea to release Nelson Mandela as well and all with a great deal of passion.

I sat there and thought that Lyndsey was clearly demented.  But it was like someone had flicked a hole in a rather smooth and clear wall in my head …. little bits of light started to go through the cracks.

I might have argued against the destruction of the Apartheid system.  I think I had read an article about how much better it was if “everyone kept to their like” so that everyone was comfortable, and everyone kept their own culture, traditions and so on.  Clearly a Hendrik Verwoerd inspired article.

Sounds fair, except the part where we were being kept separated so that white people could be treated better, and everyone who was not in that group, got treated pretty shit when it came to government contribution, laws and employment, and pretty much daily life.

I have digressed …. so in answer to Connor’s question, I said that I was there pre-apartheid, but really was not aware of what was going on.  Like no idea.

It was not something we spoke about or discussed, or for that matter saw.  I often used to wonder how during the Holocaust German people could say “but we did not know what was happening” and I always used to tsk-tsk-tsk and go, “of course you did, idiot!”

I was oblivious to an entire system in operation around me.  I think from standard 9 I started listening more when people spoke and asking questions. I still think even up to Nelson Mandela’s release I really did not understand what had occurred and was happening.

I recall how uneasy I was when Chris Hani died and there were demonstrations that turned in to riots in Cape Town.  I knew something was happening, but I was sure our policeman would sort it out and tomorrow all would be fine.  Nothing quite like  “white optimism” for you.

I recall how unsettled I was when the flag changed — I rather liked our liked our flag before ….. I knew there was something going on that I did not quite grasp.

I am not sure if it was just the way it was. I finished school in 1989 – did anyone else have access to a bit more information than me — did you have a clear idea what the hell was going on?

{About two years ago we went to the Apartheid Museum – what an incredible place.  You need a few hours to look at the images and read the captions, but for me it was quite dramatic in terms of me remembering “the time” and suddenly seeing a photo and a caption which put it in to context and thinking HOW THE FK COULD I HAVE NOT SEEN IT?}


Please vote for The Reluctant Mom as Mommy Blogger 2013 – please pop along and VOTE today.

Click – click, capture a few personal things, and then it is all over.

Voting closes on 15 December 2013 at midnight.



Facebook Cover Images #1

I have been mucking around with Facebook Cover Images – if you want to grab one of these to use, feel free to grab it and use.

If you have any ideas that you would like to see, send it through and I will give it a go when I get a chance.


Image burnt on to cornea …. please unsee …..

{I warn you this image will change you forever …. and not in a good way}

This week has been furiously busy with Happy Helpers and the Department of Labour.

My vote in “My Favourite person Who Really did a Good Frickn Deed this Week” is for Julz.  She gave me such a great piece of advise as to which DOL to direct myself to, that it saved me hours and hours of frustration.

She told me about a DOL which I would never have found by myself, and actually did not know existed.

I arrived.  I sat in a queue for less time that it took me to dig in my bag for my book.   I was in and out in under 15 minutes ….ROCKING IT LIKE A ROCK STAR!!

I was so stunned that someone was seeing me and taking my forms, and not sending me away that I sat there and just nodded with a stupid smile on my face.

The person at DOL stamped and stapled my forms.  Then sent me on my way with a smile and a quick history lesson in why he much preferred the communist party and how well Russia appears to have worked.

Like I am going to argue with him – I think I might have nodded and agreed.  Listen if he said Justin Bieber was the best artist in the world, I would have also have smiled and nodded.  People who can bury you in paperwork you tend to want to agree with and say … no, no trouble what so ever, what ever you say.

I was so dazed I forgot to ask “what now…?” so I stand with my DOL form stamped and signed, and seriously no idea what happens next.

Thanks Julz, you are so my super hero this week.

I have a few blog posts running in my head, but I just cannot seem to sit down and cobble a half way decent blog post at the moment. Too much noise in my head.

I realise that this might not have stopped me in the past (I have generated totally shite, and if you are lucky there will be more in my future). But I am trying to maintain a standard just above sh&t over here at Reluctant Mom – maybe I can lure a wine sponsor in with my use of prose and wit – or not!!

That withstanding, I saw this rather disturbing image and it unfortunately forever changed me.

I hate to suffer alone, so I wanted to share it with you, so you too could go into this weekend wondering “what the hell!”

Be warned it is not pretty, it will not leave you with a warm fuzzy feeling and disincline you to eat lunch ….. or touch anything anyone might have ever touched ….. with their bare hands.

The image was on Facebook and the person posting asked for possible caption comments — I picked two that were submitted by other people who clearly are permanently scarred as I ….. and now you.  If you can think of a better caption let me know!!

Have a good weekend, and if you are planning on going for after work drinks, I think this picture is reason enough to avoid putting your hand anywhere near the “free nut” bowl.

Fun at Department of Labour …. we are having it!

I really wish I was excited.  Even mildly.  Afraid not.

I really wish that the day was not going to be filled with a 3 hour queue, people sitting too close to me, breathing on me, probably not wearing Chanel No. 5!

The reality is that I was retrenched in April and at a certain point one must accept the inevitable.

I, and the other masses of hopeful South Africans, will be toddling along to the Department of Labour.  Tomorrow.  Deep, very deep sigh.

I have cleared my schedule and plan to plant my arse on a very long wooden bench with other unemployed South Africans, desperately clutching my UI2.8, UI19 and two of my last payslips and hoping that the civil servant behind the counter likes the look of my jib, and cuts me a cheque and sends me on my way.

That is sort of how I am hoping it will go.  I have accepted the 3 – 5 hour wait in a queue with people sitting WAY too close to me.

The reality is that I will get to the front of the longest queue EVER and be informed that some form is not filled in correctly, or I am missing something – though I have gone through the site meticulously and consulted a UIF Guide.

No matter what happens, and how long I have waited, and how long I have held back a stream of hot urine (because I will not be using a public toilet) I will smile, nod and say thank you!  Because one can throw a hissy fit and really it is like pissing into a strong wind — it will all just blow back in your face.  So really no point.

I really do not hold much hope for tomorrow, but when you read this I will be in a fun time queue at the Department of Labour!

If there is a DOL deity of god you can mutter a word of hope to, please, for the love of all things sane, do!

Catch you on the flip side.

What to Expect … when you are Parenting

Does anyone remember what it is like to “want” a baby?

You think of it all the time.  You pee on sticks, even if they are not the ones you get from a pharmacy.

You become consumed with “wanting a baby” but you never seem to think of “wanting a baby” in the same space as “wanting to be a parent.”

For me, I think that they were two separate things, and I forgot/misplaced a piece of information that wanting a baby also meant/actually meant/really meant becoming a parent.

“Wanting a baby” is doe eyed, soft lighting and all quite marvelous.  You think of that warm milky smell, that sticky chubby hand reaching out to curl itself around your finger.  Wanting a baby is magic and filled with promise and giddiness, and the warm cuddles of an infant against your breast.  And purchasing baby books by the kilogram and buying every soft lighting baby magazine that you can get your soon swelling hands on to.

For some reason being a parent is just not as glamorous.  When I say “just not as glamorous” I actually mean like a case of thrush without access to the one administration of fanny cream!

I can honestly say when I was thinking of having a baby, I was thinking of pink and blue fluffy blankets.  Which compactum to purchase, whether I should buy one of those super stylish baby sling numbers or just wing it and use my arms to clutch the baby to my breast.

Maybe it is only me, but I did not think about how much work “being a parent” was going to be when I was planning my “wanting a baby”.

I just thought about sleepless nights and me crying alone in the bathroom at 2am because I was so damn tired.  Wanting a baby and having a baby never translated into how challenging/difficult/labour of love with very little reward in the short-term being a parent is.

I know when”wanting a baby” becomes “having a baby” – that seems fairly simple. But when having a baby becomes “being a parent” is less clear.

Even with Baby number 3, I was still thinking about the new baby smell and how lovely a pink onesie was going to look and was not thinking about me yelling in the passage about brushing teeth and going the hell to sleep already!

“Wanting a baby” has a huge amount of very very small print in the section marked “being a parent” and can I suggest that if you are thinking about expelling a child from your loins (or via any other route), you give that section a bit of a read through and some thought.  Sober thought!

Trust me it will make the “What to Expect when you are Expecting” look like light reading for amateurs.

Notice there isn’t a “What to Expect … when you are Parenting” …. actually now that I think of that, I could probably hammer away at the first few chapters without breaking in to too much of a sweat.


Today I did one of those classic “cyber near-miss-puck-ups”.

I had something/someone running through my head this morning.  So what is the easiest way to resolve a question that is bothering you, run the question on Google.  Right?

I was a bit distracted and I <TABBED> the programmes that were open on my desktop, not really paying too much attention.

I added the search question into the space provided.  My finger automatically hovered over the <ENTER> key and I reread the question for spelling and grammar accuracy.

Fortunately the nerves that control my eyes, the nerves that control my right index finger clicking on the “enter key” and the nerve that stands in the way of several class A  muck ups aligned for just a moment.

Only to realise that I was entering my question into my Facebook STATUS UPDATE!

I really felt my sphincter loosen as the adrenaline shot through my body.

I always wondered how stupid people have to be to do this – well now I know! {I did not push enter, as I realised the error, hence the near miss}

Public Service Announcement ….. and reminder to buy wine!

Reminder that nominations close over at Harrassed Mom for the Mommy Blogger Competition .


It’s a new competition, Laura has been brilliant enough to say “agh fk it” and start it.  There does seem to be some resistance and people moaning and complaining.  Some of the complaints are:

1.  It follows too closely to the Kidz World one that has just finished.

2.  Some blogger are offended/put out by the term “Mommy Bloggers” but the competition for “Bloggers who Drink Wine to Stay Sane” met with some resistance from sponsors, so with that Laura decided to go with Mommy Blogger of the Year.

3.  Competitions bring out the worst in people.

4.  Bun fights about bloggers can be quite epic, and often drags itself through to Facebook and Forums, and then the underlying bitchiness really gets going.

5.  The begging and pleading for votes from the reluctant public.

I agree with all the points.  They are all valid.

But, yes here is my but … Laura made an effort to put something together, she really found some fabulous sponsors, and she is doing it for purely altruistic reasons (I surmise).

With that in mind, just send her an email ( telling her about your favourite blogger and why they are your favourite blogger.  Try not to do essay material, I think she is hoping for 144 characters or less.  Short attention span material!

Mommy Bloggers get a pretty raw deal, as people consider us a bit on the naff side.

I personally don’t read Mommy Bloggers who Blogs. I tend to look for Mommy Bloggers who Need Psychotic Medication Blogs and who refuse on principle to Bake Birthday Cakes!!  Them bloggers I do love.

Nominations end today.  That is all.

Misophonia … and the urge to stab someone in the eye ….

I have always had a sensitivity to sound and light.  Left to my own devices, I wouldn’t have a radio on, and certain DSTV channels put me on edge, and make me stressed (more than usual).

Of course I put it down to being cranky and just being a bitch, but at some point I stumbled on and realised that the fact that I react to sound is not JUST because I am a bitch.

I am not arguing that I am a bitch, but the way I react to sound is even more bitch than even I find “normal.”

I do not choose to react in an extreme manner, but there are sounds that are like hearing nails on a chalkboard or teeth on wool.

I have an ACTUAL physical reaction to certain sounds.  It does not matter if I dislike or love the person, when they make certain sounds it is like a phosphorous bomb going off in my head.

Big explosion, sharp green light, and then a material that eats through flesh when it lands on it.  My reaction to sound is EXACTLY like that.  The part where my flesh gets eaten until I die is the most accurate.

I have realised I CANNOT sit with my kids at meal times – Connor knocks the fork against his teeth, Georgia eats like a savage ….and the chewing sound sets me off.  I know it should be all holding hands and meditating at meals, but I actually need to sit at a different table.

Today around 11am I made myself a bowl of muesli with yoghurt, and a cup of tea, and I went to sit in the tv room.  Not to watch tv, but so that I could close the door, and shut out all ambient sound.  I put the tv on for a few minutes and then turned it off and just sat there.

Kennith has been away for about two weeks, and before that he was away for about four weeks.  I have no issue with dealing with the house and the kids myself, I am actually extremely self-reliant and I can put my head down and do what needs to be done. But I feel like I am actually going stark raving mad.

My top sounds-to-drive-mommy-to-a-Zoloft-script are:

1. Georgia’s high pitched voice that does not stop.

2. Connor has a particular whine when he whines … he goes “Moooooommmmmmmie” and it sets my teeth on edge.

3.  I have a bird who has now been flying against my dining room window for 8 weeks – I have blocked out windows with paper and masking tape, I have fitted fine gut netting which is actually really cruel to catch birds in, I have tried cut out of ferocious looking birds on the windows, I have gone out and sweared at the bird like a drunken whore, I am at my wit’s end.

4.  Isabelle calls “muuuuuuummmmmmmmmmm” when she needs me to do something with her. I am her glorified hand servant.  Having your child call you is really sweet. 10% of the time. Right now I want to get the large kitchen scissors and stab someone.  Anyone.

5.  My kids drink from sucky bottles —- I really cannot bear it.

I need a holiday from sound.  I NEED A HOLIDAY.  I NEED TO RUN AWAY JUST FOR A BIT, because seriously I am going absolutely frkn crazy.

I realise I sound like someone who is about to lose their mind, or should be on a stronger brand of antipsychotics, but I can’t quite express who I feel like my head is going to implode.  I can “do sound” up to a point.  About the point where I cannot do sound.  Which is about right now.

The next person who tells me “to just get over it” is going to get a blunt broken wine glass in the temple.

Know a place I can holiday for about two weeks, cheap with really controlled sound?

I love books, and have just discovered the Library!

I prefer to buy my own books.  I browse bookstores for hours, I can hang around like a troll for hours and choose books.  I love reading almost as much as I love finding and purchasing books.

Having a birthday or other festival and hoping for a gift – expect a book if I have anything to do with it??

I have tried libraries. I have found, in the past, that libraries do not like me.  I can read a book in a day, but the moment you apply pressure to me that I must read a book by a particular date/time then it is like the kiss of death.  Then I develop reader’s block and I miss the 2 week deadline, and next thing I am receiving window envelopes from the library reminding me of the cost of replacing the clutch of books I have been holding for 4 months and change.

I have been “expelled” from too many libraries to count, and that is fine as I love buying books, so have just had to rethink grocery shopping to allow the bulk of the money for bread and snacks to go towards books. Easy enough.  So now I buy books, and then I buy groceries with the money that is left.

Sorry kids, no horse riding lessons or braces this year, Mommy needs to buy books.

I went along to Bellville Library and was AMAZED by how large and well stocked the library was.  I stood on the blue industrial carpet and clapped and squeaked like a demented seal amazed.

The real prize for me, was that they have Audio Books. I love Audio Books, and if you have ever tried to buy any you will realise it is cheaper just to pay someone R60.00 an hour to read the book to you, slowly!

Audio book are ridiculously expensive.  And Bellville library have a ton of them.  I joined the library and was so proud when they handed my little laminated card over to me. It was like keys to the chocolate factory.

I have been wanting to read “Company of Liars” by Karen Maitland – it is a real block of a book and every time I pick it up for some reason I just cannot get started on it.

It is set around the 1348 Plague in England.  Excellent book, but a reading commitment.  But no more – I picked up the Audio Book – 16 CD set of unabridged version, and I have been listening to it in the car for the last two weeks.  Brilliant, brilliant – well read, enthralling story, and I get to listen to this instead of listening to the radio.

And the “hidden benefit” is that the kids go quiet when they get in car so they can listen to it — no screaming, no fighting, we all sit in silence listening to an audio book.  It has made me look at collecting the kids from school with an entirely new enthusiasm, and especially if you add the fact that I run the car heater on MAXIMUM.

Warm car + a person reading you a book.  Heaven freaking heaven!!  With my library card, I get to take out books, audio books, movies and CDs – I am so delighted with this find.  Well done City of Cape Town for a rocking Library system.

{above image with actual book title “When Did Wild Poodles Roam the Earth?” by David Feldman ……. I am so hooked, so expect me to drop pearls of wisdom quite soon}

Maybe my child has a hearing issue …. {breath in … breath out … try not to panic}

I had an audiologist appointment with Isabelle today. If you have never been to an audiologist (with a child) basically you get put into a 3 x 3 x 1.5 metre room that is sound proof.  Audiologist sits in front of the room (front of the room has a glass window) she has speakers in the room which she controls.

Sounds are emitted from the speakers and based on your child’s reaction she assesses whether your child has normal, or below normal hearing.   I assumed the last bit, I actually have no idea how it works, but there is a monkey with a tambourine in one corner and a duck with a trumpet … I think that if these items are part of your standard work-tools, well that commands a certain level of respect right there.

To say it did not go well, does not quite hint at the extent of it.  I figured that if she was going to use an interesting sound like “white noise” well what do you expect.  Isabelle showed little to no reaction to the sound – even when it was loud enough to make me wince.

She was totally absorbed in her building-blocks game, and the fact that there was noise blaring out of the speakers on either side of her head, showed little in the way of interest for her.

She did react when the audiologist put through sounds that she created “b – b -b – b – b ….. ” and “d -d – d- d ….” and then went back to her blocks, not really interested/reacting to the other sounds.

Audiologist was not exactly brimming confidence, and asked if we would not mind going to see an ENT. Today.  She miraculously she got us an appointment.  I looked at the sheet she sent with us, and I really cannot fathom much, but there are little marks on a grid/graph and then a dotted line which I assume is the “normal/ideal” range, and Isabelle appears to be miles away from it on the graph.

ENT guy said, hmmmm, and again not in a “hey, yippeeee” kind of tone, more in a “okkkkkaaaaay, this is not ideal” sort of way.  He said there was a build up of wax deep in her ear canal, which he removed with the aid of something not dissimilar to a crochet hook. Isabelle was calm and did not flinch, so I was hoping her good behaviour got her some points.

He relooked and he said that there is thick liquid trapped behind her ear drum, and that more than likely this is causing the poor hearing, and may be the cause of her inability to communicate, as she cannot hear.

I tried to explain that maybe it was because Isabelle has been a bit off for the last week, and her nose is runny and maybe that is it.

Dr ENT tried to explain that sure it might be, but unless I have had her hearing tested there is no way to know whether the fluid has been there a week or for a year.  I had never had her hearing tested – even as a newborn.

Dr ENT said that we could go one of two options.  1.  Treat with Cortisone, and reassess in 6 weeks to see if the fluid has drained.  2.  Make an appointment and fit grommits.

I commented that I thought grommits were a bit invasive for a child who has never been to a paed, let alone an ENT.  Isabelle is +3 and she has probably had two courses of antibiotics in her life, one of those I requested as a preventative response.

Crikey, general anaesthetic to fit grommits, which might, assuming it does not go well, leave scar tissue on her ear drum membrane which in itself could lead to hearing loss. Grommits which may in their design cause ENT issues that we have never had before.

I am one who is usually reluctant to follow main stream medicine and doctor recommendations, but this one came out of left field.  We discussed pro’s and con’s and I sat there feeling that his recommendation was to go with grommits.  His logic was why waste more time where she can’t hear – go in, sort it out and then look at the results.

I opted to go with the Cortisone, and to wait 6 weeks and then retest and see where we are.  I have nothing against grommits, really I think they are the answer to kids with ENT issues – Connor was an ENT child, and we had 3 sets fitted.

But the entire thing just felt a bit jarring as a first step option.

So the short answer is, yes, Isabelle is no hearing at the correct level.  Is it the reason her speech is so far behind/lagging, I am not sure.

I have a speech assessment appointment next week, I have booked a follow up with ENT guy for the first week of September.  I will book a retest with the audiologist after ENT guy has taken a look.

If the fluid has not drained then the only option is to go straight to grommits.

I realise grommits are really pedestrian, everyone and their neighbour’s dog has them, but the idea of subjecting Isabelle to any surgery, unless I am 100% convinced there is no other option, then I would like to hold back a while and think about it a bit.

{PS: I do kick myself that I did not do a hearing test as a routine thing when she was 2 years old!!!  I feel this was a huge over sight on my part and had I had it checked out then, we may well be quite a few giant steps ahead than where we are right now.  Don’t you just heart mother guilt? Like with wreckless abandone.}

New Mommy Blogger Competition with delish prizes ….

Reminder of the South African Mommy Blogger competition running over at Harassed Mom.

Cool prizes and interesting format for this one.

Instead of the million votes  and rehitting the “vote” button until your forefingers starts to lose feeling from the second joint down –  this one requires the readers to send a note (email and tell Laura why your  favourite blog is their favourite, and why it makes you all sorts of happy … you get to wax on lyrically and gush a bit …. and that part closes on the 10 August, which is this Wednesday Friday (thanks Tania B).

Based on that HM (Harassed Mom or Her Majesty) will pull together a short list on the 13 August, and then the frenzy of votes can run until the 17 August.

This competition is a bit like speed dating, 30 seconds and barely time for a snog in the cupboard and then it is all done.

Well done to Harassed Mom for putting this together and a little bow and curtsey to the sponsors!

YMCA … big with gay people ….

Connor and I were sitting watching “Come Dine with Me!”

At some point in the evening’s entertainment – on screen – someone put on “YMCA by the Village People” and the guests at the dinner were dancing, only as you can after way too much wine, when you forget your inhibitions and when someone puts on YMCA.

There is a universally accepted dance that includes hand movements, and no matter which era you were born in, and how “cool” you think you are, you will tend to do this particular dance.

I am sitting glazed over staring at the screen – it was about 15h40, and I was seriously wondering what the earliest is that I can get kids in to bed today.

Connor goes: “This is a song that gay people like!”

My brain starts to process what he is talking about …. so I frown and look over at him and he  explains further: “Daddy says that this song is one that gay people really like.  And gay people sing it.   One is a builder, and one wears a policeman suit …. and ……..  ”

The problem with these opportunities for a life lesson, is really some times you just cannot be arsed to have to go “Okay, okay, let’s back this truck up ….”

And like me, today, you frown, purse your lips together and make a mental note to have a discussion with your husband about the possible stereotyping of gay people and the connection with The Village People, and how your 11-year-old son is processing this information.

I will add to my list of things to discuss.  But on another day.  Today I am just too tired to broach anything.

On another subject, if you grew up the seventies and eighties you might be familiar with those round black sweetie balls you buy and suck, and suck and it finally dissolves in about three weeks time.

I bought a pack a few weeks back, and the phrase “nigger balls” came in to my head without me even thinking about it.

When I realised the term had just popped in to my head I blanched.  But I could not get rid of the phrase.  We have three small sweetie jars on top of the fridge filled with these black sweets, and I think of the phrase when ever I open the fridge door.

Cripes …. it is such an incredibly socially bad bad name, and we used it all the time when we were kids.  That and the “petrol boy” —- triple cringe!


In case you are sitting with only one line of the lyrics, and all you have is ” …. ta da da …young man …..young man…” like me, then it might be better to be stuck with the full set of lyrics, so you can sing it to yourself as you go to the toilet, make yourself a cup of tea ….

But you will realise on browsing through the lyrices, that “young man” pretty much encompasses the entire thing.  Possibly Connor’s snap judgement of the song was not that far off after all.


Young man, there’s no need to feel down.
I said, young man, pick yourself off the ground.
I said, young man, ’cause you’re in a new town
There’s no need to be unhappy.

Young man, there’s a place you can go.
I said, young man, when you’re short on your dough.
You can stay there, and I’m sure you will find
Many ways to have a good time.

It’s fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.
It’s fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.

They have everything for you men to enjoy,
You can hang out with all the boys …

It’s fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.
It’s fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.

You can get yourself clean, you can have a good meal,
You can do whatever you feel…

Young man, are you listening to me?
I said, young man, what do you want to be?
I said, young man, you can make real your dreams.
But you got to know this one thing!

No man does it all by himself.
I said, young man, put your pride on the shelf,
And just go there, to the Y.M.C.A.
I’m sure they can help you today.

It’s fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.
It’s fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.

They have everything for you men to enjoy,
You can hang out with all the boys…

It’s fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.
It’s fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.

You can get yourself clean, you can have a good meal,
You can do whatever you feel …

Young man, I was once in your shoes.
I said, I was down and out with the blues.
I felt no man cared if I were alive.
I felt the whole world was so jive …

That’s when someone came up to me,
And said, young man, take a walk up the street.
There’s a place there called the Y.M.C.A.
They can start you back on your way.

It’s fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.
It’s fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.

They have everything for you men to enjoy,
You can hang out with all the boys…

Y.M.C.A….you’ll find it at the Y.M.C.A.

Young man, young man, there’s no need to feel down.
Young man, young man, get yourself off the ground.

Y.M.C.A….you’ll find it at the Y.M.C.A.

Young man, young man, there’s no need to feel down.
Young man, young man, get yourself off the ground.

Y.M.C.A….just go to the Y.M.C.A.

Young man, young man, are you listening to me?
Young man, young man, what do you wanna be?

Is it a Matric Dance or a Wedding?

My daughter is 7 and showing no signs of being pushed forward 11 grades, so with that in mind my thinking about Matric Dances now might have an entirely differently perspective as my daughter is in Grade 1, versus when she is sitting in Grade 12 and I have Matric Dance Intoxication Fever!

I was sitting at the hairdresser (yes I appreciate how suburbs that sounds) – at a certain point no matter who much shampoo I lather on it still looks like crap, so I need to bring a qualified person and professional help.

I was sitting there and the lady sitting next to me is explaining how she and a few friends had clubbed together and “sponsored” a student’s matric dance dress.

I smiled as I sipped my tea, and thought what a great idea – I mentally started wondering how I could do that, you know find 4 like minded people and throw a few rand towards a girl’s dress from Truworths and some blingy shoes.  PROJECT my inner voice screams – clapping hands simultaneously, so exciting.

I nearly spat on the GHD emblazoned mirror when she (the person sitting next to me, sorry did not catch her name) said that they were presented with a bill for R5 000.00 – for JUST THE DRESS!

A girl who cannot afford a dress, went to a store that sells dresses for R5 000.00 and thought hey that’s okay for my sponsors  First off, I think this girl is either not doing well at Grade 12 “Life Skills” or needs a slap against the side of the head, or a bit of both actually.

Then I started wondering how much money are parents spending on Matric dance dresses and Matric suits for boys?

I get that it is a big day, but my concern is that as parents you are sitting there and putting down 2 months bond payments on junior miss or junior mister to have a cool party and a snappy outfit.  The idea of reasoning with a hormonal whiny desperately-needing-peer-approval child seems like something a bit alarming.

I can’t recall matric dances being this big a deal back when I went.  Back in my day, we spent R150.00 on a dress, borrowed shoes from your aunt, and did your own hair and makeup.

When exactly did matric dances turn into the extravaganza which they appear to be now – and more importantly if they do cost as much as I am thinking, then am I the only one who is having a serious sit down with my child in grade 10 and explain that they have 2 years (or more if they fail) to save towards their matric dance.  What ever they save, I will match – and that is the limit of what they have to spend in total for the entire day.

But my daughter is in Grade 1 and my son is in Grade 4 – I have a few years yet before this is really is a big issue in my world.  But seriously how much money are parents spending at the moment?

I saw this image on Super Mom and had to laugh (and cry a bit) as I think I had a very similar matric dress ….

I remembered this from Cat’s  Juggling Act of Life  Blog that she posted some time back –  and this makes me smile sort of lopsided every time I see it …. crikey, it is all sorts of wonderful … who knew you could get a dress, stockings and shoes to match that perfectly … GO CAT!!!

Promise to dig mine out – I need to get them scanned in as it was a bit before digital or CDs actually ……