What screws us up most in life …..

A day does not go by where I do not think about a blog post.

I  run the idea of what I want to post about, or more importantly what is running around inside my head and think of the words I will use to get it out.

Then I sit and stare at the screen.

Right now I need blogging — it is my life raft in what appears to be a rather chaotic ocean.

The default thought that overpowers my thinking is “divorce.”  I do apologise as this is going to be a recurring theme of this blog moving forward.  I can’t tell you when I will stop bleating about it.

If you can’t bear to watch, then please click away.

Kennith was hoping we could discuss the details about us parting company like adults and be amicable about the entire thing.  My guess is a spreadsheet and the possibility of a pie chart of some sort would be what moved across the table.

I realised that  is just not going to be possible.  Even with the best hope in the world.

And I love a pretty graph or pie chart.

The problem with a partner of 20 years who asks you for divorce, is that you are thrown into a situation where the person who was your best mate, your partner through it all, the person who was always looking out for you, is no longer THE person who is looking out for you.

Their agenda, their focus has shifted.  It has to.  We are both trying to survive this and get to the other side with as little damage as possible to ourselves and our children.  Kennith’s desire to cut his ties with me, does not mean that he is reaffirming his need to remain connected to me forever.

He is looking at ways that we can be independent of each other – and that unfortunately flies in the face of  what is good for me, or in my best interests.

“Divorce” or “being divorced from” has become a constant in my day – a feeling of rejection, of concern for my welfare, worry whether my children are going to be okay, worrying where we will live, what form our lives will take from here on in and and and …

There is an overriding sense bit of humiliation because I could not make this work. I failed.

This is not what I had planned and FUCK YOU UNIVERSE!! THE UNIVERSE IT APPEARS DOES GIVE YOU MORE THAN YOU CAN ACTUALLY DEAL WITH.

I wake up and it is the first thought that rolls through my head, and the last thought as Morpheus takes me away somewhere quiet.

Sitting across a table with Kennith and working out how the next few years of our lives will pan out is not something I think he is the best qualified to decide on. Admittedly I lost my voice a long time ago in this relationship.  So maybe I might not be the best person to make the BIG decisions either.

I don’t think Kennith is a bad person, or a person who plans badly.

Nope, I think he is jolly good at looking at something logically and divvying up a home and making plans in a very logical and calculating manner.

The problem is that nothing in this process is logical.  It requires me to negotiate with someone who is no longer my ally, and who emotionally is just not on the same page as me.

He is not the person I can trust in my darkest hour.  He is not the guy I can run to when I have had a scary day.  He is the guy who asked to leave the island.

I know he says he will look out for me and the kids, and you know I believe he believes that he will.  I do.  I believe he believes that.

But he has not been through this divorce.

I have had a little over 60 days to absorb : a divorce, my partner who I have lived with for nearly 20 years will no longer be living with me.  Every plan, every goal I have needs to be revised.  Every way I saw 2014 going will no longer be heading in the direction I thought it would.  Every solitary aspect of my children’s lives with be altered, revised, and changed and possibly change again.

Everything I know being broken down in some way.  I am feeling under constant threat.

Someone asked me last week what is the thing I fear the most about getting divorced and I said “being more broken ….. making my kids broken people…” and then I cried so many snot bubbles I could not finish my thought or the sentence.  I needed to move along as people were staring at me in the fruit and vegetable aisle at Pick ‘n Pay.

I cannot and will not get into a discussion with Kennith about how we should decide our lives from this point on wards.

I cannot afford a divorce lawyer.

I have asked Kennith that we use a mediator and facilitator, who was recommended to me.  He met with her and has agreed that we will work through her.

I am not suggesting that mediation will be pretty and lovely and have rainbows shooting out of unicorns, but it seems like the best option right now.

Next hurdle – Kennith moves out at the end of the month.

How the fuck did we get here so quickly?

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Please note : I appreciate that this process is one that Kennith and I are both going through.  Please be gentle and careful with your comments.  I am not painting Kennith as the villain and me as the superhero.  

I think we will have different hats to wear throughout this relationship – and some days we will be the dog’s bullocks and some days the shit on the sheep’s arse.  No doubt we will take turns with who gets to wear the white hat.

What I share here is “public knowledge” to a large degree, and I would also appreciate it if you would be as kind and as gentle as possible.

I need this blog as “my place” – I have thought about having a private blog, but that is just not the way I can do things — and all of these things are part of who I am and how I got here, or where I will be going.  I need this blog right now.

I am not talking on behalf of Kennith  – this is my blog and this is about how I feel on a particular day.  I reserve the right to be selfish with my feelings and to write about what concerns me most – my perception may be blurred by the fact that I see things from my own perspective.

 Nothing here is in Kennith’s words – and he is free to disagree with me on all and everything.  He is quite entitled to those thoughts.  This blog is written for me, by me and about me.  Kennith gets to tell his own story, when and how he pleases.

Please play nicely on this blog – no shit talk, no slandering and no being a dick.  Please, I really do not have the energy for trolls rights now.

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#semicolonproject218

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Not usually a fan of these “one day wonders” that float around the cyber web, but this one has given me pause for thought today.  

It has brought many people to mind who are often in a far worse state than others realise, and whose every day is a battle to breath, just to breath.

 

February 18th is #semicolonproject218

For anyone who has suffered mental illness, trauma, self harming and suicidal thoughts, draw a semicolon on your wrist. A semicolon represents a sentence the author could’ve ended but chose not to.

The author is you and the sentence is your body. 

 

Miley Cyrus Gives ‘Bill Clinton’ a Blow Job on Bangerz Tour

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Miley and her arse, Miley and her pot-leotard, Miley giving President Clinton a blowjob, Miley and …… well the list goes on and on.

Some days I think she is brilliant and has this “how to stay in the eye of the media” thing perfectly taped.

Then on another days I sit and wonder where it all went so very wrong.  Do very horribly wrong.

I have listened to a few interviews with Miley Cyrus and I have been impressed by her.  Far more than I thought I would be.

I was prepared to find her frazzled, and possibly coming off a Meth high – but she appears bright, articulate and seems be in control of her career.  She speaks openly about what she does.

She does not sound like an unsuspecting naive young girl being pulled and shaped by behind-the-scenes-media-executives who are pulling the strings.

Miley is firmly in control, making the decisions and guiding her own career – and has luminously white teeth.

All the shit she gets up to is well choreographed, and planned, and she makes many of the creative decisions on how she wants to appear, what she wants to do.

She is not coming off a bender and  losing her shit at a McDonalds or Dunkin’ Donuts- this is all planned, she has consented, and is in control of all that is going on.

I saw this link to : Miley Cyrus Gives ‘Bill Clinton’ a Blow Job on Bangerz Tour and it was no more disturbing than the other pieces of theater we have come to expect from Miley.

I am just not sure where you can go after wearing camel-toe leather shorty-shorts, and masturbating on stage with a rubber finger…. I really am not sure where you can go from there, but Miley has shown that actually she is able to make you wince even further, and find new ways of making you wonder about her choices, and what on earth we are having to watch whilst trying to hum along to a song.

I was looking through the comments on the above link.

Often that is where you really find the “cherry” of a great post.  EMPRIRICALLOVE put up this comment which echoes my thinking, but I was struggling to put it into a coherent thought.

Thank you! This has little to do with political commentary and much to do with Miley’s struggle with her sexuality and the role sexuality does/doesn’t play in her public image.

Miley perfectly exemplifies the expectation for women to be deemed “fuckable” by consumers before their talent can be valued.

It is no wonder she is swinging all over the sex pendulum as she tries to stay valued as an artist while growing out of childhood.

If Miley hadn’t been a child star first, her antics would not be upsetting to us at all.

She highlights the nastiness of social expectations. It’s fine to sexually exploit celebrity women because we remove them from their childhood and personhood.

Watching Miley is like watching our daughter or sister or niece and not some random Maxim chick. Uncomfortable? Good. It’s fucked up.

Yep it is all fucked up!

I do have a theory — that we have gone so far past what is decent, and what is considered “good taste” that there is going to be a backlash, and we are going to go back to dancing with a 30cm gap between us, and everything that has got so “outwardly sexual” is going to go through a stage of prudish second wives outlook …. I just hope it comes soon.

How do you shield your children from this shit?

It is slowly being considered “normal” and trying to reason with your child that “normal” is not dry humping a car in a leotard, or masturbating in public with a giant foam finger, or looking like you are sexually available to every hip hop grill-wearing, underwear showing, too much jewellery wearing shit head out there is actually not the “new normal”?

Miley, you are really not making this parenting malarkey easy at all.  Now get some clothes on, and let’s try to appreciate you without having to look at your vagina.  Please.

Source:  http://jezebel.com/miley-cyrus-gives-bill-clinton-a-blow-job-on-bangerz-1524322891?utm_campaign=socialflow_jezebel_facebook&utm_source=jezebel_facebook&utm_medium=socialflow

I really am dreading Valentine’s Day this year …

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Valentine’s Day is usually not a big day in my calendar.

I think Kennith and I were whoop-di-doo into it for the first few years.  But then it just got naff, and turned into Woolworths dinners brought home.  And then after time, even that sort of faded away.  It’s also jammed in right after Xmas, and right after Kennith’s birthday.

I am not a bit Valentine’s Day person.  I am not going to burden you with the usual moaning stance of “it is such a retail hyped day” and and and …..

The brilliance about being in a long term relationship is you can sort of be a bit snide and blasé about the whole V-day thing (valentines day, not vagina, one can never be blasé about vagina day).  Because you are in a relationship, and you can sort of a be a bit “oh, we don’t have to worry about that sort of thing…” and watch Valentine’s Day kind of shift past you, and hardly raised a well defined eyebrow at the entire thing.

As divorce looms, and the idea of being a 42 year old single mother with three children appears to be my potentially new Facebook Status Relationship update, the fact that Valentine’s Day is coming around on Friday does make the bile in my gut sort of sneak out my sphincter muscles.

Both sides.

Valentine’s Day is just another day on the calendar, but this year it sort of marks the “first Valentine’s Day” in two decades where I have had to feel a bit “spare” on a holiday/retail hype day/Friday.

It does mark the beginning of a road of “days” where I am not quite sure how to deal with it, or how to prepare myself for it.  Uncharted territory shall we say.

Today is Kennith’s birthday – again the first birthday in two decades where we have not celebrated his birthday together.

He did invite me to dinner with the kids and his family, but I can’t do a polite dinner when I feel there is a huge freaking elephant in the room, and I just cannot smile that long ….

There will be my birthday, the children’s birthday, Christmas and every other holiday and high-day that I have always known where I will be, and who I will be doing it with.

Right now I feel a bit sick at the thought of this new journey.  Every one of these stupid days that will be the sign post of this new life, called Divorced, or Soon to be Divorced, or Nearly Divorced …. or Reluctantly Divorce … or “yes, it’s all a bit of a fuck up” … choose the term that you feel the most comfortable with.

I am still trying out various version of each, and haven’t quite found “my one” yet.

I really would like to hide under the covers, watch back-to-back seasons of Games of Thrones, and hide from the world.  With a large bottle of wine, and an equally large bag of Chuckles.  But I need to wear my Big Girl Panties, and actually just get on with it.

But it’s Valentine’s Day, so I just may go and work at the school’s fete and butter rolls for hotdogs.  That is actually an option open to me at the moment.

First Child …. Second Child …. Third Child

I have recently been thinking about how my parenting “style” has changed with the addition of more children.

I wish I could tell you that I have grown and developed as a parent, and I have learnt so much, and I am all “unicorns and rainbows” over this parenting thing – but whether you have one or five, you are just looking to cope and to survive the day.

Well I am at any rate.

Baby Announcements

First Child

Make the announcement in a really adorable way.

Second Child

Make the announcement via email as soon as you have told your department manager you are pregnant, and the two of you work out when you will be on maternity leave.

Third Child

Announce it at the same time as you turn down a glass of wine “can’t I am pregnant —- yes, I know it is going to be a long nine months..”

Photo Shoots

First Child

Book a couple shoot, as you stare into each other’s eyes with the happiness of two people who have proven their eggs and sperm work.  Book a maternity shoot – with more “staring into each other’s eyes” and lots of hands on stomachs.  Book a newborn shoot.  Book a 3 month shoot.  Book a 6 month shoot.

Second Child

Book the maternity shoot – but with slightly less “deep into each other’s eyes staring.”  Book a newborn shoot, then figure you can take the rest yourself with the nifty camera you bought after you realised you need a camera with your first child because you are taking so many damn pictures.

Third Child

Use your iphone to capture all the magical moments.

Sterlising bottles and dummies

First Child

Your home looks like a science laboratory.  Everything in it’s place.  You have sections of the kitchen counter dedicated to where in the sterilisation process the bottles and dummies are.  You adhere to the once you have fed the baby and the baby leaves any food/milk behind throw it away as there is bacteria happening there.  Dummies are kept clean, and you have one of those containers with sterilising fluid to put the dummy into should it fall on the floor.

Second Child

You sterilise bottles up to 6 weeks.  Dummies get rinsed under the tap if they fall on the floor.  You are somewhat alarmed by how close your first child who always appears to be covered in snot and sticky keeps getting to your second child.

Third Child

You sterilise bottles for 3 weeks.  If your baby’s hands or face is sticky and the dog licks either, you scream at the dog, but are thankful that you do not need to go and find a wet wipe.  Dummies are meant to be on the floor.

Record Keeping

First Child

You have already marked all the vaccination dates off in your diary, and arrive exactly on the day they are due.

Second Child

You mark the vaccinations dates off in your diary — you really try to get to them all, some you are late for, and then the clinic has to either give two shots together, or make a plan to give a shot 6 months later, because you have totally mucked up the schedule.

Third Child

You remember you have clean forgotten to get any vaccinations as it’s your child’s birthday, and you recall somewhere in the recesses of your mind that by this age you should have at least got to the clinic.

Talking about Nappies

First Child

You enter an entirely new universe where moms stand around and discuss the frequency, consistency and colour of baby poo. Initially you are reluctant to talk about sh&t – but as time moves along you realise that to be part of the in-crowd you need to look interested in poo, and be able to regale the group with at least one story.

Second Child

You are pretty much at your limit with regards to poo.  You have seen so much of it.  Had it flicked on you.  Found it under your nails, that the last thing you want to speak about is poo.  If you are standing with a group of new moms and the “poo” subject comes up, you smile lamely and think to yourself  “I can spot a new mom from a mile away…”

Third Child

You outsource anything poo related to the Nanny if you can – and if not, then you get it done, and get on with your life.  Life is too short to stand around speaking about shit.

Injuries

First Child

Every cough, red spot and slight “eina” requires the first aid kit to be pulled out, desperate searches on google, and in desperation posts to Facebook or Forums to help you – because every knock, cut and ache is life threatening.

Second Child

“Is it bleeding?  Are you dying? No?  Then it is fine – go play, leave mom alone for a few moments.”

Third Child

“What do you mean she broke her arm?  When?”

how old

You had me at Dulce de leche ….

I hardly ever never get excited by “make your own shit at home” blogs – really I know that there is very little I can make, that someone who makes it for a living cannot do better.

I also really do not get my rocks off when I bake a cake, and it looks like crap, and I could have just popped down to the local “tuis” home baked place, and picked up a rocking cake for a few rand.

There is nothing in my soul that sings when I have to spend hours and hours trying to make something at home, that probably tastes worse, or looks decidedly crappy in comparison to what I could purchase in the shops.

I am without a doubt not into the whole hipster movement of doing things myself.  I am a fan of the present capitalistic, and “please go to a store and buy it now” sort of mindset.

But then I saw this one on making Dulce de leche at home —- Dulce de leche and I have a very indecent relationship.  I think about Dulce often, I am besotted over Dulce.

I can eat a jar in a few hours and still have a twinkle in my eye ready to eat another one.

Dulce has very little regard for me, and as far as I know cannot be purchased locally.

What madness, madness I tell you!!

If you know about a store locally that stocks imported Dulce de leche please do let me know.

I love LOVE LOVE dulce de leche.  I know it is meant to spread on bread or pancakes, but I have not moved past the point of eating it directly out of a jar.

It takes too long to get the bread out the breadbin.

Until then I might be boiling up a little bit of goat’s milk – the entire things sounds wildly suspicious.

This is a bit like illicit drugs  If you can’t buy the stuff, then the final option is to just make a little at home, until a decent supplier contacts you.

homemade dulce de leche

homemade dulce de leche, oops

Guess what, guys?! This weekend, we’re going to make dulce de leche. Or maybe cajeta. Or maybe both.

Step away from the cupboard; I don’t mean like that, the way we’ve always made it. It’s time to break up with the can of sweetened condensed milk; it’s us, not it.

Because I’ve tasted the other side, the one where you take that milk in your fridge that you needed to use up anyway, the sugar that’s already in your pantry, a bit of salt, the smallest snippet of vanilla bean and maybe a cinnamon stick, if you so desire, and boil them together until it smells like the heavens exhaled in your kitchen and the mixture becomes the most complexly flavored thick copper caramel with a deliciousness will bring tears to your eyes.

And no, I am not being melodramatic; you’ll see.

Read the rest of the post here.

Macklemore and Ryan Lewis

I missed this performance on the Grammy Awards 2014 – I switched over a few minutes too late.

I heard about the performance when I saw the shit fit people had about “having to view” people taking part in same sex marriages.

There were people who were having a total moral collapse on Twitter .

I assumed maybe there was a lot of tongue and possibly sex on the stage by the sound of things.  I hadn’t seen the performance but I started to wonder if the Grammies had “overstepped” the line of what is considered acceptable.

Because these people (there are many more) were seriously upset.

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I eventually had a chance this weekend to go and view the performance on youtube.

I swooned.  I sighed.  I decided I am in love with Macklemore and Ryan Lewis and their Same Love performance.

In the 30 couples (who were actually actors) there were maybe 5 – 6 same sex couples – there was no kissing, no exchange of saliva, and no groping going on. You would think newly married couples, who were married by Queen Latifah would go absolutely monkey.

Nope, this group was all smiles, and light kisses brushed against cheeks.  Nothing worth averting your eyes about, or putting your hand up to cover the delicate sensibilities of your children.

If your children were watching this they would probably still be mentally scarred from the earlier opposite sex performance by Beyoncé and Jay-Z – but there tweets by the right wing about that —- I really do struggle some days to figure out where the moral compass is of Joe Public in America.

Remember though how people went absolutely ballistic when Janet Jackson’s boob popped out for 1/16th of a second 10 years ago. I still cannot understand what made people lose their minds over this incident but these advertisements seem to be okay at the time.

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But anyway.

Pick ‘n Pay’s response to the alleged abduction at a Pick ‘n Pay store

Pick n Pay’s first priority is always for our customers and their safety, and we take all incidents very seriously. Thankfully the child is safe and was already back with her mother when our store staff were first alerted.

We have cooperatedfully with the police, including providing a detailed statement and sharing our CCTV footage.

We have also met the mother again since the incident to express our sympathy and support, and explain the actions we have taken.

Our understanding is that, having investigated the evidence including our CCTV footage, the police believe that this was not an attempt at kidnap and that there is no case for taking further action.

There have been many reactions to the incident at the Pick ‘n Pay Capricorn Park Muizenberg.  Some a bit alarming, some a bit concerning about the sanity in the blog-o-sphere.

I think the key issue here is that the issue is not that the specific retailer is to blame.  It is a “sense/feeling” that the incident was not handled well, and more importantly this could have happened to any of us.

You.  Me.  Anyone.

I am sure that if this had occurred in another retailer they may have dealt with it in the equally fumbling, less than ideal manner, but the reality is we will never know.  This happened, and this store dealt with it this way.

I am glad that Margo has brought this to attention – not to shame Pick ‘n Pay but to remind us how quickly things go wrong, even when you are picking lettuce up at your local retailer.

I sincerely hope that we have all learnt something from this incident.

I have three kids, and the reality is when I am shopping I cannot actually hold on to all of them, nor hold their hands no  matter how goof my best intentions are.

If you have shopped with children you will understand what I mean.

I often shop with my two youngest, and as much as I want to tell you I hold their hands the entire time.   I need to queue to purchase items and am distracted as I order at the delicatessen or the bakery.  And again cannot look at my kids as the assistant hands over the order.

I have to put groceries and kids in the car – and then I need to do something with the trolley – how do you expect me to keep all of these within eye sight?

It just is not possible.  No matter how vigilant you are.

I do not expect retailers to be responsible for my kids – but I do expect them to have a procedure in place when something occurs and listen to me if something has happened to my child.

No they are not the police.  But listen to me if I am indicating a problem, and take the time and energy to call the police so that they in turn can interview the suspects, and be able to handle the situation on the spot.

I sneaked in to a drive-in movie when I was about 11. They called the police.  I think the entry cost was R1.50.  The police came out and scared the shit out of me.

Point being, sure it is not your responsibility to ensure the safety of everyone on the planet, but if there is something that smells a bit iffy call the police, or some form of authority and allow the time to investigate, take statements – then step back.

When my kid were smaller and in the habit of throwing almighty thrombies at retail stores, I would leave them thrashing and screaming and just walk away – I would remain in ear shot so I could still hear them losing their shit in the aisle, I just would move on.

Clearly I would rethink that as a course of action.

Margo I hope you will heal from this – I cannot imagine nightmares you have.

I “almost” slammed my child’s hand in the car door when he was an infant. I didn’t.  I still think about it nearly every day and imagine the damage it could have caused.  My infant is now a 12 year old man-boy.  I still think about that day when ever he gets into my car and I close the car door.

Moms/parents worry.  Moms freak out if kids are out of their line of sight.

I hope we all have taken something positive from this experience.

Except Leon and Chuck. They have been total dicks!!!

{I think it is fine to be total dicks, but then be a dick who has no problem exposing who you are, and where we can contact you.  Be a man use your this-is-me-and-I-stand-by-my-statements-made-on-line.  Hiding behind a shite email address makes you double the dick — and a total shit head at the same time — other wise, good luck with that}

Original post and comments can be read at:  https://reluctantmom.wordpress.com/2014/01/27/abducting-babies-in-trolleys-at-pick-n-pay/