Pregnancy tests …. and other irrelevant purchases ….

Yesterday I pop along to get a jab.  The nurse looks at me and says “I can’t give you this injection if you are pregnant.”

I go: “Well I am not, so jab away.”

She says: “Yes, but how do I know that?”

I go: “I would know, I am not pregnant.”

She: “Sometimes people are pregnant and they do not know.”

I: “Yes, I am sure that happens, but this is not one of those times.  I am not pregnant. It would take a miracle.  Of the biblical variety.”

She: “Yes, but I don’t know that…”

I: “Listen, I seriously am not pregnant …. why are we even discussing this?”

She: “I need to be certain you are not pregnant….”

I: “So what is going to happen now?”

She: “Buy a pregnancy test, and bring it back to me — I will wait for you.”

I: “Really I must do a pregnancy test?”

She: “Yes, they are over there by the tampons and sanitary pads…”

I …. thinking really, this is happening.  I go over and pick up a pee on a stick test.

I am feeling embarrassed to be standing holding a pregnancy test.  Yes, I do realise how nonsensical my embarrassment is.  But that doesn’t stop me somehow feeling embarrassed.

I purchase goods to the value of about R500.00 so I can hide the pregnancy test under them as I stand in the queue to pay for the pregnancy test and the other items which are only purchased to use to hide the pregnancy test.  One of those items being sunblock.  Another was a sponge.

I go and sit on a bench and think about how this process is making me feel.

First, the nurse person is being slightly pedantic, but clearly she has had an experience she does not wish to repeat.

I start thinking of all the pregnancy tests I have taken in my life – and the varying reaction to whether the test was positive or negative, and how each test had some emotional consequences to it.

Now the part to remember firmly here is that I AM NOT PREGNANT. It is just not in the realm of possibility.

I still start imagining what if I am, and then what.  PLEASE JUST TO REITERATE THE FACT IS I AM NOT PREGNANT.

I continue to create various delusions of this “miracle pregnancy” which means by the time I actually get to the bathroom to pee on the stick, I have practically worked out children’s names, and whether I would put this baby up for adoption and the relationship I would forge with the prospective parents.  You can see how far I have already stepped out over the edge of reason and logic at this point.

The three minutes I had to wait for the stripe or no stripe, was three more minutes of me escalating this delusion into full technicolour with sound, and even a theme song.

Christ-a-moley, of course the test was negative.  I felt a bit forlorn that I would not have a child.

AGAIN AT NO POINT IN THIS WAS I EVER GOING TO BE PREGNANT.

The ability  I possess for my imagination and delusions to run away with me, makes me realise why I should never be left alone on a bench.  Or unmedicated.  Or be allowed to listen to Kenny G.

Then I hit myself with the super sized toilet roll, and sprayed perfume in my eye just as a way to slap myself back to reality.

Good grief that was a very strange 10 minutes of my life.

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Bloggers with no clothes on … does this make them easier to socialise with?

This weekend a few bloggers got together and visited Thyme Day Spa to do a treatment together – it was more of an exercise to get to know each other better, and see if we could interact outside the safety of the blogosphere.

I knew one of the bloggers well.

I knew one of the bloggers in passing.

There were two bloggers who I had never met personally, but I had seen at the last Blogger Meet-up.

To just clarify, I am painfully shy and being in close proximity to people I don’t know, with the threat of having to make small talk paralyses me.  I chose to accept the invitation as another step in the direction to force me into social situations, when in truth I would rather hide at home and stroke my social phobia with a large glass of wine, and my cat.

The day was planned, and this required us to all go into a room – a particularly small room, to take all our clothes off and put on swim suits.

I have body issues.  I was not going to shave as my wax is booked for tomorrow.  Not only was I going as Orca, but I was also going as hairy Neanderthal Orca.

I was mortified that I would have to wear a swim suit in front of people I barely knew because at the moment I do not even wear a swim suit in front of no one.  I just tried not to think about it.

There were 5 of us.  Everyone got undressed – there was no where to hide, this was a really small room.  As we undressed we were practically knocking elbows against each other.  There was no where to hide your shyness, or to try and slink behind anything.

After that we all got herded into a sauna room – again really small.  Cheek to jowel sort of stuff. And there we sat.

Five girls all sort of strangers to each other.  Sweating. Mascara creating the panda bear look.  With not too much in the way of clothing, and being given a little container with mud and scrubs.

The awkwardness lasted about 30 seconds, then everyone was talking, and rubbing mud on each other.

We had been given very clear instructions NOT TO PUT THE MUD on our faces or our nipples.  Of course then we had to inquire why this instruction was given.  Clearly someone had put mud onto their face and nipples, with less than ideal side effects.

The friendly therapist made her eyes bigger, and spoke in a very clear voice NO FACE OR NIPPLES!!  Which we all repeated back to her — several times NO FACE OR NIPPLES!!  It sort of became the mantra for the day eventually #nofacenonipples.

After the sauna, where we had to rinse off and there was a lot of polite “shall I spray you off?” going on, as you do.

We moved to the jacuzzi, we were served bubbly and we proceeded to chat like we had known each other for ages.

We had lunch and then had a bit of a lie around in the sun and chatted.

One of the bloggers/Sally Jane Cameron posted a note on Facebook and I think it encapsulated what we all felt, but might have struggled to find the exact words for:

This might be a little deep for Saturday night but it occurred to me that an activity like this helps to facilitate a deeper connection between women than a normal full clothed outing. The sense of vulnerability maybe? But sharing and being honest was cleansing for the emotions too. Laughing was good for the soul.

How do you know that it has all gone well and there is little in the way of awkwardness left?  When we stand around feeling the one bloggers breasts.  True story!!

It really was a good day.  Lovely group of women ….. hope to do something similiar again.

{I think we all had an unspoken agreement that no one was going to take photographs and post them anywhere …….}

 

 

This was the only image taken on the day.  Thanks to Charlotte for organising evening.

Girls screaming at the TV ….

What with my whole “hey lets treat girls and boys the same” mantra going on … last night we are watching a programme, which is pretty much like Tosh.O but only with slightly less bad language.

Okay, it might have been Tosh.O.

Any way, there is a lot of you tube videos about pranking and what ever else.

In this one scene a guy, who clearly has a fear of birds is faced with a bird, no dissimilar from a guinea fowl in size.

Guy freaks out, because for him birds (Ornithophobia) are like me being attacked by a daddy long legs — it is total over reaction to the situation that is actually happening, because the subject scares the crap out of you.

Georgia sitting out the couch – totally of out no where – SCREAMS at the guy on the show: “MAN UP!!!”

I look at her with a look of WTF? on my face.

She nods and says: “Boys shouldn’t be scared of birds, it’s a bird, he needs to man up!!!”

man up

 

I will add it to the list of things to talk to Georgia about.  In a one on one situation.

I am a feminist because …. * I don’t think we should be telling our girls to get labia augmentation ….

… the worst insult is to be compared to a woman

… because I believe the world should be safe for women and girls .. everywhere

… because half the girls in Yemen will become child brides

… because 75% of people in Brasil believe that a woman who dresses in revealing clothes deserves to be raped

 

There are so many girl-boy things that piss me off, that I just did not notice.

I accepted and rolled with the punches.

Then I had a girl child and it all changed.

I started realising that I was treating my child differently because she had a vagina and my son had a penis.

The realise was not instantaneous.

It crept in, and then I realised that I was fostering the same belief system.

I got offended.  Then I got angry.

If I see one more plastic iron and ironing board in the kids’ section at Toys R Us, I am seriously going to shit in the aisle.

I hate the fact that if a boy cries someone says to him “stop crying like a girl.”

I get angry that if a boy shows any emotion then he is told that “He is a poesie” – because having a poesie/female parts is weak and means you are somehow lower on the totem pole.

Last time I checked women – for the most part – either pushed every person on this earth out of their vagina, or had the child cut out of her abdomen.  That is pretty hard core stuff.

Feel free to stick as many breasts as you please on sign boards advertising anything from LUX soap to CASTROL oil, but gd help if you breastfeed, because that will cause a public outcry.  And Facebook will suspend your account.

The idea of women being equal to men, is not to drag men down, or to make men feel small or inadequate.  It is about making sure that girls know that their equality is not dependent on them having pens in pink and purple …. seriously what the fuck BIC — who the hell thought up this humdinger?

 

bic for her

 

I look at music videos and I throw up in my mouth.

I watch movies with women and girls and I get angry – I do not want my girls to think that they need to be that girl to get noticed.

I look at girls fashions where shorts are shorter than the pockets of the same shorts.

I get angry that women are getting breast surgery, hymen surgery (to put it back — I shit you not) and labia surgery.

Where, where have we lost our way and how will we ever find our way back?

Have a girl child …. it will change your life.

 

 

 

They are back singing about knots ……

I love loved and still do love “”What Does the Fox Say?” — I still listen to it, I am that person.

The guys are back and have made another almost as catchy song, Trucker’s Hitch.

 

 

 

My head is a hive ….

head is a hive

“I have lost touch with a couple of people I used to be….”

I saw this quote and it reminded me of the power of keeping a blog.

The way you record who you are and how you feel about something.  I think the key to blogging is to be truthful with yourself.  Writing for yourself is difficult enough, I can’t imagine how difficult it would be to write for someone else.

My blog has become part of me — but at the same my blog is not every part of me.

As of late I have had a lot of things I need to work through in my head – and I work better with stuff in my head by taking it out of my head, and putting it on paper.

I journal constantly.  It may not quite be formal note book keeping, but it is writing down my thoughts. I often start an empty page with “How do you feel today?”

And then I write.

I do need places to write, to jot down thoughts, to sometimes work through a thought that is running in my head.  Journalling and blogging allows me that privilege.  There are a lot of things in my head that I can’t put down on this blog — probably because they are too personal, or because they are work in progress, and I need a bit of time to understand where I stand, so I prefer to jot them down in a standard A4 hard cover book with my fountain pen.

There is something therapeutic about shaping the letters and watching the ink soak into the page.

What I love about this blog and journalling is that I also get to look back over time and realise that I have changed who I am, or how I think about something.  And how much I have changed in some ways, but not in others.

I thought an idea was a good one before, does not mean I still do.

It also gives me permission to make decisions based on how I feel — because sometimes that is all you have to go on.

I get to look back over my experiences with my kids and realise how much I truly like them.

I know we all love our kids, but I really like my kids – they are funny, and clever and make me laugh out loud.  I look back over some of the stuff they have said and done that I have recorded on this blog, and I know they will hate it and cringe later, but I think they will also smile at themselves.  Or refuse to talk to me from 13 – 19 years old.

Let’s just wait to see how that pans out.

This year has been one of huge shifts and adjustments.

I have learnt a great deal about myself in the last 9 or 10 months.  At the same time realised I know almost nothing about me, and life and stuff and things.

Some days I feel all powerful and I can take on the world, the next I feel like sitting in the corner blubbering like a village idiot without a village.

I continue to do stupid things – daily – and also things that defy my perception of how brilliant I am.  And have the potential to be.

I have made some brave decisions, and some stupid choices — and above all I am trying not to expend too much energy beating myself up about the stupid ones, and try not to get too over inflated with the brave ones.   The day often ends with a glass of wine on the couch and the noise inside my head often gets quiet, which is a peaceful place to be.

Tomorrow is another day, and there will be a new set of choices and decisions …. and probably some McDonalds meal choices, and we know those can be tough too.

“I have lost touch with a couple of people I used to be….”

 

I have lost touch

The one where my dog shat himself ….. and then I screamed DON’T KILL MY DOG

My car is still in for repairs — to the tune of R65 000.00 and change.  As mentioned before, VW Caddy’s are not designed for plowing fields.

Well, you live and learn new things each and every day.

I found out my dog Parker gets violently car sick.

How did I find this out?  You may ask.  On the R300, like you do.

I was driving to Pringle Bay – I decided to take the dogs along, because the kids were not with me.  And because I am scared of the dark, and my dogs make me feel better when I am faced with a large wall of blackness.

Any the ho. I thought this would be a nice leisurely drive. I would stop along Clarens Drive and take selfies of me and the dogs, you know doing cool stuff.  That is how I imagined it.

Reality unfortunately did not receive the memo.

FORTUNATELY. I had placed blankets on the back seat of the car (the hired car) and I put the dogs in and off we went.  I knew something was a bit off when Dexter jumped into the front seat with a look of suprise on his face.  He is a Boston Terrier – guy has huge freaking eyes, for him to look more surprised you must know something big is going on.

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I look at the back seat and Parker – the French Bulldog – has evacuated his bowels, and is now proceeding to try to empty everything out of his body cavity via his mouth.  Onto the back seat of the rental car.

Parker_9229

Of course I am swearing like a drunken sailor —- and it leaves me no choice but to swerve controllably from the right hand land across three lanes and come to a halt on the side of the road.

I do not wish to knock anyone who has real estate anywhere along or near the R300, but shall I say that of all the places you want to stop your car – alone – the R300 is seldom a good choice.

Which probably explains why they do not have those concrete picnic tables and chairs that were ché cool in 1984.

I turn the engine off, and try to assess the damage.

The damage is a large amount of runny shit and a fair amount of dog vomit, which is only being exasperated by the fact that he is now lying in it.

Cheese and rice.  I try and scoop up what I can —- yes we have all scooped up shit and puke, don’t act like you have never had to catch some from your child …this is similiar, it is just a dog and in my car.

I then realise I need to grab a plastic bag from the boot as I need somewhere to safely store the now shit soaked blankets.  I get out the car, careful to only open the door a fraction because the traffic is barrelling down on me.

A fraction is pretty much all Dexter needs to exit the vehicle and go and stand in the lane of the oncoming traffic.

Fortunatey – because it could not get much worse, he froze and just stood there.  As I would have done had three lanes of traffic being headed to me at speeds in excess of 120 km/h.

The way I solved the problem was to flap my hands around hysterically – not dissimiliar to how they do JAZZ HANDS in fancy dance routines.  I also screamed MY DOG, MY FUCKING DOG, DON’T KILL MY DOG …… I am not sure what helped, the screaming, my hysteria, my improvised dance routine or the rather large eyes of Dexter, but traffic managed for the most part to try and swerve around him.

I eventually sat on the tar and tried to coax him OUT OF THE THREE LANE HIGHWAY.  How the hell that dog got out of there and was not killed, or me killed is still a mystery.

Get dog in car.  Have a small yet powerful crying jag.

Go to the boot, get plastic bags – get back into car vacillating between screaming at Dexter for being so stupid, and then kissing him and telling him I am so grateful he is alive all whilst trying to cram shit covered, and now dripping puke, blankets into the now what seem like really small plastic bags.

Just as I am really up to the my elbows in all things chaos, three police vehicles pull over.  These guys climb out armed to the hilt.  I had a vague sense they were expecting more than a hysterical woman in a car and two dogs.

He knocks on the window.  I can’t hear what he is saying as the traffic is so noisy.  I am still a bit hysterical, and I cannot work out how to get the rental vehicle’s passenger side vehicle to roll down.

I have no idea what this guys assessment of the situation must have been — my guess is he was radioing in for backup, or at least some sort of sanitary control vehicle.

I eventually find the go down window button —- now bearing in mind I am still moving between crying, laughing with happiness and retching —- I am trying to say “I am fine”  and I have huge panda eyes of mascara and no doubt a bit of shit on my shirt too.

He does not look convinced.  He leans over and says “Ma’am are you okay?”

Me: Yes ….. I had a bit of a dog incident….

Him: You know you shouldn’t park here …

Me: *glancing around at my surroundings as if I had just noticed I was not parked in the scenic part of town” … yes, I know, my dog just shat himself and puked, and then the other one nearly got run over in the road …….

Him: *possibly removing the safety off his gun* …. are you okay?

Me:  Yes …. dogs you know …. *I sort of shrugged like that would make sense*

Him: *leans over and looks at the dogs* ….. do you need any help?

I am wondering then if it would be okay to ask the nice policeman to help me clean shit and puke of the car seats ….. my guess is his idea of public service is not going to go that far…

I eventually compose myself —- try to appear like I can control a vehicle and two dogs, and merge back into the traffic.

Parker then continued to puke the entire way to Pringle Bay.  Eventually he was not puking so much as trying to disengage his liver and spleen.

It is really difficult for a French Bulldog to look sad — but Parker looked like death.

Clearly I did not do any selfies, no stops along Clarens Drive — and now I need to get a full valet before I return the rental car.

Otherwise it was a really lovely drive.

 

 

 

 

Rocky Horror Picture Show at The Fugard {Must freaking see…}

I really love The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

I know every line of every song, and all the dialogue.

Big fan. Me.

I went along a few months ago to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show at The Fugard, and I loved it. I thought I would arrive and be disappointed as it did not match up to the movie and and and ….

Wrong!

It was brilliant.

Last night was the 300th performance of The Rocky Horror Picture Show and they are back here in Cape Town until November.  The show last night surpassed brilliant.

It was even better than the previous time.

Loved the show – adored the ad libbing, and the entire evening was so much damn fun.

If you have a passing vague interest in The Rocky Horror Picture Show or are a fervent fan, then do yourself a favour and go to see The Rocky Horror at The Fugard in Cape Town.  Book at Computicket.

Brilliant.  Brilliant.  Brilliant.

With the unbelievably talent —- and quite jaw dropping Brendan van Rhyn as Rocky ….. 

06 The Rocky Horror Show

 

08 The Rocky Horror Show

 

10 The Rocky Horror Show

{this is not a sponsored post, I bought my own tickets and my own alcohol….mostly}

I am here to warn you almost all the clichés are true ……

We received the confirmation that Isabelle was accepted into the pre-primary school we had applied to, for next year.

In 5 months time, my wee girl will be in Grade R — I usually am not very sentimental over these things, but the fact that my little baby girl will be in Grade R next year, and then I will blink and she will be standing in her school uniform in Grade 1, does make my breath catch a little bit in my throat.

I know the old cliche of it all passes so quickly, and not to wish your child’s baby years away.  But damn, it is exactly like that.

Isabelle is still my baby – even though she is a bit of a thug, and can throw a punch like no one’s business.  But she is still my baby, who cuddles up next to me, and puts her head on my shoulder as she sucks her thumbs and rubs here “doggie.”

By the time Isabelle is in Grade 1, Georgia will be in Grade 4 – which puts her in the senior phase of her school.  Her uniform changes from a tracksuit to the formal school uniform.  I can’t imagine her Wednesday (where they) legs in a dress, and black school shoes.

Connor will be in Grade 7, and be starting his high school career.

It is all a bit much actually.  Where the hell does it all go?

It feels like a very short time ago when I was breastfeeding Connor.

It feels like a blink since I arrived home from hospital with Georgia, the surprise girl I did not expect.

It feels like this morning when I was sitting rocking Isabelle, and rocking her, because she was not sleeping and I thought that this dear beautiful girl was going to be the death of me.

I am here to warn you that all the clichés, every last kitchy one of them, every annoying little thing that strange people say, whilst you roll your eyes is true.

Except the one about you having heartburn and your child having a lot of hair.

And the one about if your baby stands early your child will have bandy legs.

That is all total bull shit, but the other stuff is mostly true … it does go by in a blink of an eye, and it does make you feel a bit lost and forlorn that they no longer need you as much.

Baby Connor – 10 December 2001

 

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Georgia born – 20 June 2005

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Isabelle born – 10 June 2009


Isabelle-Born