Parents – how they get it right, and how they get it so very wrong …..

I have always been critical over my parents and their ability to parent.

I have written some scathing blog posts in the past.

At the time, that was how I felt.

This blog is where I put my thoughts, my ramblings and sometimes my emotional spews.

I know I can go back and delete, block or amend the many blog posts that I do not necessarily agree with anymore. Or the ones that I do not feel the same about at the moment … I could.  I prefer not to.

One of the things I like about blogging, is that it gives me the luxury to go back and read my thoughts.  To see how I felt about something.  And compare that to how I think and feel about something now.

To recapture my emotions in a slice of time.  To see my view point then.  And compare it to now.  That is a rare gift, and blogging allows that.

My parents should never have married.  If they did not have sex, that would actually have been great too.

Then there would have been no pregnancy, and  no p (more…)

Friends with benefits …. and friends with wisdom …..



{The blogger topic for day 10: is The best advice I ever received/ heard …. I may well be behind a day or so….}

Throughout this year I have been blessed to know that I have friends who stand by me.

Offer me support, allow me to sleep on their couch, and who keep me focused on the things that are good, and ways to keep me happy.  Sometimes they just supply good wine, and a ear to listen, and that is often enough to make everything all better.

Divorce, no matter how well it is managed, is still a pretty kak process to go through.

No matter how much the two of you try to appear adult, and to deal with each other in a respectful manner, you can’t help feeling that your life is in a state of free fall.  You are trying to desperately grab onto tufts of grass as you slide down the slipper cliff face into who knows what.

I have tried my utmost to be upbeat, and brave and not lose my sense of humour.  I tell everyone I am fine, and I seem to be coping.  Some days I am a bit side swiped and I struggle to get my head around where things have brought me, and I am petrified of what the future offers.

I do try my utmost not to wallow in my pity, shame, sadness and embarrassment.  I am embarrassed that I could not make this relationship work.  That I failed, and that my failure is so public.

I know in time I will have a different outlook.   I do feel a fair degree of shame, embarrassment and a sense of failure that I could not make this relationship work, and retain Kennith as my partner.

He divorced me, this was not a mutual decision, so I have been divorced from.  I know it is just semantics, but it does not soften the fact that I was rejected.  I was left.

Possibly for something better, possibly for nothing, possibly for the possibility of something better.  Or what ever else.

It still hurts.   It goes right to the core of my psyche, that I am not good enough.

Back to my good friends — I have had friends who have remained in my corner, who have let me vent, who have offered me their couches to sleep on, and who have sent me messages of support, given me hugs, and just been there for me.

No judgement.  Allowing me to speak, offering guidance and support and not insisting I take their advise.

The one piece of advise I think of on a regular basis  was given to me by Karen and it rings true for most things:  “If everyone could put their shit in a brown paper bag, and throw it up in the air, everyone would rather catch their own shit, than have to catch someone else’s.”

I am ad-libbing there, but the gist is that your shit is your shit.

It is easier than having to deal with anyone else’s shit.  And when you really sit down with someone you realise that they have far more in quantity and in complicated-shit than you could ever imagine.  So rather hold onto your shit bag, and keep it as your own — everyone else’s shit is going to smell worse, and probably make you gag.

That piece of advise, or that sentiment has sat with me for some time.

I often want to pull on a hessian bag and push charcoal through my hair and weep at the state of my life, but I think of the bags of shit and I am thankful that my shit is actually not that bad in comparison to others.

In no way am I minimizing my pain, or my experience, but I am owning my shit.  At least my shit is familiar.


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I am also a fan of the old adage: “don’t shit where you eat!!”  Wise words those.






Nipple hair ….. no, that’s not right …..


I am part of a “Word Blog Challenge” – a few bloggers got together with the careful coaxing from Natasha over at the “dear me” blog.

We all threw names at fish, someone put their hand in, chose a fish – with a word on it and we had to were asked politely to blog about the word.


There is no prize money.  There is very little in the way of fame and fortune.  Just chicks sitting around blogging.

Someone picks a word and we all blog about it.  I misunderstood. I thought we all give a word, and then we play “swap swap” so everyone ends up with a different word.  But I did not make up the rules, and I just want to play along, so here I am with my fish word.

The word chosen was/is “first”

First prize.

First kiss.

First period.

First time you drove a car.

First time you realised that Murder She Wrote is running out of cast members.  Someone in Cabot Cove is going to die. One person per episode.  There are like 15 people living in Cabot Cove.  If you woke up to find that you live there, then well, you are fucked.

First time someone called you “tannie.”

First time someone called you “Mommy.”

First time you cried because he was not worth it.

First time you cried because he was worth it.

First time someone gave up their seat to you because they thought you were pregnant.  And you were not.

First time you went to the clinic and hoped you were not pregnant.  He was fine to have sex with, but really your entire life joined to him?  Yeh, fuck that!

First time you pee’d on a stick and hoped you were pregnant.

First time you were.

First heartbeat.

First born.


First ….. first …. sounds like thirst … which makes me think of wine

First …. dirst … prist …. kirst?  Okay, I’ve got nothing.

First day.  First job.

I started working at a company that was small.  Offices were small – huge if it was your first job.

The toilet was one door off the main office.

I do not use toilets in places I do not know.  I rather hold it in.

I cannot poo in a strange toilet.  If I think that someone might hear or smell me.

I used to be in boarding school, and I would not poo from Sunday when I was dropped off until Friday afternoon when I was collected.  By Friday lunchtime I was so full of shit, literally that I was too scared to laugh in case I poo’d in my knickers.

First job.  First day.  I was so nervous.  I was sitting there trying to work out how to switch the computer on.  I was hired as a designer, which was a bit of an over reach, as I did not know how the put the computer on.

I sat there.  My tummy started to make a squishy sort of sound.  I realised that I really needed the bathroom.

I sat there and started to sweat, as I knew this was not one of those instances where I could hold it in.

I shot to the toilet  – again toilet door is the door right off the offices.  My bowels lost control,and everything including the 3 carrots I ate last Thursday shot out my arse.

The smell was peel-the-paint-off-the-walls bad.

I flushed, I flushed and then I stood there and died from embarrassment as I knew I had to walk back in the office, with the fresh bouquet of freshly-shat-yourself lingering around me.

I went back to my desk. Mortified.

An office colleague got up, went to the bathroom, opened the door, stood there for two ticks, closed the door, thought better of it and headed back to his desk.

I died!  I was so embarrassed.  I knew that I might end up having to take another run at the loo as I clearly had a tummy bug.

I stood up, packed my bag, explained I needed to leave.  Quickly. I sprinted across Cape Town – we lived in St. George’s Mall and I worked in Commercial Street which is on the other end of town.

I am sure no one else remembers my first giant smelly poo at my first job on my first day.

I do.  In graphic olfactory detail.

Funny thing those firsts, they stick with you for a long time.


Bloggers who are taking part in the Word Blog Challenge and who have published posts are:

Natasha Marais

dear me,

Keri Bainborough


Che Dyer


If you blogged and I missed your post, let me know.