The Great Expectations of Fluff

I have never considered myself one who gave in to "party politics and demands" and certainly didn't when the boy's had their birthdays. They were relatively easy to cater for, they both knew who they wanted as guests and what they wanted as gifts, easy, sorted, quick sticks. Madam Fluff on the other hand, has had me rather stressed out over the last two weeks. Every attempt at making the guest list shorter only results in the guest list getting longer as she is absolutely adamant that she only plays with and is bestest friends with all but 3 kids in her class, add to that the "usual birthday party suspects" and a few other invitations, we are sitting on a handsome number of 35 children. Ain't gonna happen chicky bird! And we hit a standoff.

In desperation I approach the teacher, (who, by the way is now my very own personal Agony Aunt, when it comes to Fluff anyway) who always seems to have a solution for everything. A word here, some advice there and the real list of 4 children in the class Fluff is really close to and plays with regularly. I make my way home absolutely relieved at my now drastically shorter list.

Then there's the gift list that is practically longer than the guest list and I have even been advised on how to redecorate her room in order to make space for all her apparent soon to be acquired riches, which range from a new cupboard to a play play microwave and more kitchen equipment than even I own to hair and make up accessories and clothes. Is there anything left in the shop I ask you? Barbies and Bratz dolls were on the list too including some clothes for them "because they can't walk around naked you know and they need to wear something when their existing outfits are in the wash!" And so we have it, I think, until we attempt, at my own detriment, to go through the list again and hopefully make it shorter one last time or perhaps I should call it a day and not bother, for sanity purposes. Armed now with indisputable proof, I must agree with my hubby when he says that fluff is a quantity girl and not a quality girl. (I suppose if the quality came in quantities that would be a different story but with her, the more, the better)

Ageing requires special attention..

People often jest and say "My, but I'm getting old!". Is that something that you say to yourself just to make certain that your mind and body keeps up with the programme? I don't know but lately I've heard it quite a bit. Scary, if everybody around me claims to be getting old, does this apply to me too or am I just hanging around with a bunch of old farts and need to find myself a friskier crowd of acquaintances?

I have become quite enthused about scrapping again and decided to dig into the "box of the past" dah dah dah dum (drum roll please) and I found a collection of negatives (you know those things we used to have to take to the photo shop to have developed, oh, never mind) hidden in an envelope. Off I scurry to the photo shop (no not adobe photoshop, the actual shop shop) to discover pics from the past and reminisce a little of days gone by.

I hand in my negatives and select a few pictures that I would like have developed. Amongst the lot of negatives that I found was an old strip of negatives, which for the life of me I cannot recall the name of, but they were from those first little thin cameras with the even thinner strip of film. I hand them to the shop assistant, young and frisky little cow and she turns to me without hesitation and says "Oh my gosh but these are soooo old!" Excuse me? "We can't develop these here, they need to go to a special lab." Yes, thank you, I know I'm special but surely my pictures can be developed without any special attention or such drastic action? No, it turns out, they need a special lab. I leave a little disappointed and rather insulted, I mean, she could have at least tried to contain herself and her outburst, hmph.

It looks quite possibly, sniff, sniff, that it is my frisky acquaintances that should be looking for a younger crowd to "hang with" because clearly this old hag is fast approaching her sell by date. Now if you'll excuse me I am going to purchase myself a box of Loreal to wash that grey right out of my hair........ because I'm worth it!

A lost friend

A sad weekend was had by all when we lost a good friend in a car accident on Thursday night.

Dear Marius,

May God Bless and keep you safe in his loving arms. The "big guy" with an even bigger heart. You will be missed.

All our love

Go Grandma

It isn't very often that I receive jokes or stories via email that really have me practically rolling on the floor with laughter. This is one was just too good not to share. Enjoy.

Grandma's letter.
She is eighty-eight years old and still drives her own car. She writes:

Dear Granddaughter:
The other day I went up to our local Christian book store and saw a "Honk if you love Jesus bumper sticker". I was feeling particularly sassy that day because I had just come from a thrilling choir performance, followed by a thunderous prayer meeting. So, I bought the sticker and put it on my bumper. Boy, am I glad I did, what an uplifting experience that followed. I was stopped at a red light at a busy intersection, just lost in thought about the Lord and how good he is, and I didn't notice that the light had changed. It is a good thing someone else loves Jesus because if he hadn't honked, I'd never have noticed.
I found that lots of people love Jesus! While I was sitting there, the guy behind started honking like crazy and then he leaned out of his window and screamed, For the love of God! Go! Go! Go! Jesus Christ, GO! What an exuberant cheerleader he was for Jesus! Everyone started honking! I just leaned out my window and started waving and smiling at all those loving people. I even honked my horn a few times to share in the love!
There must have been a man from Florida back there because I heard him yelling something about a sunny beach. I saw another guy waving in a funny way with only his middle finger stuck up in the air. I asked my young teenage grandson in the back seat what that meant. He said it was probably a Hawaiian good luck sign or something. Well, I have never met anyone from Hawaii, so I leaned out the window and gave him the good luck sign right back. My grandson burst out laughing. Why even he was enjoying this religious experience!!
A couple of the people were so caught up in the joy of the moment that they got out of their cars and started walking towards me. I bet they wanted to pray or ask what church I attended, but this is when I noticed the light had changed so, I waved at all my brothers and sisters grinning, and drove on through the intersection.
I noticed that I was the only car that got through the intersection before the light changed again and felt kind of sad that I had to leave them after all the love we had shared. So I slowed the car down, leaned out the window and gave them all the Hawaiian good luck sign one last time as I drove away.

Praise the Lord for such wonderful folks!!
Will write again soon.
Love, Grandma

Exploring a scrap

I have been enjoying a few stolen moments of scrapbooking again and really enjoyed putting this "puzzle piece" together. It was quite a labour intensive exercise and I'm pleased it is finally finished.

Why?

Have you ever wondered why YOU have been chosen to be your husband's spouse and the Mother of that child or those children? Destiny? Why are some people bessed with their families and some cursed (with abusive relastionships, partner or parent)?

I have often wondered why oh why God has allowed me to be a mother and a wife, I don't deserve them and they certainly don't deserve me. It hurts knowing that I'll never be what they need me to be no matter how hard I try. The best intentions are just not good enough. They are just so beautiful and precious and they deserve better.

Comparing to the Jones's

I have a question(beware I am in one of my moods and regrettably, I don't think Scarlet has anything to do with it). When a person is feeling down it is natural (correct me if I'm wrong) to look at the brighter side of other people's lives. I wish I had full time help like so-n-so, I wish I had a car like him, Wouldn't it be great to have the quality of like that that person over there? You know, the general wanting-to-be-like-the-Jones'-thing. I have been told on a number of occasions that it is not right to compare with others; her kids that listen, her husband that helps and is often there, her lovely clean house. You just have to not compare.

Here comes my question; Why is it wrong to compare to others that have more than you? (I'm not talking about jealousy or envy or comparing in an mean spirited way, I'm talking about wanting it in a strive to better the ways your life isn't. Does that make sense?) The moment one starts the proverbial "bitching" about what more they want, there are those "helpful" souls with the best intentions, who are the ones that told you not to compare in the first place, that remind you of how much more you have than others. Isn't this a little contradictory? I may not compare to strive or want more, but I can compare myself to those who have less or are worse off then I am in attempt to make my lot seem rosier.

I'm confused, so I'm just asking.

Our little Bokkie

Kade played his very first rugby match yesterday and did us very proud. He was a little concerned at playing initially because "I'm not really a good runner with the ball Mom!".

We encouraged him to do his best and he found his niche; tackling. He very proudly informed us that although he may not be very good at running with the ball, he tries his best to make certain that nobody from the other team gets a chance to run their ball to the other side and on occasion he had a few guys down on the ground, at the same time.

We helped him realise that there were other valuable jobs for the team mates to do and being a good tackler was as important a job to the team than just scoring a try. He practically tackled anything that moved after that and he did very well, preventing 6 guys from scoring tries and as a result his team won 8-5.

Perhaps we are going to have another springbok rugby player in the family.

Forgotten promises

It is really weird how life works. Some people call it fate, some call it karma, others like myself, believe that God has us all in the palm of his hand and sends us messages and interventions to help us through life or to teach us lessons in life.

Hubby and I spent the weekend discussing our marriage and whether or not there was anything left to save. Neither of us is entirely happy with life, each other or much of anything right now and we have reached "that" point in our marriage. Do we go forward together or do we call it a day? To make a long story short, we have decided to give it one last try.

Where does God come in you're thinking? Well, I have been invited to a series of scrapbooking evenings, dedicated solely to making a wedding album. I didn't really think too much of it until I spent this afternoon sifting through all my wedding pictures and keepsakes that I had packed away. The things I found and remembered really pulled at my heartstrings; our wedding vows, the order of service in which I had dedicated a poem to Mark, telling him why I wanted to be his bride and finally the letter I had written to him and left on his pillow the night before our wedding day, dedicating my undying love and devotion to him, making promises I fully intended to keep, yet realise I have fallen horribly short. Reading these things and remembering why I married him, why I love him and reminding myself of promises and commitments I made and haven't lived up to. That is where God comes in. Thank you Lord, for choosing a critical time like this, where everything could be falling apart and making me realise why and how I should be working harder at keeping it all together.

From Time to Thyme, things can happen.

Yesterday brought on an unexpected "Domestic Goddess" moment and I just had to share that from time to thyme these moments do happen. The kids really enjoyed getting their very own chicken pie pots. What the kitchen looked liked afterwards? hhmmm, nothing Goddessy about it!

Evil elves in my cupboard

It has come to my attention that there is either an evil group of tiny elves or tiny group of evil elves living in my cupboard. I haven't actually caught them physically so I can't tell you whether they are evil or tiny or both, but I know that they are there. I am not crazy, yes, I know you find that difficult to believe and from time to time I might appear a little off balance but crazy, no, not yet anyway.

To prove my point let me give you an example; yesterday morning AND this morning I dig in my cupboard for something a little more summery to wear as the dawn of Spring and Summer slowly arises and to my horror of horrors I discover that the clothes are smaller than they were last year! Can you believe it. These little buggers have basically spent most of the winter altering my summer clothes and have made almost every single one of them smaller.

Is that a snicker I hear? Please people this is no joke.

Obviously I cannot make them the same size that they were last summer and a new wardrobe is completely out of the question, so I guess I am going just have to try and lose a few pounds and fit into my newly altered attire. O.K, so getting rid of a few kilo's isn't necessarily a bad thing but jeez you evil little elves, you could have warned me.

Just the two of us

Madam Fluff drew this picture of the two of us and I just absolutely love it. It is very seldom that she really feels like sitting down and drawing so this beautiful and colourful work of art has found a warm fuzzy spot deep in my heart. Thank you Princess. I love you.

Could I have some Tomato Sauce with that please?

I must admit, I am a Tomato Sauce (ketchup) girl. I could pretty much add it to any meal before I would consider using another sauce. Macaroni cheese just isn't the same without a dash or rather a dollop of good old tomato sauce. I do however have to draw the line somewhere, I suppose, like today for example; we arrive home from school and fluff requests a peanut butter sandwich, no problem. As I am about to add the finishing touches to the gourmet sarmie, Fluff tells me to add tomato sauce.....huh?

"No, sweetie" I reply, holding down the urge to reflux right at that moment, "Peanut butter and tomato sauce just don't go together."

"O.K." she says, "Can you just put it on the side and I will dip the bread in?"

The urge to gag returns. " Caley girl, please, tomato sauce and peanut butter sarmies just don't go together."

Thank goodness, the conversation did end there and she sauntered off to munch on her lunch.

Although I am quite prepared to give any food item a reason to be enhanced by my favourite condiment, I'm not sure I am going to give this one a try. Excuse me, the urge to gag has returned again.

Building a life

Something that has been on my mind ever since my "big boy" turned 7 on Saturday and I can't seem to shake it. I have heard it mentioned more than once that the first 7 years of a child's life is considered to be their "foundation" years and all the values, or not, and the "base elements" if you could call them that, are instilled and in some cases drilled into a child in their first 7 years.
I find myself recollecting all life's required skills and values and wonder if I have have taught enough, loved enough and helped him learn enough to be grounded for life. It's sort of like laying the foundations for a building, without any architectural plans or design and if you miss something or add in too little or too much of any particular ingredient, well sooner or later the rest of the building will collapse, not the ideal thought really for a first time builder!!

So basically, I've been asking myself the following questions; have I drilled or instilled, which ever method you chose, the correct and the necessary life skills in these crucial 7 years that will ground him for life? Have I laid the foundations correctly or am I constructing a building that could ultimately collapse because I haven't developed the foundations properly? What do I do if I have missed something life altering? Is it too late now to fix it?

As you can see this is something that is actually beginning to stress me out a bit. I would like to believe, please let me believe, that the foundations can be adjusted and moulded correctly and accordingly as we build our soon to be "towers of virtue and morality" and that they will be the sweet little angels and upstanding citizens that we all aspire them to be.

Happy Birthday Kade

Birthday boy's breakfast order:

7 flackjaps and chocolate sauce. YUM












Check the smile on that face. A cool bicycle for his birthday. "WOW, just what I wanted."

















Lunch at Panarotti's with his friends followed by a fun game of ten pin bowling.


















What a great day. Happy Birthday Big boy.

Play dating on line

Madam Fluff: "Mom, please can I go play at Jacquies house after school?"

Me: "I first have to ask his Mom, Sweet Pea."

Madam fluff: "But I asked her already at Jean's Party and she said yes."

Me: "I need to speak to her and find out what day is convenient for her to have you over."

Madam Fluff: "Why don't you phone her now and ask her?"

Me: "Sweetie, I don't have her phone number, I will have to try and find it and then I will give her a call and ask her."

Madam Fluff: "Well Mom, why don't you just e-mail her?"

Me: "Hhmm" speechless...........

What about now?

Errors in my verbal garbage

Clearly, my writing/typing/story telling techniques are failing miserably. This has absolutely sweet nothing to do with the fact that my fingers are practically frozen stiff and that my ability to type resembles that of a poor soul who has broken all ten fingers and is uncomfortably attempting to master a keyboard with all digits in casts and splints, but more to do with the fact that I have a secret proof reader hidden in my PC that seems to believe that what I have been attempting to express over the last few days has been nothing short of verbal garbage and as a result you have spent the last 10 days watching little Snuggle Bug sleeping peacefully on the sofa.

Imagine my frustration when every page that I have masterfully...HA HA HA...put together over the past few days has posted as ERROR and just wouldn't upload or download or load, whatever, you get the idea. While I have been tapping away awkwardly in an attempt to get my 2 cents out there, my little proof reader is thinking; crap, garbage, can't believe she is going to tell the world that, what the hell is she thinking there is no way I am going to justify that with the time and space required to upload it and spits out a big fat error message.

Well, little proof reader hiding in my PC, this is for you, lets see what you do with this little slice of masterfully created garbage.

Quiet please, beauty sleep in progress.

Poor Bug was desperately trying to get some peace and quiet so that he could catch up on an afternoon nap.
Well, I guess we can give him points here for improvising. Five minutes, perhaps not even, and he was lights out.
Mom's cutie little Snuggle Bug.

Office hours only please.

I have had the wonderful experience lately of having to deal with the banks...hhhmmm....yeah, wonderful...cough...not... Anyway, perhaps it has just been my awful mood lately, yes, I admit, I get moods, but I have had a few phone calls and SMS's from people and institutions after hours and on weekends. I am not sure about you but this freaks me out to no end.

I answered hubby's phone one Saturday afternoon.

Caller: "Can I speak to Mr. Hubby?"
Me: "He's not available right now, who is calling please?"
Caller: "This is so-n-so from the bank."

I explain that I am Mrs. Hubby and ask what it is I can do for him.

Caller: "I need to speak to him regarding such and such, can he please call me back?"
Me: "Sure."

I take down his details and relevant reference numbers etc.

Me: "Can he call you as soon as he returns?" Knowing what the answer will be.
Caller: "He can phone back on Monday after 8.30am."

My blood begins to boil and poor caller gets it.

Me: "Please tell me, why it is that you can inconvenience me on my weekend and after hours, yet I am only able to make any queries with your institution during office hours?"
Caller: "Often when we call people during the day, they are too busy to speak to us."

I'm thinking, conveniently I am sure!

Me: "Tell me." I'm ready for him. "If I call you during office hours and you are busy, surely I would just have to hold until you're available?" (And listen to some very boring announcements and or music and a huge cost to my phone bill while I am on hold awaiting your attention?)
Caller: " Yes, that is right." Beginning to sound very sheepish.
Me: "Well, I guess that settles it then, if you need to speak to my husband during office hours and he is unfortunately a little too busy to speak to you, then I am afraid you will just have to hold. O.K?"
Caller: "O.K. Thank you."

And with that, a very speedy good bye.

It really infuriates me when institutions call me after hours, when they would not be prepared to accommodate me and my enquiries at those hours; when people send me messages as late at 10pm, informing me that my account is overdue (by like a day!). Excuse me, thank you very much but piss off and phone me Monday to Fridays 8.30am to 5pm and if I am busy, you can hold!

Love letters

Kade has been enjoying our Church's Holiday Bible Club this week and yesterday they were invited to write a letter to someone. This is my "Love Letter" from my son. It reads.....

Mom you my favourite Mom in my heart.

I really love you a lot.

I am really happy it you my Mom.

Now isn't that enough to just make your heart turn to mush and your knees go weak?

Above all else

I've sat here a few times in the last week trying to find words to express the way I've been feeling lately and, well, it's been a little too hard. The truth is, the horrible truth, is that my marriage is in serious trouble. I find it really hard to accept that after almost 20 years together it has come to this. One would think that if you have made it this far as a couple then it should be smooth sailing from here on, after all, what more could you go through that hasn't already been tried and tested and boy have we been tried and tested. We always came out on top, but some how, this time it isn't as easy.

I am not going to blame him or accuse him, he has his faults but I am not going to fool anyone by proclaiming to be the perfect wife either, if anything, after reading my posts, you have come to realise that most of me is just downright balmy, intense, anal and at times probably rather annoying. Perhaps those parts of me have become to much for him. Perhaps unconditional love develops conditions and the person you believed to have loved all this time becomes nothing more than an irritation, a burden, who knows.

There are things in my life which I choose not to discuss, perhaps an entry on post secrets would reveal my sadness and pain and rid of it in a web of peoples lies, deceits and deep dark secrets, where it can anonymously slip out of my life and into oblivion. I have no friends to share my pain, this blog is my outlet, my diary, my best friend albeit a quiet, unresponsive, gossip that tells everyone everything, just like people do anyway.

I'm not asking for sympathy, God knows I've contributed to the problems too, I only hope and pray that we can get through this and manage at least convince him that we are worth fighting for.

Missed and never forgotten

My Dearest Brother Grant who would have celebrated his 30th Birthday today. We love you still and miss you more than ever. Until we meet again.

Grant Andrews 23.06.1978 - 09.08.1999
This was the very last photograph I took of my brother 2 months before he died.

Celebrate good times

We all had a great weekend of celebrating. Madam Fluff was so very excited about Father's Day, she could hardly contain herself and I had to practically muzzle her each time she almost let slip what Daddy was getting for Father's Day. It was actually very cute and it was easy enough to forgive her because I remember being just as bad at keeping surprises as a child; I have, thankfully, improved with age. Poor hubby has his birthday in June too so Father's Day gifts are usually home made cards and gadgets (I think Bug finished all the glue) and the ever faithful socks, jocks, biltong and chocolates which the kids pounced on him with gusto before both his eyes are open. Unfortunately it was a bit of a miserable day outside so we chose to spend the day indoors cooking and watching DVD's.

Monday was my turn to get pounced on before I had opened my eyes. The mixed matched melody of Happy Birthday ringing in my ears and prezzies thrown unsuspectingly onto my half asleep body, brought on day two of the celebrations. The kids had a blast ripping open my presents to show me what they had all bought and we spent another relaxing day together.

Madam Fluff sought every opportunity at the restaurant we went to for lunch to tell every person within earshot that not only was it her Mom's birthday but...hello...."My Mom is 34 years old today!" Where was that muzzle, I didn't find myself as forgiving for this outburst. Fluff and Kade then told Daddy to instruct the waiter to sing happy birthday to me, to which I duly warned loving Hubby that any sparkler detected within a 5m radius would be unceremoniously shoved up his nostril, needless to say, there was no singing at the restaurant! Oh well, I suspect we all need a lesson in learning to grow old gracefully and sooner is better than later!

My Purple Hero.

Some mornings the kids wake up at sparrow fart and I allow them to watch T.V until breakfast is ready. The conversation that followed:

Madam Fluff. "Mom, you know, Barney is really silly."

Me. "Oh really, what makes you say that?"

Madam Fluff, with a sceptical laugh. "Barney says cleaning up is fun. Isn't he just so silly?"

For one of the first times in my life I supported and defended the famous Purple Dinosaur's argument. I just simply had to get my two cents in while I had the backing of a (I'm wondering if after this "ridiculously silly" comment, is any longer) child's role model.

Go Barney! I love you today! "I love you, you love me....La la la la la la la........won't you say you love me too."

The Two Wolves

Something just inspired me to add this in.....

The Two Wolves

One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said "My son, the battle is between two "wolves" inside us all....

One is Evil; It is anger, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego.

One is Good; It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith."

The grandson thought about this for a minute and then asked his Grandfather: "Which wolf wins?"

The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."

.........Probably because it made me realise that all this time, I having been "feeding" the wrong beast!

Stuff about me.

1. I am the eldest child and only girl.
2. I married my High School Sweetheart, Mark. We have been together for almost 20 years and married for 8 of them.
3. We have three children, a precious yet complicated trio of different personalities.
4. I have had three miscarriages.
5. My ambitions as a child was to either be a teacher or a spy. I am neither.
6. As a child, Princess Diana was my best friend, I adored her, we "chatted" all the time, funny though, I did all the talking!
7. I was a rebellious teenager.
8. I have never taken drugs. Oops, there was that ONE puff of a joint when I was 23, that's all.
9. I spent almost a year in boarding school when I was in Gr. 6. I hated it.
10. I LOVE puddings, forget cake, give me pudding, warm, tummy warming pudding with cream.
11. My hubby and I were born at the same hospital, almost exactly one year apart.
12. I enjoy taking photographs. I am still mastering the art.
13. I enjoy crafts.
14. I put on 30kg's when pregnant with my first child. When he was born I lost 12kg's. I still haven't lost the other 18kg's.
15. I developed pre-eclampsia during my first pregnancy and had to have an emergency C-Section delivery when I was 35 weeks pregnant.
16. My brother, Grant, was killed in a car crash on Woman's Day 1999, two months after he celebrated his 21st birthday.
17. I had my gall bladder removed when I was 19.
18. I love lindt chocolate.
19. I failed matric. I repeated the year and passed the second time.
20. My husband and I shared the most romantic honeymoon in Mauritius.
21. My father was imprisoned for his role in the 1981 Seychelles coup attempt.
22. Losing my family is my greatest fear.
23. I love surprises, giving them and getting them.
24. Manipulative people infuriate me.
25. I know I was born to be rich. and thin.
26. I don't do windows. I hate housework.
27. Summer is my favourite season. Winter provides my favourite foods.
28. In an attempt to be thin and at the same time not deprive myself of food, I tried bingeing and purging.
29. Re. #28. I realised I hate vomiting.
30. My best day ever was my wedding day.

Passion Gap

Kade is the very proud owner of his very own "Passion Gap"! After much wiggling and wriggling the stubborn tooth finally came out (without the help of a dentist). For those who are not familiar with the term passion gap...know this...there is a "cultural group" in the Cape that deliberately remove their front teeth and believe that in doing this, they are sexier, better looking and a good catch....yes it's true...it is sexy in some cultures to have no front teeth!!!
Ja well no fine hey! Nay bru....check out my sexy boooi chiiinah.

Scrap addict

I have always been a huge scrap booking fan although I hardly ever have the time to sit down and get on with it. Thanks to my new "load shedding" initiative, I finally found some time to join a few girls and dedicate a couple of hours to one of my favourite hobbies. Three kids in seven years has provided many, many photo opportunities and I certainly have plenty of catching up to do. The page was too big to fit into my little scanner and so I have had to photograph my handiwork but here is the proof that I am actually addicted once again!

The hardest words.

Stand in front of your mirror and just look at yourself? O.K. not really AT yourself but INTO yourself. Try it. Look past the wrinkles, the blubber, the grey hair (if you have any, I still vehemently deny that it was not grey hairs my hubby found but the misguiding light at that moment!). 1. Who are you? and 2. Do you like what you see? My answers; I haven't got the slightest clue and No. I am not the person I want to be, in fact each day I do things that I am decidedly ashamed of and wish I could take away, remove, delete, things I did, things I said. So many things I did and said. so many. daily.

To my husband and my beautiful children. I do love you. I am so sorry. Really. Please don't hate me.

Quit while you're behind

Due to the complete lack of interest on my part from a series of boycotting happenings this morning that resulted in screaming, hitting, kicking, food fights and adult arguing all between 06h30 and 07h15, today has been cancelled until further notice.

Breakfast boycotts and flying eggs

The battle for power is on again. The battle between the girls. I was always led to believe, while growing up, that the man was the head of the household, this statement, depending on how one looks at it can be true and false. Admittedly in our household, my husband is definitely the breadwinner but does that make him the HEAD of the house??? hhhmmmm, tricky?

There are days when I prefer him to be the head honcho but then there are days when it puts a feather in *MY* cap to say I am the boss around here, well, when it comes to the kids anyway. I think. Madam Fluff finds any opportunity to challenge this; this morning (and every other freeking morning actually) proves my point perfectly. Breakfast is a nightmare. She will refuse to eat anything, which completely contradicts the school's pleas of making sure your child has a healthy morning meal to ensure that they are awake, alert and not dreary and tired. All the fuss of getting Fluff to eat her breakfast is making me dreary and tired and a few other *beeping* things. Dragging (almost literally) her to school this morning in her PJ's didn't seem to feature too much either (perhaps she had noticed the pile of school clothes on the front seat and called by bluff, I 'm not sure.)

Is this a case of two stubborn hens fighting for the top spot or am *I* being stubborn in attempting to maintain my superiority by forcing something on her that isn't really as big of an issue as I am making it out to be? A little help here or as a fellow blogger so eloquently refers to as "assvice" (advice), would be greatly appreciated. I just don't see the point of making our mornings (as it is becoming) a traumatising experience for everyone in the household. Should I stick to my guns and insist that rules are rules (there are two other kiddies that I am afraid might cotton on to the idea of breakfast boycotting if I relent). My dilemma I hope to make your dilemma and would appreciate some ass kicking problem solving advice here. Thank you.

Load Shedding for a cause

After much deliberation, I had decided that it was time to sit down with hubby and have a heart to heart. Try as I might, I cannot admit to being a descendant of the planet Krypton, was not breathed life into by a mysterious ancient Egyptian cat bearing ancient and amazing powers nor have I been bitten by a radioactive spider bearing super human talents or thankfully any other type of spider, that I am aware of any way.
Basically this puts me, ashamedly, into the human category, and not, as I have been recently made aware, in the super human category, but more into the less than super human category.

Keeping on top of things has put me well and truly underneath them, somewhere under the world and occasionally under so much turf that breathing is often a struggle. As a last resort and just before I am faced with the last shovel of turf that is sealed with a large imposing marble stone (yes I feel like I'm dying...drama queen!), I faced hubby and negotiated some load shedding of my own.

To admit to him that I have failed at my duties was not an easy task but it had to be done. I had three solutions to my three "loads" and he was to choose which "load shedding" scheme he was prepared to support.

It was quite simple really, I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner. My three jobs are; 1. Full time Mother, 2. Full time housekeeper, 3. Part/full time secretary and administrator to my husbands business.
My proposals were; 1. Get rid of the kids, 2. Hire a bookkeeper and skivvy or 3. Hire someone to help tidy the house. Yes, I know number 1 is pretty harsh but it seemed a plausible enough option at the time.......O.K. seriously....... Please don't tell him, I never had any intention of getting rid of the kids (completely) I just HAD to add it in for effect!

Negotiations went famously in my favour and today(and in future, 3 times a week) was my first load shedding day, I shed some of my housework load on to a lovely lady recommended by a friend. For the first time I felt lighter, as though someone was removing the "dirt" (literally) and allowing me some space to breath again, I swear I felt a little sunshine on my face (even on this over cast day). I was a little afraid to let her go home, my life line, the one who gave me a little more space to actually inhale and exhale today. Thank you.

My three jobs now can be categorised as follows; 1. Still a full time Mother, 2. Part time housekeeper and 3. Part/full time skivvy/secretary with benefits. Feels better already.

BREATHE IN, BREATHE OUT..........FEELS GOOD doesn't it?

Sugar rushes and party cakes

After much preparation; finally and very successfully our fun day, fundraiser had arrived and what a fun day it was.

The Mother's Committee of Snuggle Bug's school hosted a Cake Decorating competition for the children; each child had to decorate a cake which was put into categories and judged. All in all I think there was about 70 cake entries, all of which were stunning. See below.



My kiddies each decorating their part of our entry which was a sweetie train cake. Kade took his job very seriously, Caley did her bit as quickly as she could and snuck off to play and Connor spent most of his time eating the icing, thankfully I had prepared enough.....hee hee.

This is ONE of the THREE tables adorned with the most beautiful cakes, all made by the kids. OK, I think there were one or two grown up fingers contributing but mostly done by the children. The fairy castle cake was the first prize winner! GREAT don't you think!!!

Our contribution, the sweetie train cake. Kade decorated the engine and Caley and Connor each decorated a little carriage. What a good job guys, well done!

Drowned Rats

Picture the scene.......Close your eyes........(erm...and read at the same time, cos you're so clever)

A "parking lot" and the school, two rugby fields dividing the two. Snuggle Bug in one arm (now three years heavy), an umbrella (that is constantly flipping inside out, thanks to the gale force winds) in the other hand and Madam Fluff tugging on my jersey, staying close, very close. Did I mention it is POURING with rain too? Changes the picture slightly, doesn't it? We sludge our way to the other end of what now seemed like three rugby fields, we manage to find shelter just before the heavens really opened. Thank goodness. The school bell rings. Pandemonium. A wave of mini umbrellas appears, children scattering everywhere, screeching and darting where ever they can to seek sanctuary from the down pour.

After 10 minutes, a brief calm before the next storm cues our dash back across the fields (now almost completely flooded) to our car, now parked in a puddle, I mean lake.......OK it was a huge puddle!

Four drowned rats sitting in the car, shivering and cold, our pants muddied and wet to just above the knees, dying to get home and change into something warm and dry and have a big old mug of some yummy warm hot chocolate.

Open your eyes and repeat after me.........

Never park on the other side of the rugby fields during a freak storm that will only last the exact amount of time it takes to fetch the kids from school.

Never trust an umbrella, they are evil.

Beware of masses of little people, bearing masses of little umbrella's, worse than evil.....life threatening!!!!

Never take your kids to school when it is raining....................

Happy Birthday Bug

Snuggle Bug did me proud, he partied hard and had a really jam packed birth-weekend, let alone birthday. Celebrations started on Saturday; while the girls were having their morning tea, the boys were all off to the waterfront for lunch and a boat trip. Sunday was spent with the family, opening lots of prezzies, having lunch and eating lots of cake. Monday was his birthday party, held at his little Nursery School, kindly provided and hosted by the ever lovely Aunty B. Festivities were brought to an end on Monday night with a scrumptious dinner treat at a restaurant. Phew. *I* was worn out by the end of it all and so was little Bug who didn't even make it home from the restaurant and promptly passed out in the car. Congrats little Bug, you did good. Happy, Happy, Birthday.

Anyone for Tea?

Saturday was a spectacular display of elderly (or should I rather say, slightly older ladies) behaving like giddy little school girls and just when the element of surprise could no longer be contained, the moment had arrived.

We shuttled all the girls of the one of the most famous hotels in Cape Town for one of the most famous tea's in the Mother City. We treated the girls to Morning Tea at the Mount Nelson Hotel. All of the old dears (and the younger ones) admitted to feeling like princesses as they were driven up the long imposing driveway lined with trees and escorted onto the veranda where we were treated to the widest selection of tea I have ever encountered. The fantastic buffet of cucumber, salmon and cream cheese sandwiches, muffins, scones and other sublime delicacies were enough to fill our eyes and more so our bellies to the point of absolute over indulgence. Their pamper boxes, filled with a selection of bath and beauty products also went down a treat. They were positively spoilt rotten and they loved every minute of it.

Have a look see for yourself.
The girls outside the hotel

At our table on the veranda

Digging into the pamper boxes

Digging into the yummy treats

One of the pamper boxes

It's raining, It's pouring

I guess this blog is one of the many things I have neglected over the course of the last week or so. You know the saying, it doesn't rain, it pours, well my life has, well, been pouring.

I'm trying to find one significant thing to write about but in truth the whole week has been one big significant conglomerate of happenings all of which do and don't lead up to this weekend and all of which have to be completed by this weekend. It's Snuggle Bug's birthday coming up and this is one of the times of the year that the family make their exodus from all over the country to.... my house.

Time wise it is the worst time, but memory wise, the best and to make those memories extra special, I have, of course, gone completely overboard and brought the world and a few neighbouring planets (thanks to school events) upon my shoulders. I am very excited about the weekend, as a belated Mother's Day gift, we have planned something extra special for the two grannies, two great grannies and a great aunt that have made a special effort to be here to share my Bug's birthday. More about that next week, not letting any cats out of any bags just yet (so Ma, if you're watching, sorry, you'll just have to wait and see!)

My four day chaos weekend;

• Sorting out details for Bug's party on Monday, with cakes and party packs for 25 children.
• Pulling a few strings and finalising the "Big Secret"......"Big Job" I can tell you.
• Preparing all the trimmings for the Sunday family get together here on Sunday with a full buffet, roasted and curry lunch, with cake, deserts and, and, and....lots of wine for me!
• Fetching and shuttling everybody from the airport and squeezing in their little shopping trips, coffee dates, chatting and catching up.
• My Granny is very frail and needs regular medi care and blood test at the local pathologist to check her blood and medication requirements. (her medication is adjusted according to her blood count)
• Madam fluff has cake sale today and guess who's class' turn it is to bring cake?...yup...you guessed it...her class.....send 50 baked goodies to school for cake sale.
• Helped Kade prepare for his school project due today. Technology week, learn about sunglasses and how they are made, design your own pair and bring materials to school to make your specs in class.
• Then there's the usual day to day must dos like waking up, getting everyone off to school, doing some admin, cleaning up the house, homework, after school activities....blah blah blah....you get the idea.

Please forgive me if you feel neglected, I know, you have been. I have been. The coffee has lost it's magic and I'm slowing dropping gears as my body becomes immune to the effects of the caffeine. But I promise I'll be back.....with all the news of the weekend........

Just a Mom

Just for Mother's Day today I found a little something that makes one stop and realise that "just being a housewife and Mom" is a pretty high profile job.

I am not sure who it was written by.

Happy Mother's Day to all you "career gals"

JUST A MOM?

A woman, renewing her driver's licence at the County Clerk 's office,
was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation. She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself. 'What I mean is,' explained the recorder,
'do you have a job or are you just a ?' 'Of course I have a job,' snapped the woman. 'I'm a Mom.''We don't list 'Mom' as an occupation,
'housewife' covers it,'
Said the recorder emphatically. I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself
in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall.
The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised,
efficient, and possessed of a high sounding title like,
'Official Interrogator' or 'Town Registrar.' 'What is your occupation?' she probed. What made me say it? I do not know.
The words simply popped out.
'I'm a Research Associate in the field of
Child Development and Human Relations.' The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair and
looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly emphasizing the most significant words.
Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written,
in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire. 'Might I ask,' said the clerk with new interest,
'just what you do in your field?' Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice,
I heard myself reply,
'I have a continuing program of research,
(what mother doesn't)
In the laboratory and in the field,
(normally I would have said indoors and out).
I'm working for my Masters, (first the Lord and then the whole family)
and already have four credits (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities,
(any mother care to disagree?)
and I often work 14 hours a day, (24 is more like it).
But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers
and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money.' There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she
completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door. As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career,
I was greeted by my lab assistants -- ages 13, 7, and 3.
Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model,
(a 6 month old baby) in the child development program,
testing out a new vocal pattern.
I felt I had scored a beat on bureaucracy!
And I had gone on the official records as someone more
distinguished and indispensable to mankind than 'just another Mom.'
Motherhood! What a glorious career!
Especially when there's a title on the door. Does this make grandmothers
'Senior Research associates in the field of Child Development and Human Relations'
And great grandmothers
'Executive Senior Research Associates?'
I think so!!!
I also think it makes Aunts
' Associate Research Assistants.'

and so the day begins

I was really impressed with myself this morning, not because I woke up at 5am and was too afraid to go back to sleep in case I never woke up, but because I managed to get through the chaos of the morning on my own, without my jet-setter-now-travelling-as-we-type-husband. All the kids were fed (healthy breakfast food), dressed in the correct clothes, (right way around), teeth and hair brushed, faces washed and remnants of the sandman removed. Bags were packed, lunch boxes did have food in them, juice bottles were full...check!

The real winner; we were still on time. Yeeha. I can do this.

The kids stand waiting in their little queue at the front door for me to escort them out, huh, with me carrying all of the bags and sundry, as usual. Close the front door behind me. Were on our way.
Get to the car. No Keys. Crap. We're stranded in the space between. We can't get in the car because I'd forgotten to take the keys. We can't get back into the house to fetch them because the house keys are on the same bunch and I've just latched the door behind me. Crap.

I manage to pry open a window in my bedroom and squeeze Madam Fluff through the burglar bars and in search of the keys. She can't find them and begins to panic and cry because she is now locked in the house. Double Crap. Trying to calm her down through a large wooden door, while trying to silently calm myself down is a task to master and thankfully I did, well, I at least managed to calm her down enough to tell her where I thought the keys were. She finds them and begins to cry again; she cannot reach the latch to unlock the door. I breathe and tell her to breathe and so we're both breathing, at least something is happening! Eventually I calm her down enough to explain that she can pass the keys to me through the window. Finally I am in possession of the keys. Jubilation. I praise my now-very-proud-of herself-burglar-in-training-key-finding-daughter, we all pile into the car and we are on our way, just not quite on time anymore.

I manage to do some very cautious, of course, low level flying to the schools and actually manage to get Kade to the gate as the bell rings. More success. All kiddies got to school on time.

See, I told you I could manage without my hubby. No mess, no fuss.

Caffeine fixes welcome please

I am having one of those weeks where my feet just haven't seemed to touch the ground. They have lightly and briefly skimmed the surface once or twice but I don't think they have actually had a chance to make contact. One of my dear friends sent this to me on Facebook and I must admit the advice really does seem to be working; I am still doing really stupid things in my frenzy to get it all done, I am just doing them all faster and with more energy.

Biker Babe

Caley continues to surprise me. She is a feisty little Sprite with the energy and vigor of a chipmunk on Red Bull. I have also noticed her determination, if she wants to know how something works, she will find a way. Do not challenge her, unless you are certain, without a doubt, that you are up for that challenge; my little Madam Fluff will take any one and anything on. Head on. Including me, but that's not the point right now, I'll babble about that another time. Today her determination and will to succeed has amazed me.

Caley has a lovely pink "Barbie" (no doubt) bicycle, with all the frills (that she ripped off) and the little training wheels. She spends most of her time on this bike, she loves it . My little Madam Fluff has developed such a need for speed and a confidence in her ability to ride that she duly announced to my husband that it was time for the "baby" wheels to come off. The training wheel on the left side has practically bent itself upward due to the strain of her taking the corners so hard and fast.

Hubby is not too keen on the idea but she persists and naturally he relents and the baby wheels come off. He prepares himself for the big lesson on how to ride a "two wheel" bike, he readies himself to go out and hold on to the back of the seat and lead her steadily in the right direction and cautiously on her way. As we walk out of the front door we hear "Look Dad, I'm riding!". Well, I'll be a monkeys bottom; zooming past us was Madam Fluff on her bike minus the baby wheels and at quite a pace I might add. She rockets around the corners and each time she passes us we are greeted with a grin a Cheshire cat would kill for and her proud little nose stuck up in the air . "See Dad" she adds with a whiney " I told you so-na-na-na-na-na!" tone in her voice, well, that would be because the next thing she said was "I told you, I could ride a bike without baby wheels."

We soon realised that the reason she kept going around and around was because she had no idea how to stop the bike. Dad tries to explain very quickly, in speed talk, each time she whizzes past, but to no avail. "Don't worry Dad, I can do it." (yeah we know and that is sometimes what worries us!) the bike comes flying past us ripping up a lovely piece of turf and without Fluff on it, thank goodness. Caley's method of stopping....jump off, finding the softest spot of turf to land on and make sure the bike continues in a direction opposite to where you landed. It worked this time but Dad is not sure this should become a habit. He leads her off by the hand and begins to teach her about the brakes and how they work. Personally, I think he was a little chuffed that he was able to participate, some how, in little Miss Independent's first riding lesson.

International Sunday goes Mexican

This weeks International Sunday was Mexican. Arrribah!!!

Hubby and I found a great recipe for Peri Peri Tortilla's in a local magazine. We used the hot and spicy marinade for our portion and I made a simple marinade using garlic, olive oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper for the kiddies portion. Once the chicken was prepared we spread out all the garnishing; made up of lettuce, red peppers, tomatoes, cheese, mayonnaise and of course the flour tortilla's. The tortillas for the kiddies were cut in half to make a semi circle, they put in all their favourite fillings and we helped them shape them into cones. They had a blast filling all their cones and had just as much fun trying to eat them. They were a real hit.

Peri Peri Tortillas

400g chicken breast

10ml olive oil

10ml grated ginger

5ml crushed garlic

5ml peri peri spice

Combine all ingredients and marinade the chicken for approximately 30 minutes. Heat a non stick frying pan and fry strips until brown.

Hubby and I really enjoyed this recipe, we added the same garnishing as the kids but used plain Bulgarian yogurt to our tortillas instead of mayonnaise. What a treat

Appreciating molehills

(please note that this is a sad topic)

I was dropping of little Snuggle Bug at school the other morning and I overheard a conversation that really hit a nerve. A friend of one of the fellow Mom's went to her gynae after experiencing some unusual vaginal bleeding. Unfortunately, her doctor suspected cancer and she was sent off for the relevant tests. The results that came back were life changing and shocking; as it turns out her body is riddled with cancer and only her brain and her lungs have thus far managed to show no trace of it. I don't even know her and my heart felt like it was being wretched from my body and being squeezed slowly. Her poor children are only in Grade 2 and Grade R.

I know we all have our lives to live, yet suddenly I felt incredibly guilty for making molehill issues, such as me time and lunch box treats into mountains. I often pray to God that He would grant me a life long enough to watch my children grow into adults and to be able to share all their life's occasions and achievements with them. This poor woman has such a low anti body count at the moment that for 80 days, while she is on an immune building treatment, she may not even touch her kids and each night they say good night to her through a window. I couldn't imagine not being able to kiss my children goodbye as they leave for school or hug them goodnight, kissing their foreheads as they say their bedtime prayers.

I do not know her name, I do not know who she is but I have thought about her constantly for the last few days and have prayed for her and her family. Perhaps, if you are religiously inclined, you could spare a prayer today for her and other Mom's in her situation and lets keep our little molehills, molehills, even if just for today.

Soggy, Mouldy Sarmies without Treats

While all the Mom's were waiting to collect their little ones today, we began a rather (as it turned out), serious debate over lunch boxes and what should go into them or more matter of factly, should special treats go into them and when and why? Kade is quite a fussy eater and only chooses to eat his sarmies if the are made with the Woolies hot dog rolls; sometimes I am lucky and can get away with the brown hamburger rolls but that is really pushing my boundaries. If I were to make him a sandwich with regular sliced bread, white or brown, the confection I so lovingly prepared, will return home every time without fail. During our discussion, the question arose on what to do when your little one does not eat the healthy stuff but leaves no trace what so ever of the treats. I simply piped up, to a few of the Mom's absolute horror that I would simply pack the unwanted sarmie into the refrigerator and return it back into the lunch box the next day, minus any treats. Those dreaded sideways looks glare my way. Clearly I have hit a nerve. I need to explain, obviously.

My secret really,(and I know that one of those horrified Mom's will read this, so my secret is out) is that I don't put the same sarmie back into the lunch box. I lovingly make him another identical sarmie, pop it into the box and make him believe that he is eating yesterday's left overs and to add insult to injury, no treats. I sound like quite a horrendous mother don't I? How else do we teach them that wasting food simply because you don't like the shape of this bread vs. that bread, which was more than likely prepared with the exact same freaking dough is not acceptable, without having to guilt trip them about all the starving children out there who would have given their eye tooth for that meal?

I don't have to do the "you're possibly eating a mouldy, soggy sarmie thing" very often, he catches on and brings back the empty lunch box, leaving me quite exhilarated at my triumph and left holding on to the hope that it was in fact eaten and not disposed of in some devious manner.

Bribery and Corruption aka Discipline

Chores in our house is just that, dreary mundane chores; nobody likes to do them, it is just a part of life, it is something that at some point we just have to knuckle down and do. I ask myself the question, why do *I* have to do it all? My answer is...well...I don't, and so begins the training of a new extra mural activity in our house...the chores.

Toys, toys and more toys litter the garden from one end to the other and I have spent a better part of the last three days asking the kids to pack them away. I get some sideways looks (what is it with people constantly giving me sideways looks?), these kids look at me as though I am high on some illegal substance. I ask nicely. I ask not so nicely. I plead. I beg. I turn into one of the Witches of Eastwick, the most evil one. That works for a few seconds and in my moment of ire I find it somewhat amusing watching them scurry around quickly doing what is asked of them as though their very life hangs in the balance, which at that time, probably does. I found a tactic that works, evil witch that rants and raves and screams her head off; it hurts the throat a bit but it works. Mr. Hubby does not agree with this method of disciplining and to be honest it does become quite exhausting being the Sergeant Major all the time. "What do you suggest, hubby dear?" I ask rather sarcastically, "I can ask them a million and two times or I can scream my head off once, maybe twice if I forgot to add in the evil eye the first time and it gets done." Silence is his reply.

Yesterday I found a new method..wahaha...I ...ssshhh...bribe. No screaming. No shouting. Bribery, specifically money. (flashbacks of a younger less experienced *me* who swore that she would never resort to any of the methods I now use, haunt me) Standing outside I remind the kiddies that the garden service is due tomorrow and there are still toys lying all over the place. The kids giggle with delight under their little breaths, they know Mom would never let the weed cutters and lawn mowers damage their precious goods. Evil witch returns. If they are not picked up I will let the lawn mowers mow right over them; there's that sideways look again. "REALLY Mom? " pipes up Madam fluff, quite distressed at the thought. "Really." They call my bluff. OK. I can handle this, new twist, if you pick up all your toys I will give you R5 for cake sale on Friday. Madam Fluff is gone. She scurries around outside with Snuggle Bug in tow, shadowing her every move with the toy box. She then proceeds to start cleaning inside bragging to her big brother of her pending riches. Naturally he wants in on the deal. I explain once again that I will reward him financially for the effort he put into cleaning the effort he put into making the mess in the first place. "So Mom, how much will you give me if I do this and how much for that?" Well I'll be damned, little Madam Fluff is quite happy to clean up outside and practically most if inside too, for R5, while Kade wants a value to every little things he picks up. I calm myself by assuring the beast in me about to expose itself that his is simply a very clever little entrepreneur in the making, that's all. Then I take a deep breath and count to ten....thousand.

This method of "discipline" I know, will only work for a short time, probably close to the time that I run out of money. They are now practically demanding payment for every thing that they do. Kade did actually have the audacity to ask me if there was any financial rewards for doing his homework...eerrr...no, as in HELL NO. So, any ideas or non violent methods of bribery and corruption, sorry, discipline are most welcome indeed.

One or the Other

After waiting for an agonizing week, my father finally called me. (boy! did I get a crash course lesson in patience!!) It was surreal to say the least, I was speaking to a man I haven't spoken to for 13 years. At one point, it felt as though time hadn't passed at all, he babbled on about some things completely insignificant, which I put down to nervousness and a desire on his part to evade any complicated questions; like one in particular; where the hell have you been all my life and why haven't you appeared to have given much of a toss about me? To ease his discomfort, I let him babble on until he seemed to calm a bit and the babbling stopped. In my 15 minutes of fame, he had learned that his only daughter was now, not only married, but had three little kiddies in tow. I know for a fact, that some of our parents find being called Gran or Grandpa for the first time like swallowing their dentures sideways, so the poor old man had to deal with the fact that I had not one, but three mini me's.

I must admit, it was a little less awesome as I had expected. The conversation passed by without a big bang and afterwards I was left gazing at my cell phone, asking it "Is that it?", 13 years later and that was it; no fireworks, no crying, no spectacular rush of emotion. OK. That was it.

Excited nonetheless, I called my mother to give her the good news; well, as it turned out, it wasn't good news. Frankly she was, how can I put it gently? Pissed as hell. I am still completely taken aback by her reaction.

There is an event coming up which would require both of them to be at the same place at the same time and my mother is livid; as I recall the words used to describe me at that moment were; selfish, inconsiderate, unfeeling and self centred, to name but a few. Without being able to go into too much detail about this "event", it is something that would (I ardently believe) benefit the future of my children, which is of course my top priority.

It has been made monumentally clear that her feelings take precedent over my children's well being. Now, being the ever protective mother that I am, I am finding this a little difficult to grasp. Why do I have to choose between my children and my mother, is there a choice? Can there ever be without question a choice between them? Perhaps I am, one or all of the fanciful and glorified names above, but don't ever ask me to choose between anyone on this earth and my kids.

So, the first conversation I have had with my father in years had been dampened slightly, not completely though; I found him, finally, nothing can change that warm fuzzy feeling, hopefully not even the queasy, sick to my stomach feeling that has settled itself just underneath it.

I don't like cricket, I love it.

OK, please, let's not take today's title too literally, thank you. This week's International Sunday was postponed due to the cricket. We took the kids down to the Stadium to watch the Cobras vs. Titans. This was our very first live cricket match and fun was had by all. The kids found the dunk tank more entertaining than the cricket though which was a good thing I suppose because sadly, our team (Cobra's) lost by 7 runs.

Kiddies sporting their supportive gear.


Kade in the hot seat on the dunk tank.

Your favourite "me time"

I am still trying to get my head around this whole time out thing. After a few discussions with a couple of friends, I have come to the conclusion that we are all in dire need of this elusive time out thing, but seem to have some varied views on what exactly time out means for us.

For some a candle lit bath, (alone, thank you very much) is considered time out. For others it may be just getting a moment to do some nasty business in the loo without being reminded (by the little ankle snappers fighting over who is going to give Mom the best and longest piece of loo paper) of the unfeminine noises or foul smells permeating from the lavatory. There are those who would enjoy a shopping spree or being pampered at a day spa and many who would love a relaxing weekend away or better yet a week or more.

Does the lack of time that you get for yourself create a greater need for wanting more time for yourself? If you were to be able to regularly get those solo potty breaks and candle lit baths, would this be enough? Is the fact that I am able to write this blog in peace and quiet while all the little angels are in la la land considered me time?

I really am quite curious to know what your ideal "me time" would be, you know, just in case I've missed something awesome that I would realise I would really rather be doing.

Please take a moment to indicate on the poll (on your right hand side) what would be your ideal time out and if you have any other ideas or special secrets, please share them with us.

The boycott

It is actually quite amazing how our bodies have a way of communicating with us; many of us choose not to pay attention, but in their own ways, they tell us stuff. Today my body said ENOUGH! I have chosen not to pay much attention to it's desperate pleas for what ever it is desperately pleading for. All I know is, that at the end the day, it boycotted me.

After having spent a better part of the week coordinating my kids' social, sporting and events calendar, getting up to date with admin that was horribly neglected during the holidays as well as my home, that I certain was also about to boycott me, my body told me in no uncertain terms today that it had well and truly had enough.

A dear friend of mine suggested that I attempt to partake in a little activity some Mom's have the privilege of doing; Time Out. Speak English please woman I don't talk foreign!
No, seriously, she is absolutely right, but not only do I need to find this elusive time out thing, it needs to be the ultimate elusive, gym time out thing. I know I am terribly unfit as well as overweight and perhaps that is what my body is trying to tell me. It seems we, (my body and I that is) don't quite speak the same language yet, so I don't always fully understand what it is trying to tell me, however when you've reached 7pm in the evening and you pass out from pure exhaustion on the sofa before your children do (seriously, I was out COLD), I think that is a clear signal from my body to do something about our current state of affairs. (Note to self, see if Kade has done anything about the thin machine yet, perhaps while he's there he can add on an instant gym machine too.)

So, now it seems, that not only do I have the insurmountable task of attending to every body elses needs, it turns out that I have to actually take care of myself too. I mean talk about a system malfunction, has this old body of mine forgotten that we are a mother now and that kind of stuff is passed it's "all about us" sell by date?

I am seriously considering the whole gym thing, I know it sounds horribly like I don't want to do it, when in theory I really do, it is just, like the whole patience thing is a virtue I do not have, time is a thing I doubt I will ever have. The body and I have entered into talks, supporting arguments and negotiations with Mr. Hubby regarding the whole gym thing, so if I don't go.....well then I can blame my fitness woes on him. Stay tuned.

Techno Mom

I (think I) am most definitely a techno age Mom. When I reflect on the days without my computer and those long lost days without cell phones, I cringe, I wonder, how on earth did we manage? Well, we're all here, most of us anyway, to tell the stories, so they couldn't have been that bad but I'm pretty grateful that we have evolved from that era of life.

I am thankfully spoilt with a techno crazed husband and we are very blessed to have most of the latest gadgets that our "nerdy" generation have now invented for our convenience. (Don't you regret teasing that poor guy in your class with the 4inch thick glasses, who is now a multi millionaire?) You get my point?

When it comes down to housework, I am ever so grateful for my dishwasher, washing machine and tumble dryer (Any "nerds" reading this please invent a automatic mop and broom!!) and I spare a thought for those poor mothers out there who have to survive without these luxuries.

(Sparing a thought here!)

It was the start of a new term of school here at the beginning of this week and I tried my utmost to get Kade's white (thank you school) shirts clean. I have no idea how kids get them into this state and I do not think I want to know, I chose to remain oblivious, however, this does not satisfy my need to get these shirts clean and show all the other Mother's out there what a capable (cough....not....cough) housewife and mother I am. After the use of some "miracle-stain-removing-over-advertised and clearly misleading product" and tossing them into my ever faithful washing machine, no less than three times, I succumb. We're off to the cleaners. No child of mine is going to wear a shirt to school that looks like it hasn't seen a washing machine since he took it off last term!

I return the next day to collect the hopefully no longer stain embedded items.

WOW, is my first reaction, I praise this clearly domestic goddess of a woman on her efforts as these shirts are probably as clean as the day the were purchased. She looks at me sideways. I continue to shower her with praise and practically insist that she give me the name of the secret potion that did this wonder work. She looks at me sideways again. What is with this woman?
My praising eases as I realise she is not really appreciating my efforts and much as I appreciate hers right now. "Well thank you very much, here's your money, but please, tell me how you managed to get these so clean." I ask one more time.

"Well Madam" looking at me sideways once again, "I just used a little OMO and hand washed them."

............hmph.........................well I guess I will just take that and shove in my techno mom posterior!