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Showing posts from September, 2013

Chocolates and cooking pots...

Today is my sixth wedding anniversary. Its iron or candy, depending on which anniversary tradition you follow. I have bought my husband speciality hand crafted chocolates from a chocalaterie in Oudtshoorn of all places, because we went on a road trip through the Karoo recently, found them and loved them. He got his assistant to buy something off a wish list I have on a cooking equipment website online and the only surprise will be which pot it is.   I really love surprises. I also really love thoughtful gifts. Sadly, hubby isn’t so good at either. But since it is an anniversary, I get nostalgic and pensive. I made a mental list of all the things hubby doesn’t yet know about me. 1.      I don’t like conversation in the morning. 2.      I don’t drink rooibos tea; I would rather go without. 3.      I love surprises. 4.      I am a stickler for keeping things in their right place. 5.      I don’t like it when people lose gifts I have given them. 6.      I hate it when he arr

A Rather Thought-filled Run

Running is a good place to think. This time, I was thinking about a speech made by some shleb at the Emmys this year. He said, about his partner, (and I am definitely paraphrasing, but the real quote is added below,) "You're my favourite person on earth..." and I wondered, is there really such a thing? After rattling off the names of his co-stars, family, and manager, Parsons gave one last shout-out to his love of more than 10 years. "[Thanks] to my favorite person on the planet, Todd Spiewak," he said into the mic.  Read more: I know what I should say is Yes. A resounding, definite Yes. In fact, I suspect a lot of you are thinking I should have said, my husband is, of course. And a lot of the time, he truly is. But sometimes it is my Mom. When she arrives and simply takes my girls from my exhausted

Stay-at-Home-Mom: Part II

I realised with a start, between three and four am, on a random morning earlier this week, that the reality I call my ‘job’ which stresses and exhausts, (and delights and surprises and enriches) me, is what my husband comes home to at the end of a long day at the office, and considers a ‘time out.’ That’s rough. I know that his job is a little more cerebral and that his stresses are a little more fiscal and have wider impact than our family of four, but I have been feeling like a bit of a prisoner lately – wishing for a chance to escape for a few hours a day and wondering if it is not time to start looking for a part-time job of some kind. Purely for my own sanity and pocket money. But then this realisation dawned and I was quite flabbergasted. This is what he considers a break from the stress of a day. It changed my perspective exponentially. Here’s an interesting fact: the concept of a stay-at-home-mom is a relatively modern one. I know it seems old fashioned, but in reality, when

I Blame Mass Media...

My expectations in life are unrealistically high. Yes, yes, I know that a girl has a right to demand the best of everything, but I am not talking about material things. I am talking about the mushy stuff, the romantic stuff, the friendship stuff and the personal stuff. If ever there was a critic of my writing, I assure you, I am the harshest one. If ever there was a critic of my appearance, I assure you, I can make Naomi Campbell seem like a kitten. If ever there was a person who looked at my life/marriage/child rearing techniques and found it wanting, it would be me. But why this ridiculously self-depreciating standard? I blame television, and romantic comedies, and music. I mean. In Jerry Maguire, Jerry says to Dorothy, “You complete me.” This has got to be the biggest load of crap out. Yet we, as a female species spend all our lives looking for a man to come along and say that to us. Because we feel so incomplete! But what about the fact that if we are incomplete, say a 60%er,

Brainless stay-at-home-Moms?!

Stay at home with my kids, I said. It will be awesome, I said. What greater job in the world can there be? I said. BOY am I eating my words today. I love my girls - more than what is actually healthy I think - but when you have had three hours of disrupted sleep and had such a productive day planned... I do wish I had a day job I could escape to. I remember being a teacher and having a 'free period' where I would prepare a lesson, clean my classroom, mark some books... given that now, I would sleep. We also had two breaks during the day. These were for tea and lunch. I would actually use those breaks to drink some tea, (hot tea, not luke-warm, tepid tea, in a mug lifted high above my head so that my baby doesn't grab it after I have fetched it from the coffee table on the other side of the room where it was put so that my toddler doesn't bump it over!) and I would eat some lunch. Yes, it is almost 3pm and I have not yet had lunch. What would I do without mom's group

Make the moments happen

I have one of the typical symptoms of motherhood – I think – that I feel guilty doing something for myself when I could be doing something for/with my children. I am getting better, I’ll admit, but it takes a lot of psyching up on my part. But last week, we put our foot down, (“we” being my husband,) and asked our nanny to stay on until six every evening to help with the children, as he is under a lot more pressure at work of late. She was more than happy to oblige, as she loves the girls and said that she had heard me ‘losing it’ in the evenings and she wondered why I had never asked her to help. Grrrr. Nevertheless, this has happened and it has been a rather nice adjustment to our home. The girls bath while I cook supper and my husband can come home from work to a far calmer household. Tonight while I was chopping and peeling for a Monday night detox broth, I missed my little girl’s hands finding their way into everything. We often cook together and I wondered when we would do t

I have a race number...

I am shitting myself. Excuse the profanity. But I am. For those of you who know me personally, you know how big a deal this is: I have entered a running race. I have friends who've gone from being close to obese to running 21km, 42km, 92km races; and even a friend who runs over 200 km with ease. To those friends, this blog post is not for you. Those friends have managed past this hurdle with ease; one might even say they ran past it. I'm talking to those of us who don't find running to be something that comes naturally. There are those who truly need to work daily in order to even make a few hundred meters progress on a run, let alone shaving off a few minutes. I am one of those. It's not easy. Or even fun. Honestly, I'd rather not run than run. I can't deny the benefits are not only physiological, but also psychological.   E verything feels better after a run. And yes, it pains me to actually admit it.   So how did I end up entering a race? Well, that stems bac

Saying goodbye to crappy friends

I don't let go easily. It's hard for me to say goodbye to Christian Grey, let alone a friend who's been around for longer. (Or even real!) I just hate having awkwardness out there and even unresolved issues. I guess it's because I share my feelings more openly than some; I hate secrets. But I can't think of more than a handful of people who I would cross the street to avoid.  It sucks when a friendship falls apart and there are unresolved issues that hang around - but won't ever be addressed. I am really not a "leave the loose ends loose" kinda gal. I like things tied up. (Too much Fifty Shades?) I like questions answered, t's crossed and i's dotted. I've even gone so far as to have a "break-up tea" with a friend just to formalise our parting of ways. And what’s worse, especially if you ask my Mom, I seem to have a romanticised idea of what a friendship should be, and will thus hang on even when friendships are well past thei

When running smells glorious

I went to an all girls’ boarding school for high school. Yip. Imagine every cliché you can, and that was us. BUT this is aside from the point. When we were in Grade 8, first year, we had to run every morning as part of our initiation. Our run was scheduled for five thirty, and lasted for about forty minutes. The last lap was around the boys’ school across the road. The fact that is was the end of the run is not significant really, apart from the fact that this was shower time in the boys’ dorms. And we would salivate at the smells of soap and cologne wafting through the windows. I was a trouble maker, back in those days, (and probably still?) but I had a boyfriend, briefly, who was three years ahead of me in school. This made me quite unpopular with the older girls – many of whom were in charge of these runs – so the advice my cousin had given me: to tie a pony in my hair and walk fast enough for the pony tail to jiggle, which makes it look like you are running; became redundant.