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Showing posts from March, 2014

Why is there no ‘I’ in ‘MOM’?

It baffles me really; this motherhood thing. We give birth to these all-consuming spawn and then spend countless hours consoling them at night, changing their stinky nappies, nursing them, feeding them, training them and dressing them. They shout at us and wake us and pee on us and spit-up on us and in their teens, temporarily hate us. It’s a completely unequal relationship. In fact, if kids were spouses rather than spawn, our friends would advise us to dump their asses ASAP. But we can't. We simply adore them. We love them with a massive chunk of our hearts. We think about them when they're not around and check on them while they're sleeping (often forfeiting our own sleep,) to make sure they're still breathing and okay. We cry tears of joy when something goes well for them or when they make progress of some kind: first word, first steps, first recognisable-stick-figure-drawing. If you are, like me, a stay-at-home-mom, you will understand the many dichotomies that

Obsessive Televised Sport Disorder (OTSD)

I hate televised sport. I really, really hate televised sport. I never used to. In my BC (before Children) days I remember getting a big glass of Coke and a tube of the Original Pringles and parking off to watch a game. I also spent many an afternoon/evening at our local pub drinking shots and shouting at boys chasing balls. I am as much a good South African as the next girl, and will willingly watch our national team battle it out on a rugby field, cricket pitch, soccer field… BUT there is a peculiar thing about televised sport that does something to my husband that simply slays me.   He becomes obsessed. It is all consuming. It is life threatening. And I fear, he is not the only one with OTSD.*   You see, long ago, again BC, I used to watch a local soapie fairly religiously. It was called 7de Laan. It’s characters were typecast. There was no incest, very little kissing, almost no infidelity. The biggest dramas were when the deli forgot a cheese order, or the coffee shop needed a m

But Mommy isn't fat?

Today, after school, my daughter arrived home and announced that she was hungry. She has always had a healthy appetite and can often munch down an adult-sized portion of something she enjoys. Today was no exception and it seemed as though there was going to be nothing left in my fridge once she was done: left over lamb ribs, some rice and gravy, some home-grown figs, black organic grapes and an orange from my orchard. Oh, and some ravioli stuffed with butternut and sage. When this smorgasbord was placed before her, I was so chuffed as she dove in and started making those sounds people do when they thoroughly enjoy their food. Oh! What a big, healthy pile of food you have there my love, said I. I'm going to get so fat, Mom, said she. Right then, my heart broke. Once she was done, I asked about this statement, where she had heard it, who had told her about “fat,” (in our house, even Mfuta the elephant is banned!) and she responded that a friend had told her that food makes you f