AHA...2012

Happy New Year and may …blah blah blah…!

At 00:35 this morning I had my first epiphany! Pretty bloody impressive, I thought. I find the best epiphanies occur either when I’m really tired or in the shower.

Only 35 minutes into 2012 I realised that life is not for attending. Life is for making an effort. If you just want to attend, you should have been an animal, cause that’s what they do. Animals just are, they want to survive and everything they do is with that goal in mind. But we are special, we are human, we have big brains and we have the ability to choose.

The second last day of 2011 was a tough one. We had a road trip with seven people crammed into my station wagon. My six year old green with motion sickness and granddad (that suffers from fear of heights…and I mean this is real fear, not the kind where somebody proclaims a fear of heights, but it is merely a dislike for heights…I’m talking about the kind of fear that prevents the man from getting up two steps on a ladder) pale with anxiety as we zigzagged through the mountain pass to get to our destination. The trip back was just as eventful as siblings started getting annoyed with one another and you start wondering what were you thinking when you decided to have more than one child. What’s with that stupid philosophy?? We don’t want little Joey to grow up an only child…he would be so happy to have a little sister. BULSHIT!!! Joey would love to be an only child…he would love to lap up all the attention and love his parents, grandparents and who the hell ever want to bestow upon him. He would love to inherit the entire trust fund, instead of sharing it with an annoying bratty sister!

 Anyway…road trip. It was at this point that the teasing and hair pulling got out of hand and I decided to re-arrange seating in the car. I ended up in the BOOT with my 4 year old. The air circulation in my car stops at the passenger seats and the height requirements for my boot was not meant for a 40 year old woman. At this point, all the vehicles behind us are having a giggle at this idiot mom sitting with her kid in the boot of the car. I recon my husband also felt the mocking stares and insisted that I take over the wheel, he is feeling a little sleepy, he claims. Another round of musical car chairs ensued and off we were. About 10 min into my turn at the wheel, the tyre blew out! Really…are you shitting me? It was at this point that I allowed autopilot to kick in, that’s where even Momzilla sits quietly in the corner and shuts the F%*k up.

We finally got home physically in one piece, but mentally completely frayed and coming undone at the seams. That’s when hubby took one look at his close-to-a-nervous-breakdown wife and cancelled all future plans. No New Years Eve party, no family visit for a few days into the New Year, no social commitments until mom gets her marbles back.

Needless to say yesterday I felt like a turd. I was disappointed in myself and felt that people would never understand that we changed our minds about having them over. People will think that we are being funny or rude or just indecisive. What people will not know is that it has nothing to do with them; it’s about me putting so much pressure on myself to be the perfect mom, the perfect hostess and creating the perfect life. Our circumstances have changed dramatically the last year and nothing can and will ever be the same or even remotely close to perfect. We cannot do the things that appear effortless and normal as a family. Our family is different and very taxing. We have to live with the limitations and a new reality that will make our lives sane and fulfilling.

This is still not the epiphany I had…it’s the build up to the epiphany!

So yesterday afternoon I’m feeling glum and annoyed that it is New Years Eve and all my great plans to have a fabulous party is canned. I’m wearing my old house dress. (The one you wear when you decide not to put on make-up or a bra for the day. The one that hangs in the bathroom and gets worn three times before it goes into the wash.) I  realised that it is the same dress I wore last year at New Years eve when I also decided to have a low-key, no-effort, evening. And then I got 1/2 of the “aha-moment”. This is not right!!!! I will not go into 2012 looking and feeling like crap. I excused myself and retreated to my room all wilted and defeated and resurfaced fresh as a daisy. Party-dress, mascara and lipstick! I felt awkward, but within a few minutes hubby, the kids and my in-laws followed suit. I made paryt snacks and took out the champagne and we had an incredible evening, laughing, joking and having fun.

This was the ding-dong moment I had only minutes into 2012: Life is not for attending; life is for making an effort. However small the effort, it has an impact. It changes the people around us and it influences the outcome of events. So put on your best dress and make your world pretty, smile for the camera and change how your story ends.

Why kids ruin your life!

You wake up every Monday morning with the novel idea of taking control of your eating habits. Cut down on those pesky carbs and up the fruit & veg. intake. This lasts until about 7:30 am…when you’re making school lunches and the bread crusts lie cut-off ready to be disposed of. BUT instead of the bin, or the dogs bowl they end up down your pie-hole. The same goes for left over macaroni cheese, French fries, spaghetti and basically any other calorie laden food source which your kid doesn’t want to eat… Kids make you fat!

You wake up on a Saturday morning with the charming idea of taking the family out for the day. Other people do it, why couldn’t you? A children friendly venue is decided upon, all kid paraphernalia is packed and the critters even have shoes on. You feel happy and privileged to have such a lovely life. This lasts until your 6 year old starts complaining of stomach pains, which always happen when the car leaves a 2km perimeter out of town. The stomach pains are actually motion sickness, and for the millionth time you make a mental note to give the kid a pill next time you venture out. That’s when the 4 year old gets bored with whatever electronic device he’s been handed to keep him busy and starts dogging on his sister. This is also the point where you give up trying to listen to the soul enriching tunes of James Blunt and pop in Best of Disney Soundtracks. The fact that there are 30 tracks on the disc is irrelevant, because the four year old only listens to number 12,Hakuna Matata. At this point the 17 year old is hoping dad drives into a tree to put an end to the circus that is his family... Kids drive you crazy!

You decide to organise a play date for your 6 year old daughter. After 30 minutes of undressing every single Barbie and unpacking every single book, toy and puzzle things turn sour and the playmate comes whining that your precious little angel doesn’t want to play any more. At which point you use your “public speaking voice” (the one you use in front of other people, so they think you are a nice, decent person) to explain to your child that she has to be considerate of her friend’s needs. 15 min later and the whining continues about not wanting to share. Now the “authoritive voice” (the one you use when you want your kid to pay attention and be obedient, aka the voice your kid ignores) explains to your child all about taking turns. 5 min later the play friend comes in crying that she was hit in the head with a Barbie and wants to go home. Now Momzilla surfaces and directs the attention to the play friend: “Well maybe if you didn’t whine so much, you wouldn’t get hit in the head…get your stuff!”...Kid’s make you mean!

Your kid is sick. You sit up most of the night holding their bodies next to yours so you can gauge if they have a temperature or not. You clean up vomit and shit 3 times and eventually run out of clean linen. You end up on the couch watching Peppa Pig DVD’s from 5pm, waiting for the doctor’s offices to open. You worry and hope it's nothing serious.....Kids make you a parent!

Ho Ho Hold it!

Christmas came late to the Blackie household this year. Due to reasons uncertain, I found it very 

hard to get into the ho ho ho spirit. In years gone by our tree was up and decorated by December 

1st and most of my Christmas shopping done. The freezer would be stocked and menus planned, 

all in anticipation of the wonder that is Christmas.

But things are different this year. I found it hard to go shopping when my loved ones needed or 

wanted for nothing. I found myself completely indifferent to Christmas this year. It's been a trying 

year, filled with life changing news and decisions. I found myself collapsing into bed most nights 

only to wake still feeling exhausted. I needed some perspective, a dash of reality and firm dose of 

taking a hard look in the mirror.

I turned 40 this year and maybe there is truth in the idea that wisdom lies in age. I said goodbye 

to some of the obsessive compulsions that had me chasing my own tail for years. I started being 

creative...making stuff, beautiful things that made me feel good. I checked the baggage at the 

door and said bon voyage! I gave up booze, religion and recycling. I stopped the bullshit that we 

tell ourselves to get through the day. Maybe the Christmas spirit isn't a little late this year, maybe 

this whole year has been Christmas, filled with the gifts money can't buy. Yes there are such 

things; we find it under personal growth, isle 7. 

Sitting here, sipping my coffee, our rooster just walked by with his 4 chicks. (As in baby 

chickens…not entourage.) They are nice and big now, something I did not see happening. We 

have 4 cats and when the little chicks hatched I worried that they would be picked off one by 

one...now almost 3 months later and they are almost crown chickens. Their dad was vigilant and 

they stuck with him day and night. In the beginning you would see a cat dart across the 

lawn...followed by one pissed off rooster, until our fury friends got the message. The point is that 

it is in our nature to survive, obstacles get in our way, but we manage to get past them and 

survive. 

So put on your Santa hat, slap the rooster in the oven and say Ho Ho Ho! It’s Christmas baby!

F for Family

It’s been a trying week…and it’s only Monday!

My brother, whom I consider to be reasonably close to, is being a bit of a dork. Maybe it’s because I said his kid is a nasty little bitch, maybe it’s because I confronted his wife with his daughter’s bad behaviour and now she’s not speaking to me or maybe it’s because they are socially inept.

Why does family bother me so much? Why do I always feel disappointed at the level of reciprocation I get when making an effort? And boy can I make an effort! I think we get raised in the same pack, by the same parents and therefore believe we must have the same interests and goals. This period only lasts for about 18 years and when you hit your 40’s your family have now lived apart from you longer than with you and that is when you start asking yourself: “Who are these people? I can’t believe we are related! He/She were never like that!” Then you add to it that your siblings now have their own partners and offspring to care for and you have a recipe for instant dislike and conflict.

I have very little contact with my family other than my siblings. Both my parents died a while ago, so there’s very little bond between myself and my kin. Is that what we do? We tolerate family for the sake of somebody we love? I loved my dad and when he died I saw very little point of continuing a relationship with his family or even his wife. Would the same happen with my in-laws? If my sister, brother or husband passed away, would I still have a relationship with their families? Do I want to? What made me choose a partner that comes from a pack that I find so hard to bond with?

It’s the festive season, a time for false smiles and two-faced cheer…or do I really love the necklace my brother’s wife bought me??? It’s a time for tolerance and biting your lip. It’s a time to say thank you…it only comes around once a year!

If you're gonna rise, you better shine!

Mornings definitely pose the biggest challenge in my day. I love mornings, I’m a morning person…but that all changed when I became a wife and mother. I still love mornings, but every day it gets ruined by my dear loved ones.

Trying to get everybody to rise and shine is always the first battle. A battle I loose every day. The only person in the house whom I get cooperation from, is the most unlikely candidate: our 17 year old son. Yes, a teenager that gets himself going in the mornings all by himself; There is hope. The only interaction I have with him is a quick “bye mom” and “please open the gate”. He walks to school.

At this point I have turned off both my husband and daughter’s alarm, which has no effect on their sleeping carcasses anyway. I can understand a six year old turning over and pulling the duvet over her head, but a grown man! I have to keep the warnings and threats at a low decibel to prevent waking the 4 year old. He only gets woken 5 minutes before he leaves for school…to give the rest of us a running start and get a full face of make up on, at least half a cup of cold coffee down the hatch and pack the school lunches.

Speaking of school lunches, every year I buy woman’s magazines giving hints and tips on getting creative with your kids lunch. Every year I try these exciting ideas only to revert back to the same peanut butter on white for her and marmite on brown for him. How can a person eat the same lunch every day of his or her life? Getting creative is clearly a waste of my precious time.

We will skip through breakfast; I’ve covered that in one of my earlier blogs. Now it’s almost time to go, lunches are packed, tummies are semi-full, hair is brushed and faces clean. It takes a little coaxing to get everybody out to the car, especially the little one. He just wants to crawl back into mom’s womb and stay there forever. But with the necessary bribe of chocolate or marshmallow they are all in the car ready to go, at which point Dad gets out of the loo to go and shave…

I’m a morning person with an afternoon family!

I'll have a coke!

Today, one year ago, I got drunk for the last time. I always knew I didn’t handle liquor well and even went as far as admitting that I had a problem. But being an alcoholic...no, never. I quit drinking during my pregnancies, something I thought alcoholics couldn’t do. I didn’t hide flask of booze in my underwear drawers or underneath the car seat. I drank wine for goodness sake.

When a clinical psychologist explained to me what it really meant to be an alcoholic and what the implications were on my health and life, the penny dropped. It dropped like a 5 ton anvil and I realised that I can never have a drink again.

I live in a mediteranian climate province where growing vineyards is what makes the industry famous. Making and drinking wine are what people do in this beautiful part of my country. Having a glass of wine in a restaurant or tasting room at 11 in the morning never raised an eyebrow and were in fact encouraged. Having a cold class of sauvignon blanc after a crazy day with the kids helped take off the edge and put me in a better frame of mind to receive my husband after his long day at work. Giving advice to a girlfriend that experience a tough day, always includes having another glass of wine, or what the hell, crack open another bottle. You see, being an alcoholic and wine being your weapon of self destruction, it’s so easy to move underneath the radar.

Alcohol didn’t almost destroy my marriage, I did. I refused to look at my addiction to wine as more than a slight problem that needed a firm hand to control it every now and then. My husband’s threats and warnings were brushed aside and filed under: The things he can’t accept about me. Being labelled saved me from drinking. Being named an alcoholic, going to a rehab centre for counselling and recognizing my susceptibility to alcoholism, made me finally realise that this is more than a control problem. I could never drink again. I was shocked and sad. I loved wine, I loved the wine culture, I loved the whole experience.

My father’s family were cursed with alcoholism and I suppose on looking back, I could not remember a day passing where my dad didn’t have a beer or six. My mother’s family was cursed with depression and it seems like this combination of genes that came together to produce me…well, lets just say I didn’t have a fighting chance in hell. Genetically predisposed is what we call it. So along with your mom’s eyes and your dad’s nose you can get your grandfathers urge to hit the bottle.

Like I said, it’s a year of sobriety and life’s challenges are still there, only difference is; now I can face them head on with a clear mind. Last night my husband thanked me in the car on our way home from a friend’s party. He thanked me for our three children and for my sobriety. Your life does not belong to you to fuck up; your life belongs to your family. They own you; they own a right to have a good mother and a good wife. Let’s go have a coffee.

Do you wanna play poker?

Unless your kid is dying of leukaemia or something similar, I will beat you at this hand. Today’s blog is angry and dark and if you were hoping for funny…go look for Robin Williams…funny will not be posted here today. My two boys are on the Autistic Spectrum Disorder and I'm pissed off.

We were at a friend’s house last night for dinner. The mother of the house has two kids, an eight month old baby girl and a 5 year old boy. The eight month old had supper, a bath and went to bed without a peep. The other kids (Momzilla’s 3) were playing and making a huge racquet, none of which had any effect on the sleeping little angel. Were do you get those? Those quiet, sweet little angels which grow up on autopilot, which eats well, sleeps well and grows up well?

By now my three kids are old enough for the monster in me to only surface maybe twice a year, usually during a holiday when everybody’s just plain sick of being in the same house together all the time. But Momzilla runs this house, you are lucky if you see Sweetmom twice a year. I really despise Momzilla and the mere fact that she exists makes me upset. I tried drowning her for many years, but that never really worked. It was like fuel and just made her stronger and fiercer. I often wonder how my children will remember their childhood. Will they suppress the nasty screeching mother and remember the fun mom that played with them, made stuff with them or just loved them. Or would Momzilla scar them forever?

I spend 30 minutes with the TV remote this morning trying to figure out what my 4 year old son wants to watch. I went through 6 categories with 5 sub categories and about 60 programmes or movies in each sub category…TWICE. His response either being a crying “no” or just a crying.  My 4 year old can’t really speak.

I love my children, if I didn’t I would of left long ago. I’m just not sure if I love their mother.

Don't call me MOM!

I woke up this morning not wanting to be anybody’s mother. I have 3 children, two boys and a girl. After the third request to please get up and get dressed for school, my 6 year old daughter finally responded to Momzilla. (The ranting bitch that threatens in a low, slow voice, pronouncing each syllable of each word as if speaking to a foreign tourist).

The doorbell rang announcing the arrival of our domestic worker, my 4 year old streaked naked through the house to meet her at the gate, in his birthday suit of course.

Now it’s breakfast time. Luckily I had a left over Mc D’s cheeseburger in the fridge which my daughter was elated to have for breakfast. My son is another matter entirely. For one whole year he will eat the same breakfast cereal every day, and then without warning one morning he will turn on his favourite breakfast. No amount of pleading, bribery or even threatening will convince him to have a bite. Then the fun starts…suggesting every imaginable breakfast food until….BINGO….yes, he wants bacon.

At this point my dear supportive husband comes in to remind me to relax and calm down. I can actually hear the horn and alarm bells going off. (The ones in the loony Tunes cartoons.) Momzilla replies that she doesn’t need his advice of support; she needs him to feed the kid. End of conversation.

Why is it that my kids want me to have all the answers, fix everything, drop everything to help them with projects and finding stuff…and still think Dad is the clever one? My husband is a night owl and usually comes to bed much later than me. My 17 year old walked past the TV room where dad was watching a show…AWAKE… to wake me ASLEEP…to catch a mole in his room. Yes we have moles in the house…with four nifty cats you would too have moles in the house too…but that’s a whole other story. The point is, he had a problem, which at 17 I think he is quite capable of solving himself, and immediately comes to mom asking for assistance. INSANE.

Today I want to be a young air-hostess flying across the world, sleeping with hot Italian strangers and having cocktails on a beach. Today I don’t want to be anybody’s mother.

Tick tock

People always tell me that my life is almost surreal and I often wonder if that isn't a polite way of saying : you must be making that up! Well here it is...finally I can tell you about my incredible world, filled with ordinary stuff that morph into weird and wonderful events. So stay tuned and watch this space!