There is always something that needs attention, always a demand of some sort. I've filled their cups with Oros but of course they want my Woolworths Litchi that was gifted to me by my visiting mother just yesterday. The empty carton stands on our kitchen counter. So much for that. It's very hard not to growl, roll my eyes or erupt with a sarcastic reply - but just then dad steps in. Thank God for grown up's, perhaps it's time for me to grow up, perhaps it's time for me to set boundaries?
Story time on the couch and I'm sitting at the dining table with earphones in my ear. I've turned the meditation music up so loud that my ear canal's are quivering, but I'm trying to drown out the chatter - just for 10 minutes please. It's not that I want to distance myself from their fable fun time, but this is the first break today and I'm embracing it. Call me antisocial, I feel feathers.
"Parenting is hard!", they said
My day has consisted of a balancing act of chores, children, collecting and dropping my helping hand, reports, calling cycles, a pounding headache, a sick partner, a needy cat that follows me around the house and an impending business trip that needs my attention. I cannot connect to the VPN and my computer has just crashed. Roadworks, a burst water pipe in our complex and the next thing that happened.
I had just collected a whole jumble of school uniforms from the school. Yes, I was that parent digging in the lost property bins under the sick bed, in the hopes that I could find something that I could claim and that would fit them both. In all my years at school, no matter how much I thought we had suffered at the 'hands of poverty', I never saw my parents do this.
Yet, here I was digging through paint splashed shorts and holey vests to try and find a set of winter replacements for the kids - because neither of us have money to replace an entire wardrobe of clothing that they've both managed to lose.
Unclaimed jersey's, long pants and winter jackets now in my possession, I pay and leave the school with rosy cheeks and a sheepish look on my face. If circumstances were different I'd pay for their uniforms myself, but then again, these little people don't understand the meaning of money and they don't realise the value of the items they wear. Besides, this is a challenge their parents faced, I'm here to step in remember? So on instruction and came and we leave. I pop all into the washing machine, I'm feeling all proud and accomplished. Look at me, look at me!
It's how you handle stress that defines your character!
Eldest and I have gone through spelling, maths and reading homework. Dad will be home soon. "This wasn't so bad", I thought. I felt quite proud of myself for sharing a second 'first' with said eldest child. The first 'first' we had was a trip to the dentist a couple months ago and today was the second 'first' - learning to spell the word because. "Betty eats cakes and uncle sells eggs". Eldest is most impressed, I high five myself for a well executed win!
And then it hit me, the washing machine seemed to be carrying on a little longer than the usual 30 minute 'econo' cycle. To my horror 1 hour has passed and I can't get the machine to switch off. All I see is a spin cycle of Rand's before me, I cannot switch this bloody machine off at all!
I also notice that it's so incredibly hot inside there, that the heat is emanating off the front glass cover toward me. I've pushed every button, turned every knob and turned off every power source and still this machine won't reset. As if the demon of parental nightmares has taken hold of my machine, I stand before it staring at the blue coloured water and realise that life at this exact moment has an infinite amount of suckage attached to it. A blue shirt has run due to the
Eventually I get the machine open and the inner contents now so hot that I'm forced to remove them with braai tongs. Braai tongs. Braai, tongs! The kids white collared shirts are blue, I'm talking Smurf. "God I know you're there", I recall thinking. "I know you love me, but why would this happen to good people?" I pleaded. All that money and I'm standing here shaking my head wondering what the hell I did to deserve this, what the hell possessed my machine and why the hell I'm still here.
And then I realised that I'm dealing with parenting problems. This isn't a personal affliction, this is a parenting one and therefore I need to find a parenting solution. (Oh look who just became inventive and mature at the same time.) Bleach, bath and blue panties (that were once beige) and an hour later half my problems have been resolved, unfortunately track pants are longer than my own legs and jersey's look big enough to cover a small car.
It's 19h56 and I'm ready for bed, so much still to be done.
This is a thankless job this parenting thing. The challenges are real and every time, I question why I'm in this. I could leave if I wanted. I could leave, but I don't. And I don't because I'm invested. I've made a commitment not just to the man I love but to the children that are part of his life, part of the package, part of him, now part of me.
Just when I question things for the millionth time, something special comes out of it. "We'll miss you while you're away aunty", "Love you lots and sleep tight aunty". Little arms around my waist, little hands with little fingers that glide over my knuckles while we say grace at the dinner table. Moments of awesomeness as I look over to the couch, little people listening intently to dad as he reads. Dad's facial expression as he giggles through the book with them.
Tears that stream down my face as I type this, there is reward in the hard work. There are blessings if you're willing to see them, they are part and parcel, equal and opposite to the agony of raising a child.
Biological or otherwise.
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