So there we were at the gym, minding our own business sipping on a healthy smoothie. The kids were signed into the kids club, happily enjoying their jungle gyms and tv game down time.
We sat chatting about life, love and our future plans. Suddenly the gym alarm sounds and droves of people pushed their way to the exit. My other half, still in mid sentence fails to hear my concerns about the children, neither of us knew what was going on. Was this a gym routine? Was this a fire drill? Was this real?
Suddenly the loudspeaker erupts with instructions to leave the building. "The kids!", I whispered. My whisper became louder as the words pushed the breath out of my mouth - "The kids!"
As I turned to investigate the commotion, hundreds of parents gathered at the doors of the kids club, followed by a team of health club personnel carrying medical equipment and a fire hydrant.
Dad's chatting becomes quiet, I'm still repeatedly saying "The kids!" as I run toward the entrance, leaving him behind in my sprint toward the children.
Where they alright? Where they alone? Had something fallen? What was going on!
As I pushed my way through a funnel of parents, I stood dead centre of the chaos trying to locate my two familiar, little faces.
"False alarm", shouts the attendant. Someone had hit the emergency button by accident. I was furious.
My heart fell, sank and stopped for a brief moment, resuscitated by view of my two children, safe and together and out of harms way. This must be what it's like to be a parent. To have your heart walk outside your body, vulnerable to the world's elements and dangers.
As I held back tears, the adrenalin peaked and my emotions were almost uncontrollable. Dad stood laughing at the pandemonium, I'm angry at the thought that someone could have been so careless but relieved that the children are alright.
It was in that moment that I realised that when it comes to the crunch, I love them more than I want to admit, more than I could fathom, more than I would be able to comprehend.
Until this moment of potential tragedy occurred, I was blinded to our bond or at least to my instinctual protection over them.
It was as if a curtain was raised before my eyes, revealing what my subconscious mind had been hiding from me - my priorities. It was always them.
Showing posts with label step children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label step children. Show all posts
Monday, 1 February 2016
Monday, 12 October 2015
Bombyx mori
I've never really been afraid of bugs.
Sure, I'm not a fan of locust's or things that may have a stony exoskeleton, but besides that, I can handle most insects.
It's that time of the year
Three weeks ago, our eldest brought home a box of Silkworms. No longer than my smallest fingernail, each little worm now depended on him for survival. "This will be a good life lesson", we thought, until one night he went to bed knowing they were in need of food and couldn't have cared less.
Perhaps too young (at the age of 9) to understand the responsibility he had undertaken, perhaps too naive to consider the consequences should they not survive due to his neglect.
Not a care in the world
A few days later, the kids are off to their mom for a full 10 day mid term break. The box of Silkworms sits on our dining table, dried leaves need to be changed and scatterings of digested Mulberry leaves need to be cleaned out from the box.
What happened next was truly shocking, although I shouldn't have been appalled - I was. Eldest skips out the door with bags in hand, gives me a half-hearted hug goodbye and leaves the worms behind. When I stopped to suggest he takes the worms with to mom for the next 10 days, he sheepishly hands over responsibility to me with a detached grin. Three worms had died in his care, my heart was broken, so needless to say they were mine to care for.
To live or die
Thankfully there is a Mulberry tree in our road, literally a couple steps from our house. There were jokes about putting the helpless grubs in the tree and let nature take its course. There was talk about giving them away and even throwing them in the dustbin. For some reason, I just couldn't do it.
Perhaps the hassle and the responsibility was my own fault, I could have chosen to give up on these little stinkers and continue with my 10 day holiday from the kids. Yes, even though I'm still working as usual, no children for 10 days feels like a vacation on its own and I was excited.
So I decided to keep feeding them
There were days of box changing and cleaning that I resented. The heat had been unbearable and the worms needed leaves morning and night as they grew and doubled in size. But there were days where (and I still do) just sit and watch them be. Their main purpose in life, unfaltering commitment to grow and spin cocoons. They eat, they poop, they eat, they poop and on the odd occasion they will sleep.
As they grew, they would shed their skins to accommodate their growing forms. By this stage, one of the worms had given up and spun his cocoon prematurely, as if to just shut out the world and retreat to a cozy, yellow safe haven.
I could relate. Yes it was premature, but he simply did what came naturally, even though it wasn't 'the right time'.
My box of lessons
One day last week, while cleaning their box out, a small golden shell caught my eye. It seemed that a Silkworm had transformed itself into a pupae without spinning a silky cocoon and died. We had just experienced day 4 of a massive, national heatwave. Perhaps my own neglect had caused this little critter to pass on prematurely?
I gently picked up the little casing, and on inspection, a transparent half-moth, half-worm had developed inside. How on earth did this creature manage to go into this stage of it's life without spinning a cocoon first?
Adapt to survive
I gently prodded the alien creature that lay in my hand and to my surprise it began to wiggle. The wiggle of life, the wiggle of survival. The wings were developing, I could see the changes happening and the adaptation within the casing before my eyes. It had failed to cocoon, but it hadn't failed to survive!
In that moment of awe, I became so aware of my own journey over the last few months with the kids in my life. My instant motherhood journey, trials and resentments. My ability to see that some instances are permanent, some are temporary and some are choices that have all prepared me for this change.
Sure, I wasn't ready to do this. Perhaps this little pupae was a metaphor for the journey I've been on.
Sometimes, we go against the norm. Some circumstances will make us feel judged, some may make us feel 'abnormal' and others will prod and poke us to remind us that we're still alive.
As we transform and grow before everyone's eyes, we may struggle with change and may even forget that all we're meant to do, is simply do what comes naturally. The change doesn't happen when the bell rings, the change happens as its meant to, be it break down, spin or retreat.
We may struggle with transformation and we may even need to adapt to survive. Some of us will be pushed to spin a cocoon and retreat within as we change, emerging as that butterfly (or in this case moth) that we inevitably will become. Some of us may transform, unaware that the change was happening anyway and yet everything is exactly as it should be.
You don't always have to be comfortable and protected to develop. Sometimes the shift happens when you're in the midst of a heatwave.
Sure, I'm not a fan of locust's or things that may have a stony exoskeleton, but besides that, I can handle most insects.
It's that time of the year
Three weeks ago, our eldest brought home a box of Silkworms. No longer than my smallest fingernail, each little worm now depended on him for survival. "This will be a good life lesson", we thought, until one night he went to bed knowing they were in need of food and couldn't have cared less.
Perhaps too young (at the age of 9) to understand the responsibility he had undertaken, perhaps too naive to consider the consequences should they not survive due to his neglect.
Not a care in the world
A few days later, the kids are off to their mom for a full 10 day mid term break. The box of Silkworms sits on our dining table, dried leaves need to be changed and scatterings of digested Mulberry leaves need to be cleaned out from the box.
What happened next was truly shocking, although I shouldn't have been appalled - I was. Eldest skips out the door with bags in hand, gives me a half-hearted hug goodbye and leaves the worms behind. When I stopped to suggest he takes the worms with to mom for the next 10 days, he sheepishly hands over responsibility to me with a detached grin. Three worms had died in his care, my heart was broken, so needless to say they were mine to care for.
To live or die
Thankfully there is a Mulberry tree in our road, literally a couple steps from our house. There were jokes about putting the helpless grubs in the tree and let nature take its course. There was talk about giving them away and even throwing them in the dustbin. For some reason, I just couldn't do it.
Perhaps the hassle and the responsibility was my own fault, I could have chosen to give up on these little stinkers and continue with my 10 day holiday from the kids. Yes, even though I'm still working as usual, no children for 10 days feels like a vacation on its own and I was excited.
So I decided to keep feeding them
There were days of box changing and cleaning that I resented. The heat had been unbearable and the worms needed leaves morning and night as they grew and doubled in size. But there were days where (and I still do) just sit and watch them be. Their main purpose in life, unfaltering commitment to grow and spin cocoons. They eat, they poop, they eat, they poop and on the odd occasion they will sleep.
As they grew, they would shed their skins to accommodate their growing forms. By this stage, one of the worms had given up and spun his cocoon prematurely, as if to just shut out the world and retreat to a cozy, yellow safe haven.
I could relate. Yes it was premature, but he simply did what came naturally, even though it wasn't 'the right time'.
My box of lessons
One day last week, while cleaning their box out, a small golden shell caught my eye. It seemed that a Silkworm had transformed itself into a pupae without spinning a silky cocoon and died. We had just experienced day 4 of a massive, national heatwave. Perhaps my own neglect had caused this little critter to pass on prematurely?
I gently picked up the little casing, and on inspection, a transparent half-moth, half-worm had developed inside. How on earth did this creature manage to go into this stage of it's life without spinning a cocoon first?
Adapt to survive
I gently prodded the alien creature that lay in my hand and to my surprise it began to wiggle. The wiggle of life, the wiggle of survival. The wings were developing, I could see the changes happening and the adaptation within the casing before my eyes. It had failed to cocoon, but it hadn't failed to survive!
In that moment of awe, I became so aware of my own journey over the last few months with the kids in my life. My instant motherhood journey, trials and resentments. My ability to see that some instances are permanent, some are temporary and some are choices that have all prepared me for this change.
Sure, I wasn't ready to do this. Perhaps this little pupae was a metaphor for the journey I've been on.
Sometimes, we go against the norm. Some circumstances will make us feel judged, some may make us feel 'abnormal' and others will prod and poke us to remind us that we're still alive.
As we transform and grow before everyone's eyes, we may struggle with change and may even forget that all we're meant to do, is simply do what comes naturally. The change doesn't happen when the bell rings, the change happens as its meant to, be it break down, spin or retreat.
We may struggle with transformation and we may even need to adapt to survive. Some of us will be pushed to spin a cocoon and retreat within as we change, emerging as that butterfly (or in this case moth) that we inevitably will become. Some of us may transform, unaware that the change was happening anyway and yet everything is exactly as it should be.
You don't always have to be comfortable and protected to develop. Sometimes the shift happens when you're in the midst of a heatwave.
 |
| My box of Bombyx mori |
 |
| If its uncomfortable, it's probably a growth period! |
Monday, 31 August 2015
No one understands it, not even myself.
I've been rallying through this instant family role for a year now, properly since the beginning of this year (2015) all on my own steam, no one gets it, it's not encouraged, nor endorsed by anyone who knows, loves or meets me. People don't get this, not even I do.
I read a short Babble article this morning that just summed up all my emotions and put everything into perspective that's pretty much, what I call life at this moment.
I have no village.
During a very real chat with Daddio recently, I lay all my cards on the table about boundaries. I've found that resentment and fear are buddies, and that where there is resentment, there's most likely an underlying fear that someone or something is going to have to be sacrificed. A least in my mind.
Having identified this conflicting duo of emotions, I've managed to stop, take a meaningful breath and then ask myself, "What are you afraid of in this moment of resentment?"
Nine out of ten times, it is the fear of loss I'll endure, loss of something physical or precious that I've worked for. The other side is the fear of lack of appreciation I'll receive from anyone, lack of gratitude, being taken for granted, being resented back. Something may get damaged that I've worked hard for (when they sit swinging their legs on my new camping chairs on the lawn or perhaps I'm concerned that I'm at the bottom of the priority list as the last bits of my favourite mayonnaise are put up for auction to the highest bidder without my consideration and yes, it's just bloody mayonnaise, why do I act like it's important). I'm constantly wrestling with resentment and releasing it by speaking about my fears and concerns as they arise, which set me free from the burden of carrying them silently, sometimes for days.
Try discipline a child without raising your hands, your voice or asking yourself why you signed up for this. I've tried, been and done everything in my power, perhaps this is my emotional rock bottom, my cry for help.
I need a village, and my tribe is very, very small. I don't know anyone who is in the same position as I am. I'm gapping this and I may just be losing my mind.
Why am I putting myself through this?
So here I am, letting it all out. The toothpaste in our bathroom has been forced down into the basin drain by 6 year old fingers his solo game continues in silence.
Thousands of little germs greet his dirty fingers, the same ones he was meant to wash prior, along with the booger in his nose that needed to be removed. Yes, he's 6, I get it, but it's my basin too.
I stand watching from a distance as he takes his toothbrush and sweeps up the remains of our dirty basin (please don't act like yours is spotless 24/7) bringing the debris to his little mouth. It is in this moment I realise that my en-suite bathroom has been overthrown, my sanctuary and only place to hide has been taken over because two little boys have to be separated otherwise there are distractions and fighting and nothing really gets done. This is bullshit.
When I realise that he is in possession and alternating 2 toothpaste tubes (and neither are the junior brands I brought him last week), I in turn, realise is our tube of adult toothpaste.
He has now managed to mix up the only 2 tubes of toothpaste in our bathroom, one of which was for his exclusive use during a severe mouth infection he had two weeks ago. Now I know where my ulcer and sinus infection have come from *rolls eyes*.
My blood pressure starts to rise, I've been sick and perhaps this is the reason why. Perhaps, if these were my own biological children, my willingness to share bodily fluids with them, including germs and diseases, I wouldn't be so pissed. Why am I putting myself through this, why! I share my resentments, Daddio quickly takes the tubes back to their original bathroom. I'm sans toothpaste I can trust. Now would be a good time to tell me I'm being oversensitive.
Toughen up or leave
I will admit, that leaving this place I call home with two small manipulators with very obvious psychological issues, has become a very real option. It's not because I don't love their father, God knows how much I love their father, it's because I'm wondering if I've got what it takes to do this.
But maybe, this isn't about loving myself more, maybe it's learning to dance in the rain as they say, about setting boundaries in place and being happy - for the most part - without losing my own sense of identity.
So I made myself a priority. (Ha.)
It ends by starting anew
And this week I look forward to so many exciting new adventures, on my own, because that's what all women need, with or without a village, with or without offspring. They need time out, pampering, friends and that moment when you get to a set of traffic lights, get checked out by a cute guy next to you and feel that ziiiiiiiing of, "Yeah, I still got it!".
So I've set out a date for myself, all my needs cannot be fulfilled by everyone in my life, so I'm making my own list and prioritizing myself once again. I'm seeing old friends for lunch and coffee dates that I've failed to prioritize over the last year, I've got a gym date with my bestie (me) I'm starting to drink green tea, with the intention of getting my sexy, un-mommied body back in shape - because that's what I signed up for. For independence, for self preservation, for date nights and movies and memories. Sorry Daddio, it's not personal, well it is, but not like that :)
Not because I'm selfish, but because I'm worth it. Not because you don't make me happy but because you can't give me everything I need, all of the time, and that wouldn't be sensible to expect anyone on this planet to make me (or you) whole. As my dad always says, "Life is a Do It Yourself Job".
No one gives 100% of their effort, 100% of their time to 100% of anything - it's not possible. Balance will set me free, balance is the answer, balance is the difference between expecting to be priority and then commanding it when the time is right.
Balance cannot allow resentment to come into play when balance allows for new adventures, stimulus and experiences. Time out, time away - without romance, without partners, without even being angry about it. Simply, just - for - you! So you can grow, so you can live, so you can create your own memories, experiences and identity.
Balance is in my own hands. Maybe then, people will stop asking me what I'm still doing with a man and his two children and all their baggage. An ex and her shopping list of tendencies to give less f#$%s than anyone I know about her responsibilities.
And perhaps when I'm smiling again because I've sorted myself out - everyone will realise, including myself, that love is enough and boundaries are everything.
I read a short Babble article this morning that just summed up all my emotions and put everything into perspective that's pretty much, what I call life at this moment.
I have no village.
During a very real chat with Daddio recently, I lay all my cards on the table about boundaries. I've found that resentment and fear are buddies, and that where there is resentment, there's most likely an underlying fear that someone or something is going to have to be sacrificed. A least in my mind.
Having identified this conflicting duo of emotions, I've managed to stop, take a meaningful breath and then ask myself, "What are you afraid of in this moment of resentment?"
Nine out of ten times, it is the fear of loss I'll endure, loss of something physical or precious that I've worked for. The other side is the fear of lack of appreciation I'll receive from anyone, lack of gratitude, being taken for granted, being resented back. Something may get damaged that I've worked hard for (when they sit swinging their legs on my new camping chairs on the lawn or perhaps I'm concerned that I'm at the bottom of the priority list as the last bits of my favourite mayonnaise are put up for auction to the highest bidder without my consideration and yes, it's just bloody mayonnaise, why do I act like it's important). I'm constantly wrestling with resentment and releasing it by speaking about my fears and concerns as they arise, which set me free from the burden of carrying them silently, sometimes for days.
Try discipline a child without raising your hands, your voice or asking yourself why you signed up for this. I've tried, been and done everything in my power, perhaps this is my emotional rock bottom, my cry for help.
I need a village, and my tribe is very, very small. I don't know anyone who is in the same position as I am. I'm gapping this and I may just be losing my mind.
Why am I putting myself through this?
So here I am, letting it all out. The toothpaste in our bathroom has been forced down into the basin drain by 6 year old fingers his solo game continues in silence.
Thousands of little germs greet his dirty fingers, the same ones he was meant to wash prior, along with the booger in his nose that needed to be removed. Yes, he's 6, I get it, but it's my basin too.
I stand watching from a distance as he takes his toothbrush and sweeps up the remains of our dirty basin (please don't act like yours is spotless 24/7) bringing the debris to his little mouth. It is in this moment I realise that my en-suite bathroom has been overthrown, my sanctuary and only place to hide has been taken over because two little boys have to be separated otherwise there are distractions and fighting and nothing really gets done. This is bullshit.
When I realise that he is in possession and alternating 2 toothpaste tubes (and neither are the junior brands I brought him last week), I in turn, realise is our tube of adult toothpaste.
He has now managed to mix up the only 2 tubes of toothpaste in our bathroom, one of which was for his exclusive use during a severe mouth infection he had two weeks ago. Now I know where my ulcer and sinus infection have come from *rolls eyes*.
My blood pressure starts to rise, I've been sick and perhaps this is the reason why. Perhaps, if these were my own biological children, my willingness to share bodily fluids with them, including germs and diseases, I wouldn't be so pissed. Why am I putting myself through this, why! I share my resentments, Daddio quickly takes the tubes back to their original bathroom. I'm sans toothpaste I can trust. Now would be a good time to tell me I'm being oversensitive.
Toughen up or leave
I will admit, that leaving this place I call home with two small manipulators with very obvious psychological issues, has become a very real option. It's not because I don't love their father, God knows how much I love their father, it's because I'm wondering if I've got what it takes to do this.
But maybe, this isn't about loving myself more, maybe it's learning to dance in the rain as they say, about setting boundaries in place and being happy - for the most part - without losing my own sense of identity.
So I made myself a priority. (Ha.)
It ends by starting anew
And this week I look forward to so many exciting new adventures, on my own, because that's what all women need, with or without a village, with or without offspring. They need time out, pampering, friends and that moment when you get to a set of traffic lights, get checked out by a cute guy next to you and feel that ziiiiiiiing of, "Yeah, I still got it!".
So I've set out a date for myself, all my needs cannot be fulfilled by everyone in my life, so I'm making my own list and prioritizing myself once again. I'm seeing old friends for lunch and coffee dates that I've failed to prioritize over the last year, I've got a gym date with my bestie (me) I'm starting to drink green tea, with the intention of getting my sexy, un-mommied body back in shape - because that's what I signed up for. For independence, for self preservation, for date nights and movies and memories. Sorry Daddio, it's not personal, well it is, but not like that :)
Not because I'm selfish, but because I'm worth it. Not because you don't make me happy but because you can't give me everything I need, all of the time, and that wouldn't be sensible to expect anyone on this planet to make me (or you) whole. As my dad always says, "Life is a Do It Yourself Job".
No one gives 100% of their effort, 100% of their time to 100% of anything - it's not possible. Balance will set me free, balance is the answer, balance is the difference between expecting to be priority and then commanding it when the time is right.
Balance cannot allow resentment to come into play when balance allows for new adventures, stimulus and experiences. Time out, time away - without romance, without partners, without even being angry about it. Simply, just - for - you! So you can grow, so you can live, so you can create your own memories, experiences and identity.
Balance is in my own hands. Maybe then, people will stop asking me what I'm still doing with a man and his two children and all their baggage. An ex and her shopping list of tendencies to give less f#$%s than anyone I know about her responsibilities.
And perhaps when I'm smiling again because I've sorted myself out - everyone will realise, including myself, that love is enough and boundaries are everything.
Tuesday, 5 May 2015
6 signs you've broken through those walls
Time is an amazing resource, you either have plenty of it or wish you had more.
The space between the time we start and, say for example today when I realised I'd arrived, takes so long to happen but seems to arrive all at once.
If you're wondering what today is, it's the day I've been waiting for. It's no special day to anyone else, it's not day of celebration in the typical sense.
Today is the day I write about a breakthrough, the breakthrough of a certain child in my life that has exchanged a hairy eyeball with a loving one. It is possible that I may just have cracked the armoured exterior after months of stress and struggle - but I'm here. I think. Maybe.
How We Got Here
I realise I may have started this blog a little late, perhaps I should clarify that eldest hasn't really displayed that warm, fuzzy feeling inside when he's with me - and he's not even trying to pretend.
Littlest brat is different, he's accepted me from day one, I'm the aunty he wraps his arms around and smothers with kisses. Right from the word 'Go!' eldest has always been visibly torn between letting me in and being 'faithful' to mom by despising me just as much as she does. And if you knew her, it's a lot. A lot!
If you had asked me to start this blog a couple months earlier, I would have had a plethora of content to fuel at least 20 or so decent angry posts, ones filled with resentment and questions as to why and how I got involved with someone elses 2 children instead of my own. Seeing that I started writing this far into my journey, I guess my role is in fact to help others understand their role in a blended family.
So how did we get here? When did I realise the breakthrough with said angry, Piranha child? How do I know that it's permanent, authentic love for me and not just a sick ploy to play with my emotions? Honestly, I don't know. But the good news is that I do know I've hit the proverbial gold mine with this corner I've turned and I'm so excited to share it with you.
1. I let him think I didn't care about what he thought of me.
OMG do I care. Over the last 7.5 months I've cared more about this little boy's acceptance of me than completing my outstanding logbook for my personal income tax.
I had to respect his pain, his skepticism of me and his timing - yes, his timing. I had to ignore the shoulder shrug I felt every time I extended a gentle hand toward him. I had to swallow knots every time he went to bed and didn't willingly say goodnight. What was there not to love about me, why did he hate me so much? I persevered through my own emotions because that's what love does, love doesn't quit.
2. I had to let love come out of my mouth. Even though I was thinking it, he wasn't hearing it. Isn't it ironic that when you're being openly rejected you still have to find a place within to pour out love from you mouth and mean it, I think they call the former pride and the latter, love. I learned that there are some adults in my life that needed my verbal recognition too - he was my mirror.
I realised that while I was so busy playing with his younger brother, laughing and joking - he wasn't getting any of my positive affirmation. I had learned to keep him at arms length, waiting for him to warm to me. What I didn't realise is that my absence of contact and emotional availability was separating us even further.
So I let him into my heart and treated his wounded soul with large doses of love along with physical and verbal affirmations. He didn't need fixing for the sake of it, he needed time and patience. Not the person his mother may have him believe I am, rather the kind person I know I am.
It took some time but I started with the simple things, kinda like the way you woo your partner in the very beginning stages of your romance. I bandaged his grief with back tickles at night before bed and praised him for his soccer match victories with an enthusiasm that I had to muster from the deepest part of my authentic self. It wasn't that I was insincere, it was that a part of me often felt like my inner child said, "I'm not your friend anymore!" and would want to stick out her tongue in his direction.
Instead, the adult in me had to sit that child down and take over. None of this is personal even though it feels like it.
In the end love won, love always wins.
3. When the going got tough, I had to stay fair.
Love is in my opinion, the opposite of fear. There were moment's when I had to stay firm and consistent in my disapproval's as well as my praises toward him and his behaviour.
There were times when I was tempted to throw in the towel and let my new-found bond get in the way of fairness and diplomacy, like when you know that the bully at your school is wrong but you give her your approval anyway by smiling as he turns from the crying child she just abused.
In being fair in my views I gained his respect even when I was afraid I would have lost him forever. When he was wrong, I told him. When he was right, we high fived.
4. I had to learn to listen.
To him, to them. To their day, to their fears, to their tall stories and pipe dreams. My role isn't to just dictate opinionated facts in their direction as an adult, but rather guide them with love ever so gently towards fuller understanding as they approach adulthood.
When you put yourself in their shoes, children spend so much of their time being silenced. Teachers tell them to keep quiet, adults tell them to keep quiet. Children live in a world of censorship, "learning their place in society" while very few people listen - really, listen.
So, when they speak I look them in the eye with my fullest attention (which is very difficult for me to give most adults). I give them options, respect their choices and ask their opinions while I watch the questions stir inside their minds in a quest of self discovery.
I disagree with decency and grace when I point out the immaturity of certain thought patterns. How their father and I deal with each other, with conflict and with them, reaffirms confidence, boundaries and healthy coping mechanisms. All of these things come from listening, not just hearing. I listen to what they say even when they aren't speaking, being attentive is what makes one a good parent.
5. I had to accept myself.
I'll never forget sitting in the front seat of our car and singing outlandishly and without apology to 101 Nursery Rhymes I had downloaded off iTunes just for them. Eyes rolling in the back of his head, eldest tells me that I'm weird. Weird!!!
Every part of my heart grimaced at the apparent rejection I was dealt.
"He thinks I'm weird, OMG, he thinks I'm abnormal"
I remember panicking in silence while contemplating whether to admit to his observation or hide it. So I smiled, drew a deep breath and calmly responded with, "Isn't it just awesome!" trying so hard to hide the pensive look on my face.
He stared back at me with disapproval, I may as well have been made of glass. It was as if every flaw and insecurity had been drawn to the surface of my face and manifested through the tiny blood vessels under my skin.
It wasn't that I was ashamed of my quirkiness, it was that he saw it as a flaw. I was wide open and vulnerable, chirping and acting out "The Wheels on the Bus" and he comes back at me with an assault on my character! I embraced my authenticity, I am in fact, quirky as hell. It would be a sad and boring contrast if I sat with laced fingers on my lap and didn't speak a word.
6. I had to giggle my way through to him - adults already have a bad rep for being boring and serious. This one took me a while, when we are laughing we are also vulnerable. Laughter really is the best medicine - for everything - including winning over children. It's a safe space for bonding and being deemed 'cool' by the little humans in our lives.
Tonight I did a ceremony just for him. His lips were dry and he wanted to use my lip balm. I got up from the dining table and dug through our hidden medicine cabinet as I beckoned the family to stand around him.
"Do you, Poopy Pants, Brown Hair, Brown Eyes, Zippy Toes accept this token of love in the form of a miniature Vaseline tub?", I holler in a booming voice. "Yes!", he giggles.
"And do you, Poopy Pants, Brown Hair, Brown Eyes, Zippy Toes promise to cherish and keep safe this token of love?", I continue. "Yes!", he retorts back in a fuller chuckle.
"Then, it shall be yours!" I declare as I pass him the mini Vaseline tub to take to school the next day. Humour is a blessing and the funny bone is connected to the heart.
No one mentioned the perseverance clause
Fast forward a couple months and here we are.
Last weekend he returned from a long weekend with his mother. He seemed visibly detached from the world and nonchalant about being back home for the week. He was ice cold toward me, more-so than ever.
I went to my partner with my concerns, "I'm worried about him, he's worse than he's ever been", I fretted while at the dinner table. It was as if he had reverted back to day one - and then over the next few days, this little boy went from "Drop dead" to "Help me, I need you".
I don't know when it was exactly but I think we broke through a few days later. Today I put a note in his lunchbox that said, "You're special to me, I love you and have a good day". Again I had hesitated to include it in his lunchbox, the fear of rejection so real.
Tonight at the table he said nothing, he hardly acknowledged it when I brought it up. What the hell happened to the big 180 he did? Why is he shrugging it off as if it meant nothing? What were you trying to prove with all the clutching onto me when I said goodnight this week, the laughter and jokes we shared and all the random hugs? I thought we were getting closer!
His dad insists on further evidence of this secret note - I hadn't told him and he's curious now.
Eldest quietly gets up and scratches through his lunchbox. "I got your note", he says, "I even replied!". He fights the embarrassed smirk on his face as he hands me the note I left him.
As I unraveled the little brown jotter page covered with evidence of peanut butter and syrup, there in the top right hand corner stood my breakthrough.
"I love you too".
The space between the time we start and, say for example today when I realised I'd arrived, takes so long to happen but seems to arrive all at once.
If you're wondering what today is, it's the day I've been waiting for. It's no special day to anyone else, it's not day of celebration in the typical sense.
Today is the day I write about a breakthrough, the breakthrough of a certain child in my life that has exchanged a hairy eyeball with a loving one. It is possible that I may just have cracked the armoured exterior after months of stress and struggle - but I'm here. I think. Maybe.
How We Got Here
I realise I may have started this blog a little late, perhaps I should clarify that eldest hasn't really displayed that warm, fuzzy feeling inside when he's with me - and he's not even trying to pretend.
Littlest brat is different, he's accepted me from day one, I'm the aunty he wraps his arms around and smothers with kisses. Right from the word 'Go!' eldest has always been visibly torn between letting me in and being 'faithful' to mom by despising me just as much as she does. And if you knew her, it's a lot. A lot!
If you had asked me to start this blog a couple months earlier, I would have had a plethora of content to fuel at least 20 or so decent angry posts, ones filled with resentment and questions as to why and how I got involved with someone elses 2 children instead of my own. Seeing that I started writing this far into my journey, I guess my role is in fact to help others understand their role in a blended family.
So how did we get here? When did I realise the breakthrough with said angry, Piranha child? How do I know that it's permanent, authentic love for me and not just a sick ploy to play with my emotions? Honestly, I don't know. But the good news is that I do know I've hit the proverbial gold mine with this corner I've turned and I'm so excited to share it with you.
1. I let him think I didn't care about what he thought of me.
OMG do I care. Over the last 7.5 months I've cared more about this little boy's acceptance of me than completing my outstanding logbook for my personal income tax.
I had to respect his pain, his skepticism of me and his timing - yes, his timing. I had to ignore the shoulder shrug I felt every time I extended a gentle hand toward him. I had to swallow knots every time he went to bed and didn't willingly say goodnight. What was there not to love about me, why did he hate me so much? I persevered through my own emotions because that's what love does, love doesn't quit.
2. I had to let love come out of my mouth. Even though I was thinking it, he wasn't hearing it. Isn't it ironic that when you're being openly rejected you still have to find a place within to pour out love from you mouth and mean it, I think they call the former pride and the latter, love. I learned that there are some adults in my life that needed my verbal recognition too - he was my mirror.
I realised that while I was so busy playing with his younger brother, laughing and joking - he wasn't getting any of my positive affirmation. I had learned to keep him at arms length, waiting for him to warm to me. What I didn't realise is that my absence of contact and emotional availability was separating us even further.
So I let him into my heart and treated his wounded soul with large doses of love along with physical and verbal affirmations. He didn't need fixing for the sake of it, he needed time and patience. Not the person his mother may have him believe I am, rather the kind person I know I am.
It took some time but I started with the simple things, kinda like the way you woo your partner in the very beginning stages of your romance. I bandaged his grief with back tickles at night before bed and praised him for his soccer match victories with an enthusiasm that I had to muster from the deepest part of my authentic self. It wasn't that I was insincere, it was that a part of me often felt like my inner child said, "I'm not your friend anymore!" and would want to stick out her tongue in his direction.
Instead, the adult in me had to sit that child down and take over. None of this is personal even though it feels like it.
In the end love won, love always wins.
3. When the going got tough, I had to stay fair.
Love is in my opinion, the opposite of fear. There were moment's when I had to stay firm and consistent in my disapproval's as well as my praises toward him and his behaviour.
There were times when I was tempted to throw in the towel and let my new-found bond get in the way of fairness and diplomacy, like when you know that the bully at your school is wrong but you give her your approval anyway by smiling as he turns from the crying child she just abused.
In being fair in my views I gained his respect even when I was afraid I would have lost him forever. When he was wrong, I told him. When he was right, we high fived.
4. I had to learn to listen.
To him, to them. To their day, to their fears, to their tall stories and pipe dreams. My role isn't to just dictate opinionated facts in their direction as an adult, but rather guide them with love ever so gently towards fuller understanding as they approach adulthood.
When you put yourself in their shoes, children spend so much of their time being silenced. Teachers tell them to keep quiet, adults tell them to keep quiet. Children live in a world of censorship, "learning their place in society" while very few people listen - really, listen.
So, when they speak I look them in the eye with my fullest attention (which is very difficult for me to give most adults). I give them options, respect their choices and ask their opinions while I watch the questions stir inside their minds in a quest of self discovery.
I disagree with decency and grace when I point out the immaturity of certain thought patterns. How their father and I deal with each other, with conflict and with them, reaffirms confidence, boundaries and healthy coping mechanisms. All of these things come from listening, not just hearing. I listen to what they say even when they aren't speaking, being attentive is what makes one a good parent.
5. I had to accept myself.
I'll never forget sitting in the front seat of our car and singing outlandishly and without apology to 101 Nursery Rhymes I had downloaded off iTunes just for them. Eyes rolling in the back of his head, eldest tells me that I'm weird. Weird!!!
Every part of my heart grimaced at the apparent rejection I was dealt.
"He thinks I'm weird, OMG, he thinks I'm abnormal"
I remember panicking in silence while contemplating whether to admit to his observation or hide it. So I smiled, drew a deep breath and calmly responded with, "Isn't it just awesome!" trying so hard to hide the pensive look on my face.
He stared back at me with disapproval, I may as well have been made of glass. It was as if every flaw and insecurity had been drawn to the surface of my face and manifested through the tiny blood vessels under my skin.
It wasn't that I was ashamed of my quirkiness, it was that he saw it as a flaw. I was wide open and vulnerable, chirping and acting out "The Wheels on the Bus" and he comes back at me with an assault on my character! I embraced my authenticity, I am in fact, quirky as hell. It would be a sad and boring contrast if I sat with laced fingers on my lap and didn't speak a word.
6. I had to giggle my way through to him - adults already have a bad rep for being boring and serious. This one took me a while, when we are laughing we are also vulnerable. Laughter really is the best medicine - for everything - including winning over children. It's a safe space for bonding and being deemed 'cool' by the little humans in our lives.
Tonight I did a ceremony just for him. His lips were dry and he wanted to use my lip balm. I got up from the dining table and dug through our hidden medicine cabinet as I beckoned the family to stand around him.
"Do you, Poopy Pants, Brown Hair, Brown Eyes, Zippy Toes accept this token of love in the form of a miniature Vaseline tub?", I holler in a booming voice. "Yes!", he giggles.
"And do you, Poopy Pants, Brown Hair, Brown Eyes, Zippy Toes promise to cherish and keep safe this token of love?", I continue. "Yes!", he retorts back in a fuller chuckle.
"Then, it shall be yours!" I declare as I pass him the mini Vaseline tub to take to school the next day. Humour is a blessing and the funny bone is connected to the heart.
No one mentioned the perseverance clause
Fast forward a couple months and here we are.
Last weekend he returned from a long weekend with his mother. He seemed visibly detached from the world and nonchalant about being back home for the week. He was ice cold toward me, more-so than ever.
I went to my partner with my concerns, "I'm worried about him, he's worse than he's ever been", I fretted while at the dinner table. It was as if he had reverted back to day one - and then over the next few days, this little boy went from "Drop dead" to "Help me, I need you".
I don't know when it was exactly but I think we broke through a few days later. Today I put a note in his lunchbox that said, "You're special to me, I love you and have a good day". Again I had hesitated to include it in his lunchbox, the fear of rejection so real.
Tonight at the table he said nothing, he hardly acknowledged it when I brought it up. What the hell happened to the big 180 he did? Why is he shrugging it off as if it meant nothing? What were you trying to prove with all the clutching onto me when I said goodnight this week, the laughter and jokes we shared and all the random hugs? I thought we were getting closer!
His dad insists on further evidence of this secret note - I hadn't told him and he's curious now.
Eldest quietly gets up and scratches through his lunchbox. "I got your note", he says, "I even replied!". He fights the embarrassed smirk on his face as he hands me the note I left him.
As I unraveled the little brown jotter page covered with evidence of peanut butter and syrup, there in the top right hand corner stood my breakthrough.
"I love you too".
Tuesday, 21 April 2015
The Lies We Tell Ourselves - Then Believe
I sat with my mother in law on the couch, I've been blessed with such an amazing woman to share my life with,and as usual our home is full of laughter and playful jokes.
I've had my fair share of scary mother in laws, but this one I would say this is the closest I've come to the real deal FairyGodMother type. Recently I recall finding a plaque that read, "If I didn't have you as my Mum, I'd choose you as my friend."
True story!
I'm a little fibber
As we sat chatting on the couch, I found myself talking about the way I've managed to 'accept the hand that has been dealt' in the form of taking on two kids and trying to fit into their lives. I try and keep my conversations open and frank no matter whom I'm trying to impress, believe me I don't hide my emotions - never have, never will. Being transparent has this cathartic effect on me, my mom had always said that you "can't get any higher than the truth", so here I was sharing mine. I was sad, deeply sad.
While talking about my apparent lot in life, I'm taken aback by the deadpan stare I'm receiving back from my mother in law. "You see", I continue, "I realise that I'm not going to be able to have those two kids I've always wanted, I'm going to have to sacrifice my happiness because of finances, no one can raise 4 children in this day and age. My dreams have all been shattered" (someone que the violin) The deadpan stare continues on in my direction, followed by a wail of "Said whooooooooo?" from a now, almost giggling, in-law. Her eyes wide with investigation.
"Ummm", I manage to reply, "Well, I did".
Mother in law parts her lips with steady focus, as if she's about to pounce on me like a cat stalking it's prey. "There is no fact is what you're saying, you have no idea how your life is going to turn out or what God's plan is. You have limited yourself to your beliefs!". Her face now stern with conviction.
Penny dropped, famous "Oprah Winfrey "Aha" moment follows suit.
Change Your Dialogue
This candid conversation hits home like a ton of bricks. Yes, I've been feeling as if my mental monologue has been accurate all this time, because my conditioning has dictated that 2.5 children and 2.5 Labrador's are standard ambitions in one's life.
With 2.5 step children and 1.5 cats already in the equation, my averages for having 2.5 of my own biological children just seemed too low to dream about. The truth is, no one knows!
Not me, not you - only God/Higher Power/Insert Holy Deity here.
Our Words Have Power
I won't lie. I felt really stupid in that moment, an adjective I seldom use to describe myself at the best of times. An invisible load lifted off my shoulders in a couple of seconds as I felt the information penetrate my cerebral cortex (particularly my frontal lobe where decision making occurs) and all the cogs literally turned at the same time. No one, not one person on this planet, has the power to decide how my life pans out. No one, not even myself, has the knowledge of how many children I will conceive, birth and/or love in my lifetime - present step children included.
In fact, all of it became so clear in the moment that I, in turn, realised that none of this was part of my plan, nor was it foreseen this time last year. That's right, only God Himself could bring someone into my life that I could love so easily, so hard and so true. Someone so compatible, who makes me laugh and sing and be my 'Authentic Self' with. Someone who does in fact come with 2 little humans that now share a household with me and my 1.5 cat's. A reality I never, ever dreamed of. A reality only God Himself could have conjured. A reality that I would have laughed at a year ago, yet here it is. Who says I can't have the same reality I've always dreamed about.
If God can bring me to it, surely He will get me through it. Time will tell, until then I choose to trust in the process. You never know, until you know.
When discussing this new-found knowledge with my partner, he replied with, "You've been talking about having one child for so long that I've made it my reality too."
Just goes to show, that as women, we need to be strong and focused. Know what you want and go for it, don't waiver! Know that a good man, a really, genuinely good man, will in fact follow your lead if it makes you truly happy.
I've had my fair share of scary mother in laws, but this one I would say this is the closest I've come to the real deal FairyGodMother type. Recently I recall finding a plaque that read, "If I didn't have you as my Mum, I'd choose you as my friend."
True story!
I'm a little fibber
As we sat chatting on the couch, I found myself talking about the way I've managed to 'accept the hand that has been dealt' in the form of taking on two kids and trying to fit into their lives. I try and keep my conversations open and frank no matter whom I'm trying to impress, believe me I don't hide my emotions - never have, never will. Being transparent has this cathartic effect on me, my mom had always said that you "can't get any higher than the truth", so here I was sharing mine. I was sad, deeply sad.
While talking about my apparent lot in life, I'm taken aback by the deadpan stare I'm receiving back from my mother in law. "You see", I continue, "I realise that I'm not going to be able to have those two kids I've always wanted, I'm going to have to sacrifice my happiness because of finances, no one can raise 4 children in this day and age. My dreams have all been shattered" (someone que the violin) The deadpan stare continues on in my direction, followed by a wail of "Said whooooooooo?" from a now, almost giggling, in-law. Her eyes wide with investigation.
"Ummm", I manage to reply, "Well, I did".
Mother in law parts her lips with steady focus, as if she's about to pounce on me like a cat stalking it's prey. "There is no fact is what you're saying, you have no idea how your life is going to turn out or what God's plan is. You have limited yourself to your beliefs!". Her face now stern with conviction.
Penny dropped, famous "Oprah Winfrey "Aha" moment follows suit.
Change Your Dialogue
This candid conversation hits home like a ton of bricks. Yes, I've been feeling as if my mental monologue has been accurate all this time, because my conditioning has dictated that 2.5 children and 2.5 Labrador's are standard ambitions in one's life.
With 2.5 step children and 1.5 cats already in the equation, my averages for having 2.5 of my own biological children just seemed too low to dream about. The truth is, no one knows!
Not me, not you - only God/Higher Power/Insert Holy Deity here.
Our Words Have Power
I won't lie. I felt really stupid in that moment, an adjective I seldom use to describe myself at the best of times. An invisible load lifted off my shoulders in a couple of seconds as I felt the information penetrate my cerebral cortex (particularly my frontal lobe where decision making occurs) and all the cogs literally turned at the same time. No one, not one person on this planet, has the power to decide how my life pans out. No one, not even myself, has the knowledge of how many children I will conceive, birth and/or love in my lifetime - present step children included.
In fact, all of it became so clear in the moment that I, in turn, realised that none of this was part of my plan, nor was it foreseen this time last year. That's right, only God Himself could bring someone into my life that I could love so easily, so hard and so true. Someone so compatible, who makes me laugh and sing and be my 'Authentic Self' with. Someone who does in fact come with 2 little humans that now share a household with me and my 1.5 cat's. A reality I never, ever dreamed of. A reality only God Himself could have conjured. A reality that I would have laughed at a year ago, yet here it is. Who says I can't have the same reality I've always dreamed about.
If God can bring me to it, surely He will get me through it. Time will tell, until then I choose to trust in the process. You never know, until you know.
When discussing this new-found knowledge with my partner, he replied with, "You've been talking about having one child for so long that I've made it my reality too."
Just goes to show, that as women, we need to be strong and focused. Know what you want and go for it, don't waiver! Know that a good man, a really, genuinely good man, will in fact follow your lead if it makes you truly happy.
Tuesday, 14 April 2015
The challenges are real
It's 18h31 on a Tuesday evening. My head is pounding and it feel's like flu or a serious head cold is looming. It doesn't matter though, regardless of how I feel, the little voices will not be silenced. They tear through the house full of energy and gusto that couldn't be found some two hours ago when it was homework time, funny that.
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 thehot water molten lava within the machine and all the kids clothes are stretched, blue and beyond recognition.
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.
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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