The setting sun allows the stars to shine

So here I am, it's Sunday and I've spent the most part of my weekend in tears.
I would need to elaborate on the last two months of our lives, nothing less than a living hell with a boy (the eldest) who has gone out of his way to make his personal misery known to all, by means of dishonesty and deceit. Our home has been disrupted, our health affected and joy sucked from each day despite our efforts.

The darkest hour of night is just before the dawn

Thursday evening we receive a video clip from their mother. My fiancee had been in touch with her to request funding assistance, a continual game of smoke and mirrors from her side. Her aim was to take a stab at us, as she does, highlighting just how miserable her eldest, golden child is living in our home. As if he's subjected to anything other than a normal, balanced household that includes routine and structure, chores and discipline. It's all the opposite he would receive from her, during their weekends he thrives on 8 hours of tv games and rules the roost. 

As the video played on, we watched this 9 year old boy face down on her bed, wailing muffled words to the crowd of family members on her side who lapped up his apparent agony. His eyes were dry and his words were forced. You don't have to be a biological mother to know when your child is pulling a fast one. 

Well I know him, and he was milking the attention. He's always been a manipulative little individual. His mother's voice can be heard in the background, pacifying him through his performance. It's all so transparent and predictable, we're not wounded by this apparent attack from her side. What she didn't realise when sending the video, with claims that her son hates "everything about living with us" was that we wouldn't be denying it.

Funny she should video record this all too, right? A little strange and equally as deceitful, as if these children are a prize and the winner takes all. 

Let me tell you that we have sought counsel from the school, from professionals, from anyone who has problem children of their own (apparently there aren't many) as well attended life coaching for kids as per my previous blog post. We have watched the eldest pull his brother down, 'throw him under the bus' at every opportunity and manipulate everyone around him with no regard for the rules. We have had meetings with the teacher, found out that he's not being bullied but in fact, is the bully at school. We have talked, bargained, incentivized, reprimanded and timed out to no avail. Every day it's the same thing, disruptions and anarchy from morning till bed time. This isn't living. 

We've dealt with sulking and tears, insubordination and his disregard for authority, at the school and at home. This child, aged 9, is a law unto himself and all this time, we've been trying to teach him between right and wrong, trying to prevent him from being with his mother and her toxic energy for long enough to infect him with the same. But children go back to what they know, and we've grown and he wants what he knows. A space where he is revered and the rules are few. The youngest is treated poorly, disciplined and spoken down to by her, but not the eldest. He's her golden child.  

Recently we implored her to sign consent forms for the children to attend therapy based on our medical savings. Her nonchalant response included an attack on our judgement and a suggestion to take them for ice cream and talk to the children about their problems. 

I'm sure you can imagine my personal resentments. I've wiped those children's tears, their cuts and grazes. I've ironed school uniforms, danced with them through the house, played hide and seek, disciplined them, imparting wisdom and guidance. I've purchased step parenting books, searched the internet for answers, met with the teachers and principal of their school. I've purchased lunch boxes, school stationery, snacks and treats. I've spent money on clothing, shoes, bedding and toys. I've planned Christmases and birthday and traditions. I've paid for school photographs, times table posters and assisted with school projects.

 I've tucked them into bed, bathed them, helped them when they've been sick. I've taken them to their first dental appointments and check up's thereafter. I've scheduled doctors appointments, gone to sports and cultural events at their school and hugged them before bed and every day before they leave our home. But ice cream will solve these problems, as if we haven't already tried to speak to them and make our intentions to help known. Why didn't I think of the ice cream!

Their mother recently took him out of detention where he was meant to serve a Friday afternoon for bullying another child. Her immediate reaction to this news was that the school was to blame and she "wouldn't accept it". He's been failing school, skipped homework at aftercare to attend an unauthorised Judo lesson because he "felt like it". Perhaps ice cream would solve these problems?

Out came the stars

Friday morning, en route to school, their dad asked the eldest what was so bad about living with us. The tall tales and roundabout answers started with "My brother is the reason I hate living with you", followed by "I don't know" and "It's the shouting". 

When he was showed the video, his final response was "I don't know, it's just everything" and so we went home, got them to pack their bags and granted him the desires of his heart. They were delivered to their mother, with all their things in hand, no animosity, no resentment on our part, but supported this decision for the sake of his sanity and ours. 

The sun set on that traumatic Friday evening, both dad and I crying big tears with heavy hearts. Mixed feelings of relief, disappointment and affliction for the almost 2 years we thought we could 'save them' from negativity and plant seeds of wholeness and goodness. 

Just like that, they were out of our daily lives. The eldest jumped into his grandparents car, having being reminded to say goodbye to us. Our hearts heavy, yet our minds at ease knowing this is their path and we've done our best. The youngest oblivious to what has transpired and the fate that lies ahead of him. 

I've realised that my sanity has been tried and tested over and over again. There was a time when I doubted myself. I've realised that I haven't failed, it's not that I cannot handle children being in my space, but our peace, cannot be compromised to the point of self destruction. There had to come a time when we chose peace over doing what was right. That day came unexpectedly sooner than any of us realised. Just like that, the battle between what those children know as normal and where we were going on our path, were conflicting and couldn't be done simultaneously. 

I thank my earth angels, friends, supporters, family and my partner for all their counsel, care, encouragement and guidance. I thank my Higher Power and all my Heavenly Angels for support and strength. For those who told me I was 'crazy to accept the baggage', you helped me realise what I was fighting for and the true meaning of commitment. 

In closing, their mother has never contributed a single cent. She's done absolutely nothing to contribute toward their welfare, their education, their livelihood. Our hearts are at peace knowing that in choosing to respect the childrens wishes to be with her permanently, giving them what they want and honouring their decisions, we have granted ourselves serenity. We will always be there for them and we've reminded them too. They may have hard lessons to learn living with her, perhaps they will thrive. Perhaps we just have to continue to be the best versions of ourselves in order to carry on being the light in their lives. Who knows. 

Now it is time for us to heal and regenerate, without guilt, without disruption and with our own permission to let go, and let God. 

It's over and that's okay. 

Growth hurts, but so does denial

I sat before my client Beaulah, she's a real gem to call on. 
She's become a trusted friend, the older sister I never had. I held back tears as I shared where I was in my life at that moment. 

I had come to the point in this instant family, that I resented the children without remorse. I resented their father for the decision's he'd made. I resented myself for choosing these struggles.

The past week stung 

The previous Monday I sat in front of our youngest child's teacher. She was factual and direct about her concerns, almost expressionless in desperation. 
"He's failing, he doesn't concentrate for more than a minute at a time", her eyes wide with anticipation. 

I cried and cried in the car park as we left for the start of our day. The decisions his mother had made while carrying him were finally being felt. It stung like acid reflux in the chest of reality, a reminder of past mistakes every time I look into his eyes. I carried his hurt because he never chose this, neither of them did. Yet I stood crying for them, me, not their parents. Me. 

Refusing to put him onto anything strong enough to alter his personality we found a short term solution and put him on a trial of scheduled medication for concentration. We have 1 month's supply of the stuff to prove ourselves and by we, I mean him. 

The night I met Zelna

Zelna is a world reknown child therapist, psychologist and kids life coach. Her talk on assisting children found myself and dad at her workshop the same night we found out about our youngest child's concentration issues. I didn't mention the eldest, but he's snowballing his way right into 'juvie' if he carries on the way he's going. They needed help, so I wanted to start with us - because of finances that is - not because the kids weren't a priority, but perhaps if we could learn something new for a couple bucks, it would help us in the long run when they got the therapy they needed. I was beginning to lose faith that I would find the person I needed to assist with the therapy I wanted for them on the financial terms we could afford. 

Beaulah listened with her eyes as she always does. She is so kind and caring this earth angel friend of mine. 

"I've built a wall Beaulah", I said, "I can't imagine smiling, laughing or caring for them anymore. I've checked out!"

I had shared with her how our meeting with Zelna had brought about a change of perspective in me, how it had softened my hardened heart and made me realise that my walls needed to come down, not just for the kids but for my own sanity. 

The only way out of this mess, would be to go back to where I started. Open my arms, open my heart, forgive and shine my light.
"Do what you do well with your children", Zelna had advised, and so I decided to share my gifts and talents with them and let them back into my world. 

My world had peace once. It had transparency and joy. Somewhere along the line the walls had become so high that I couldn't see my own light. 

Beaulah continued to listen, her kind words and tender advice echoed my hearts desires for laughter and serenity to be returned to our home. "It starts with you, your time with them, your one on one moments together", she explained, "you just need love, share your time and let those walls come down. These are the moment's that will not only make the difference now, but will be treasured forever!"

Yes, I felt guilty. I felt like I'd forgotten how to love to the point of being blind to what was really needed in our home. My maternal instincts, my humanity and my authentic self had flown out the window because of my anger and resentment, twisting a vine of animosity around my heart and suffocating my soul. 

Beaulah smiles at me and whispers, "If anyone can love those children the way they need to be loved, it's you!" And I smiled back because I knew she was right. 

We have since found a therapist and the children will commence emotional support and play therapy within the next 2 weeks. Anything can happen when you want it badly enough, and all I want for them is more than they will know. 

Mr N(ASS)ty and the idle threats

I won't lie, it's been a difficult couple of months - hence my absence. 

I'm at the point of no return with my nonchalant and completely blatant discontent with my life. I wish things could have been different, why can I still not see the blessing in this situation. Why does it feel like I'm being punished.

Parenting is hard, and off-putting

Someone asked me the other day if I was still interested in having children of my own. Of course I'm wanting my own children, but raising a pre-teen and a 9 year old is hard, and off putting when I think that I may need to do this all over again. I know they say it's different when it's your own children, but gosh, this is a constant battle between cooperation and defiance. The latter dominating at the best of times.

Mr N(ASS)ty was introduced to me a couple of weeks ago by a client of mine. "It's time to step up and hand out some good old fashioned discipline", she said "it's not always easy dishing out hidings, but we all grew up with them and we all laugh about it now." 

She was referring to Mr Nasty as if he was the benchmark of parenthood, as if, when you're at this point of idle threats, Mr Nasty is at the top of the list when it comes to distributing physical reminders of who is boss. Today the kids met Mr Nasty, although, as you would imagine my luck, it was a giggle session between them while I sampled some Mr Nasty to their backsides. The introduction was futile as the youngest scoffed at my soft and harmless blows. "That wasn't sore", giggles the youngest, "do it again". 

At this stage I'm over it, I'm also considering taking an online mental wellness quiz to check that I'm not, in fact, losing my mind to the insanity I call my afternoons. 

Maybe it's not meant to be

Today, for the first time, I questioned whether or not I should walk away. I wondered what it would be like to just say, 'Sorry everyone, I'm done, I need a permanent time out in a remote location with a couple of cocktails around an adult only pool', but I know I could never, I don't want to. 

Every fibre of my being is battling through this challenge of acceptance. It's not them, it's me. It's my frustration and my resentments and my regrets. I love their father, and they are good kids, but I'm selfish and I wish they hadn't been born. There. I said it. I wish, they hadn't inconvenienced my life. 

If that makes me a bad person then I'm a bad person. But the fact that I'm still here, still committed, still doing my all for them with no expectations and no return on investment is a very clear form of love. Love isn't a duty, it is a privilege. I choose to share my home, money, time and knowledge with them. I choose to give of myself even when it means I'm near tearing out my hair and making idle threats with a bamboo spoon that I brought for a couple bucks at the local store. 


I love them, I love him, I just don't know how long it's going to be before I can accept them in all their humanness. Perhaps I've just forgotten how to be patient, tolerant and accepting of others. Perhaps they are my reminders that all things, including love come at a price and mine is loving their father with the burden and privilege of raising them at the same time. 

C'est la vie.

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. 

My box of Bombyx mori

If its uncomfortable, it's probably a growth period!

The woman in the mirror

Sitting across from the therapist, I realised that I didn't have much to say to her, to ask for assistance with or to get answers about. My opening words were literally, "I have no idea why I actually came here today." 

Without sounding like I know it all, I realised that I had to find myself again and reconnect with my identity - and of course work on my resentment. But, for the life of me, what was a professional therapist going to tell me that I didn't already know? 

The Disconnect

As I sat blowing my nose while rehashing a year of emotional distress, it became apparent through my session that I've disconnected from this picture. Disconnected from people, from feeling. Disconnected and in turn, bitter. And guess who sits at the fore of my distress? Their mother. 

My issues, concerns and frustrations, albeit a huge responsibility I've taken on, have lead me to childhood and previous relationship matters that I simply haven't addressed until now. I never wanted to be the homewrecker, I never wanted to be the thorn in the side of a family union. That is how I grew up, how I was influenced and traumatised. 

To reconnect, one needs to empathize, release fear and work through the mirror image of the problem being presented. My problem is a person I cannot see nor speak to, yet I have eaten from the sweet fruit of drama and poisoned myself with her bitterness. 


Mirror Mirror 

The therapist turns to me and asks, "What is it that this woman represents to you?" 

Immediately all the irresponsible things she had done, said, felt and confessed to came to mind. "She's the complete opposite of me", I retorted, "her lack of responsibility and accountability." 

But, this in fact, is not what she represents. This woman, the mother of these two children I'm raising is my karmic lesson of compassion and unconditional love that I've chosen to turn my back on. 

I am no better than her, she is no better than I. We are two people that have chosen two different live paths and her children are a constant reminder of a polar opposite I've never experienced until her. She is, my mirror. 

A lesson in empathy

The therapist turns to me again, after a long gap of silence between my tears. "Imagine, for a moment, how it must feel for her. Imagine being alone, with someone else raising your children, with someone whom you shared 10 years of your life with. Imagine for a moment, how she feels, being a weekend mother, realising her shortfalls, her dreams and aspirations not materalized and seeing you with her family, living a life she perceives as perfect."

My face went numb, and that hollow feeling one gets in the pit of their stomach when a loss is felt. The slow, creeping vines of anger and resentment, transformed into sadness and withered inside me. How lonely she must feel. How much lose she too has suffered.  

While I realise that I wasn't the cause of her relationship breakdown, I've stepped into a relationship with a man that I have so much history with, that she too has so much history with. A man we shared at different times of our lives, children we share now, children that weren't part of my plan. Children that I've given my all to, sacrificed for, loved and been hurt by. Children that constantly remind me of a time in my life when their father and I could have been more, could have prevented their existence by staying together as teenagers. Their relationship wasn't based on what ours is, but that doesn't make her loss and grief any easier to swallow - for both of us. 

I felt like the other woman. I felt like, in a surreal way, I had stepped into and invaded a family that had nothing to do with me. A family that I hadn't chosen, and a family that I felt alienated from - because I never made them - they did. And while this realisation made me sick to pits of my being, I feel the happiest with him, the most content together that I've ever been in my life. As if, he was always mine, borrowed from me by the world and returned to me as destiny and fate would have it. 

Perhaps, this is how it's meant to be. Perhaps, I'm the love lesson that needs to be reflected into her life with action and in time. 

Extending love and letting go

So before everyone gets on the bandwagon of cliche's, "Everything happens for a reason", is top of my mind. I know that I cannot go back. I know that everything has happened by choice, by purpose and that these two little souls need the good from both of us, all of us. She is their mother, I am their guide and they have a very capable, very hands-on father. We should be a power team, not a toxic divide. 

I've never spoken ill of their mother, while there are always constant reminders of how she's slated me in my absence to them, in front of them. Funny how it always gets back to my ears through the children. 

My choice, right now, is to change my perspective. My choice is to let go of my unrealistic expectations that a bond that I share with their father is enough to get us through and make everything okay. Everything was not okay before I arrived. Everything is getting better, but this isn't a quick fix. This is life, these are lives, my life, his life, hers and theirs. 

The therapist closes her book at the end of our session. "You can live with bitterness and become twisted with resentment, or you can choose to love her in her imperfection."

I may not be ready for that, I'm still trying to come to terms with feeling like she stole my life. The life that in retrospect, I was meant to have. Not raise her children. 

Knowing she willingly carried children that would be subjected to alcohol and drug abuse makes me resent myself even more for not being brave enough to say yes instead of no to a child that would have changed our entire lives. 

Perhaps I'm just living out my own guilt, perhaps this is the bigger picture. Perhaps, I've got so much more to learn and gain with so much less to sacrifice than I realise. 

Let the healing begin. 

The day I got out the car

Let me not try fake my way into your book of approval by telling you all the things I want you to read. Things that make me look bigger, braver and bolder than I am. I'm no pushover, I'm not a wilting flower either.

I'm a lover

I'm a lover by default, factory setting and origin. Even when I tried martial arts for 3 years, I never managed to grade past the first three exams. If I'm honest it's because I just didn't have the personal discipline to get involved or pursue a sport that included me hurting people. There were many times that I would be reprimanded by my coach for smiling while sparring, a defense mechanism or perhaps, that I just saw the fun in jumping around a ring while neither of us took shots at the other.

Don't get me wrong, there were times that I won gold in my division and even provincial colours for my weight and grade category, but I'm not a fighter.  



Up against Goliath


I have no doubts about the physical contact possibilities that could erupt the day I get out of the car. The days when we have fetched the boys from their mom, I have stayed in the car, not from fear so much as respect for daddy. If I get out the car, I may regret it. I have to think of the children.

We're not dealing with a civil situation here, I have witnessed the many physical brawls that the ex has engaged in. We're talking punch up's with family and kitchen pan's being used as weapons. These people are the opposite of lovers. They are of class and culture that encourage fighting. They are the dog eat dog of our society. And I'm over here blogging - just saying.



The anticipation will kill me


Today I decided that I was going to get out the car. Not because I wanted to fight but because I wanted to get it over with. I needed to see what this mother of 2 children really looked like after her grief, guilt, pain and separation from her kids. I wanted to see the face of anguish. I was tired of waiting in the car every time with baited breath, worried that an extended fist would ambush me. 

Personally when I get angry I don make up, I work out, I feel sexy.
I knew she had been running around the neighbourhood over the last few months during her 'job search'. The version of her that I remembered, had been of a petite woman, with long pitch black hair that she flat ironed at her best. 

Her frame is much smaller than mine, in fact, eldest has actually asked daddy a couple months ago why men have smaller legs than woman. I cringed thinking my thunder thighs has contributed to that question. 

I recall my most recent break up and remember how I flung myself into 2.5 hour gym routines, personal spoils and spa sessions. I bet she looks amazing. She holds their hearts as their mother, perhaps I was competing against more than just emotional rights, perhaps she was the sexy, stellar vixen that had left me with the scraps of a man who had been downsized by her all his adult life. What if I get out the car and she's so fit and trim and takes a swing at me with her defined arms. What if, because I'm so unfit of late, she gets me on the ground and pummels me to oblivion in front of the children.

Even worse, what happens if her whack-job sister comes at me with a knife, or glass. She does this, all - the - time  so my fears are real and valid. Today, I'm getting out the car because it's time to introduce the kittens to each other. Time to let them hiss and spit and soon they will be friends. 

Now when I'm backed into a corner, feeling down or hard done by, I put on make up. I have no idea why but I put about 1 hour longer into my routine than I usually would. Last Sunday I felt horrific, sinus that turned to a chest infection and then bronchitis had me feeling (and looking) less than super confident. 

It was 15h30 in the afternoon, I had been laying in PJ's all weekend. Believe me this effort was necessary, I was about to face Goliath, and if I was to land up in hospital, I'd like to at least look shit hot. 


Then I opened the door


I sat in the car outside the driveway. Her crazy sister was parked inside the gates. My heart, pounding to say the least. How the hell would this go down? Was it too soon? I felt like it was the right time in my heart, I just felt that the plaster needed to be ripped from this festering wound and heal naturally, fresh air and dry blood. 

Taking a deep breath I opened the door, unsure if the shaking of my knees was adrenaline or perhaps the bronchitis kicking my butt. "I'll stand at the boot", I thought. This is where everyone usually all congregates. I mean, this is MY car after all, so I do have rights to open my own boot. Can you hear me reasoning with myself. 

Perhaps I could just open the boot and return to the front passenger seat. Like running to the out of bounds area at school and returning to safety just to say you did it. I would have felt far more in charge and confident in my drivers chair. But, love conquers all, I keep reminding myself.  This is the reason I'm standing facing the back side of my own car waiting for the axe to fall as the boys run to greet me and mom follows. 

She's never greeted me. She wouldn't, it's not her style. Her style is hate. Mine, love. We are the complete opposite of the other. She hates me. I feel compassion for her, not to say I like her, don't misunderstand me. I have enough resentment to fuel a small forest fire. But, I have compassion for her pain because it is the lack of light within her that makes her so, incredibly mean. I will shine, I will shine and hopefully keep all my teeth. 

And then she saw me. 

Her sister stood behind her, hardened face and scowling as if I was a dirty secret, the mistress, the concubine that broke up her "loving, pure and healthy" relationship with daddy. In fact, she referred to me a couple of months ago as a Jezebel. I was impressed, I didn't realise her vocabulary was that evolved. 


"The Monsters turned out to be just tree's" - Taylor Swift


I managed to calmly release a "Hello HER NAME HERE* and she mumbled in response. I knew I was doing the right thing. Her frame, still small, and although our eyes never met, my womanly radar managed to scan her once over in an instant. Her hair now cut into a frumpy bob above her ears, puffed out and blow-dried like an old woman. Her face devoid of make up, how could she have left out the make up? It's not like she didn't know I was going to be there, she always does. Where's the warrior paint? What is the trick up her sleeve or her version of strength and integrity?

As we climbed back into the car and drove off, I was injected with the rush of facing my greatest adversary. For years, even when daddy and I were not together, I would speak of her and her unsavory decisions to drink and drug through her pregnancies. I would refer to her when speaking to people about the effects of such. She was and still is, my greatest lesson. My greatest mirror.

Today she had set me free. Free from my own idea of how I was failing, heck, I was winning at this, I was winning at life! I had make upon, my war paint, AND I was the nice person who had persevered through the name calling, hours of comparison in my mind and feelings of failure. I had let myself down, beaten myself up and left myself for dead. It was never her that I needed to face, it was me.


I rejoiced!


Once alone I had a chance to speak to daddy about my new found insight in a way that wasn't conceited or boastful. I was giddy like a high school girl that just found out her crush liked her back. 

I asked him if he saw her hair - her hair, the lack of make up, OMG her hair!! He nodded and mentioned he had seen it in court two weeks back. He didn't mention it to me, did that mean he liked it? Did it mean it was so trivial that he didn't care to? 
I wasn't bothered, I was too happy and high on life because I had realised that I was in fact, the complete package. Not because I'm better than anyone else, not because she wasn't wearing make up, not because she had a crappy hairstyle but because I had released myself from the comparison war inside myself. I was good, happy and beautiful on the inside AND out. 

Later the conversation leaked further insight to their lives together. She never wore make up, ever! She never hugged, cuddled or kissed him. She never returned "I love you's" or reciprocated his efforts of sexual intimacy. She was devoid, incapable and detached from him. Once again my heart went out to her, once again my ego took a back seat and compassion stepped in. This is what happens to addicts, they let themselves go. They leave their self care at the door of addiction and get dragged down a road of decomposition. 

Yes, I rejoiced. The monsters turned out to be just tree's. I had been my own worst enemy, imagining that Kim Kardashian herself would pop out down the drive way with Louis Vuitton bag in hand. She'd be carrying tresses of well looked after hair around her shoulders and perfectly manicured fingernails that I hadn't had the privilege to afford since I took on this role. 

I imagined she would greet me with white teeth and sparkling eyes, that her life would be better, greater and more awesome than mine because she was looking after herself these days while the kids lived with us. She was their mother, surely this meant she was better than me?

I imagined smooth skin and long black eyelashes, that she would smile sensually at me and then daddy with this look of 'You know you want me' as she bent down to pick up the book that had fallen from the youngest's school bag while squeezing her pert bum cheek. 

But she didn't, she didn't because she's not. And if she was perfect and composed on the outside, I would have needed to extend myself just the same as I had with poise and grace.
I've extended the olive branch. If she decides to replant it, or use it as firewood, this is her choice and I can live with mine. My slate is clean, my heart is open and I'm sorry that I've been so incredibly hard on Me! 

I got out the car and with that I got out of the cloud of deception I'd been living in for so, so many years! I am good enough. Hell, I'm the best version of a mom without her own kids I can be and that, is why I got out the car in the first place.

The darkest day so far

I think it's probably a culmination of a couple of things but it's safe to say I may just have reached an emotional breakdown.

After my last post - Broody,Guilty,Mad - it seems I've opened up Pandora's box to a recessive memory bank that has been burst open with past recollections, emotions and, yes, guilt. 

Resentment emanates from every one of my pores. Suddenly the fun, loving mother I'm trying to be has been replaced with an ogre, a silent ogre, but ogre-ish nonetheless. 

So how did I get here again?

This time it feels different. Littlest one comes to me in the kitchen and starts reciting how, "mommy drank lots of wine when I was in her tummy", the lead up from our dinner table family time where he had shared his dreams of abduction and monsters. I'm mad as hell all over again. 

I dart back and forth between these emotions, like an mental institute outpatient. Seriously, I'm battling to find the normality in my circumstance and if this needs to be said then I'll admit that I'm really not coping. There, happy?

We pack away the dishes and the kids are now both standing in the small space we could call a scullery, even the cat has managed to weave his way through 8 legs attached to the bodies towering above him. 

The eldest is included in this conversation and I share memories of how daddy had invited me to see him as a 3 week old newborn. I held him in my arms and with each gurgle, I held back tears of remorse - I was envious then, but relieved that his wayward daddy wasn't part of my picture, I was going places remember?

I was 22 at the time, it could have been our child, but it wasn't and I had buried that notion and decided to celebrate his new family with him, instead of make this about me and my issues. The ex, even back then, snatched her new child from my arms. She never did like me, alas, I digress. 

As we swap stories of their individual births, I'm suddenly isolated by the disconnected memories that have nothing to do with me. His words cut to my soul as he spoke about cutting their umbilical cords, how the youngest was 3 months premature and stillborn and how doctors had resuscitated him in surgery. Daddy stands there enacting dangled, lifeless arms and my rage toward the circumstance is fueled once more.

I knew all the facts, but every time I heard them, it I feel branded, tarnished and disembodied. They always felt like dirty secrets, beautiful little souls with a dirty parental secret - the drugs, the alcohol, the still birth. Yet, here I was standing in this conversation feeling like the glitch in their family tree, the rotten apple in the midst of their perceived awesomeness. It was all a lie, yet it felt so authentic every time I heard him speak. 

It all went pear shaped thereafter

By now the feelings and questions have returned. Why did this have to happen? Why did we have to share a 7 week old fetus that was supposed to, or at least could have been a 15 year old by now. A 15 year old reminder of love, a bond, a lifelong connection.

I could feel the fury burning in me, the tears welling up from my throat, never mind my eyeballs. 

We tuck the kids in for the evening, love is shared, kisses and prolonged hugs that linger long after they are received. It is time now to go over legal documents and I can feel my mood souring very quickly, I'm expecting foul play - as always. 

His approach is careless and with it his attention to detail. He is not bothered with fighting over 'menial things' like dates and times, he omits necessary specifics in his agreement that leave me even more bitter and resentful. She wants everything on her terms and has done very little to return, sustain or even be present in their lives - but she wants the kids, she wants to cut daddy out to the point that she gets away with it it all. 

My childish retort just came out of nowhere

By now I'm snappy, I don't mean to be disrespectful but daddy's contesting my insistence to include exact dates for school holiday delivery and collections. I know it's going to come back and bite us if we don't. He doesn't see the point, "This affects me, me and my life too!", I growl at him. I should have just stopped there, I won't share my personal low, I'll just tell you that I threatened to leave when I shouldn't have. It's a pet peeve when people threaten to leave, but it came out of my mouth. He lay on the bed facing the ceiling and remained in the same position while I sobbed in the shower. 

We went to bed in silence. We woke in silence. 
A cold shoulder with civility and moments of a polite "Good morning" and "Have a good day". I feel I've failed. 

This too shall pass

So while I spent the most of this morning in tears, I have, through puffy eyes and swollen nose, managed to track down a therapist. In doing so, my thoughts return to a friend who is in a similar situation. Although we are close, I won't discuss it with her, I like keeping my wounds hidden and as I lick them in private, possibly causing more damage as I brood.

Everyone has that one person that has the answers, maybe not by qualification, maybe not even through experience. But just as I was about to put my foot in the shower, the very same friend picks up the phone and as I answer, squeezes in a "What's wrong?" as I say "Hello".  There is a support team waiting for you, if you're willing to be (even more) vulnerable to receiving help. 


I decide to share my hurts and pain with daddy, he holds my hand sympathetically as I weep. It's all too much, I miss him, I miss us. This is all supposed to be our honeymoon period of our relationship and the reminders of my own failings haunt me as I learn to live with someone else's children. 
They should have been mine, ours, his with me.

As the night comes to an end I think I literally heard God whisper to me, "I never said it would be easy, I said it would be worth it". It's going to be alright, I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.

Tomorrow is a brand new day to be an awesome step-in mom. 
Let's do this. 

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". 

Raising Conquerors

I had made a deal with the eldest last night. He had boldly declared that he "couldn't wait to sleep in" with it being a public holiday the next day. So unusual for him to say that, yet I fell for it. Perhaps he just told me what he knew I wanted to hear. A part of me sincerely hoping he was going to do his very best to at least humour me by faking it, until you know, 8am. I would have settled for 07h30.

It was barely 06h15 as I lay draped over the edge of my bed in a final attempt to revel in what I refer to as a 'Dolce Far Niente day', a day of sweet nothingness as borrowed from the movie Eat, Pray, Love. I could hear the kids noisily making their way to the lounge area of our little 2 bedroom townhouse. You have got to be kidding me right now. 

In an instant I'm fueled with lessons from my mother dearest back in my day. Ignited with what would have been her very same loathing of screaming kids when adults are trying to sleep. The consequences back then were a lot more severe. My mother would fly through our childhood home, down the passage wielding slipper in hand. She was ready to dispense corporal punishment to the inconsiderate individual who had (knowingly or not) frazzled her from her slumber and gift them in return with embossed floral patterns on the back of our knees. No word of a lie. 

I get up and reach for (wait for it) my gown. I know, how bold of me. 

I make my way to the little cherubs, my great plan: promising them that tomorrow morning at 4 am I will grace them with the same regimen they had initiated this very day. Imaginary fist in the air as I gallantly open the bedroom door. I have no plans to follow through on that threat, but how do I teach them consideration if they haven't been deprived of the privilege of sleeping in?

As suspected they laugh off my bluff and continue on with their boisterous debate. Here comes dad and he's not having any of it.

Be impeccable with your word

Children are absorbent little creatures, they're listening even when you're sure you're on mute as you repeat the lesson for what feels like the 3rd time in ten minutes. I'm so blessed with a partner whose values resonate with my own and with whom I would raise my biological children with in the same fashion. We see eye to eye, on most things, which makes it that much easier to instill discipline and lesson's into his kids - and one day ours. 

One of the 4 agreements by author Don Miguel Ruiz, is to be impeccable with your word. This week I've learned the importance of following through on the things you say you're going to do. Children listen to what you say, how you moan, how you tease, how you love out loud. 

Two weeks ago we implemented a leap frog type of system that consists of 14 (hand cut out I'll have you know) lilly pads on the wall and 2 frogs with 2 x kids names on them. We were going to make it a race and have two rows of lilly pads but we felt it would cause the sibling rivalry to escalate, so we made one. If you're good, complete your chores in the morning and you're ready on time, you move one hop a day. If you help each other out, you both move two hops. The lesson being that by helping each other out, you get further. 

This week, we instated a temporary rule applicable to the upcoming, shorter 3 day week. If you're good and you help each other out you could move 3 spaces instead of the regular max 2. The incentive - a big surprise! 

Day 1 went well-ish, day 2 included some threats, with a blind eye to the fight over the hairbrush, and day 3 crashed and burned like a sad little paper airplane in a deep and murky pond. I could see my partners disappointment, he really, REALLY wanted to grant them their final 3 hops. That, and the fact that we had already committed to the delivery of Hammy the Hamster compliments of a friend whose immigrating. 

Yes, we would of course be able to come up with another "big surprise" incentive before Hammy made his debut, but the kids had failed to achieve their 3 day goal. Big surprise revoked. If one fell, the reward wouldn't be passed on to the individual winner, even though the eldest was ready daily. They would both have to suffer the consequences. The devastation and low team morale was tangible. We could have easily pushed them through, but we have to teach them about consequences. 

Hit them where it hurts the most

Another example of follow through is to withdraw privileges. I know this sounds like age old, common sense but we really started seeing the best outcome and lesson's learned when we got smarter. It's very easy to shout, scream or put them in Time Out - but do they learn the consequences of their actions? No. 

So we started to implement withdrawal of privileges after we had caught the usually manipulative and cunning eldest in a big fat lie (yes to me, you know the gullible step mother) after he claimed he had done all his homework at school. Initially dad scolded with his usual booming voice of disapproval, hoping that something would sink it and then he made his way to the Tellie to sit with the kids and enjoy their usual 30 minute bonding session. 

Realising the pattern of shout, scold, threaten and repeat, I called a Time Out with dad. We agreed that due to the severity of the crime, we would dish out an appropriate punishment close to his heart - no TV for 2 days. And boy did this child lose his cool. 

Let me tell you, we may as well have told him that Santa didn't exist because the moping, moaning, groaning, sulking and brooding carried on until it was nothing short of a series of pleas that I had never seen before. Ever.  

Then this happened

Sitting at the dinner table eldest pipes up with nothing short of a well versed epiphany. "Do you know", he starts, "that just because people talk, we don't have to listen. That just because people tell us to look somewhere, we don't have to. That just because people tell us to act a certain way, we don't have to." I realise that this could go either way, but being the idealist that I am, I saw the good in his statement and high-fived him in celebration.

Later on, at the same seating, I had encouraged him to look at the awakening that he had imparted onto us and apply it to certain circumstances, you know, closer to home (wink, wink, nudge, nudge).

"If for example", I asserted, "someone told you that your daddy was a terrible daddy (or hypothetically I was a horrible stepmom, pfft as if!) you would then have to ask yourself if you believe that. If it's relevant. If it's harmful. If that person was around, would they feel hurt or happy by that statement." I could see the cogs turning as my little student fed on these tidbits with a keen ear and an open mind. Progress!

In closing, I told him that his new awakening could never been taken from him. He swelled with accomplishment, my little overachiever beaming with pride. I reassured him that most adults still needed to learn what he's learned and some of them never do. By elaborating on the importance of his new found Sitori, he too could use his intuition for the greater good of others. 

"You have been blessed with this new insight", I told him, "You may just help someone who is feeling down, or hurting at your school. You can choose to be a light in someone's life". I could see the discomfort spanning his little face, as we've ascertained, this is very deep and with his least favourite person too. But, I know he's listening and I've seen the change in his thinking already. The lights are on and I know he's home.

Living Consciously

Today I covered our whole fridge with affirmations, I'm talking over 50! 

I could hear him scanning through them breathlessly as he arrived at the dinner table, "Take time to relax dad" he retorted while we made dinner. 

It is a privilege to be a custodian of two individuals that drive me insane with frustration and at the same time fill my heart with purpose.

I will give them both tools to grow and be beacons of light in a very dark world and maybe, just maybe, he lands up helping a couple of stray family members become better people - if you catch my drift. 

I could be a sit-on-the-couch-and-scratch-my-backside kind of person, but I'm not. I will teach them, one day at a time, that love, is greater than fear! 

Please note I keep referring to the 'kids' as kids for their protection and safety, so gender and names have been withheld.