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Crazy-Meds Please!

27 May

What was I thinking. In the name of all that is good and true…

What possessed me to (((volunteer))) to be an adult chaperone on a Grade-00 visit to see Pinocchio at the Baxter.

I am to be in charge of Adam and three of his co-horts. If I can’t keep one Adam under control, what am I going to do with four of them??

For an entire production of Pinocchio…

Oh, make it go away!


SOS From Mummy-Ville….

21 May

Please send re-inforcements!! Mummy needs re-inforcements!!

Or maybe a glass a red wine.

Or Two.

Make that two bottles… 🙂


Reporting back on the adventures of Mummy-hood this week, four notable encounters are worth mentioning to convey the depth of my…  [[[[insert suitable description, I was going to go with “suffering”, but perhaps that’s being overly dramatic...]]]]

Oh, fukkit, let’s go with “suffering” for now.

  • Incident One: I have realised that all children learn to play the “play-play” game at some point. By “play-play” I mean some variation of “house-house” or similar. The common interpretation is that kids act out what is going on in their understanding of their world. Little children will play “house-house” or “school-school. Just how they all magically come to name their games some double-barrel version of reality eludes me. It just makes me more convinced that they are all conspiring against us adults and have some secret society and shared consciousness that only they understand. So, kids may play “nurse-nurse” or “mommy-mommy” or even “shop-shop” etc. All good and groovy. It’s normal behaviour, because they are replicating their experiences… so, please tell me… why, oh why, would my child — of all the options available (doctor-doctor would be my profession of choice) — why would my child turn around and announce “Mommy! Let’s play naughty-naughty”… where did I go wrong…??


  • Incident Two: Took Adam for a walk around the neighbourhood for a lovely late afternoon stroll. Lovely weather. Perhaps a little too cool, but hey, we brave bone-chill winds and hypothermia for the sake of our children (don’t we?). On our walk we came across two dead trees. I proceeded to explain to my child that the trees were dead. (oh, why didn’t I see the vast chasm opening before me and stop myself…) … My innocent statement was followed my the inevitable  “why mommy”. Ah, yes, the concept of death… [[[fuckit, fuckit, fuckit]]] “Well Dear…” I proceeded to pull apart a few alive trees to expose the green, moist interior. We then compared out stalks with similar stalks from the dead trees. Brown, hard and dry vs. green, soft and moist. My child observed both and was able to comprehend and explain the difference between dead and alive (mental patting on the back). Feeling well chuffed at my parental capabilities we continued with our day. Later that evening my child managed to allow his finger to find its way into his nose (don’t look at me like that… if your kids don’t do it, they will soon…). When I spotted him and reprimanded him, he proceeded to tell me “it’s okay mommy, the snot is dead, I must take it out…” … … … … (dead as in dry and crusty,… not moist and … uggggggghhhh).


  • Incident Three: God help me, I have the most observant child in the universe. Driving home the other night he announces “five more lights mommy” [[eh??]] Not one to ignore my child, I say “what do you mean baby?”… “four more lights mommy” [[WTF??]] getting slightly frustrated I continue to probe “mommy doesn’t understand what you mean, tell me another way”… “THREE MORE LIGHTS…” [[[Seriously… WTF??]]] … “Umm… Addy, Mommy doesn’t understand…” … “TWO MORE LIGHTS TILL WE’RE HOME”… it dawns on me that the kid knows how many lightposts it is untill we get home… and he started counting down before we turned the corner, so he knows this shit from memory. I am still slightly spooked. I mean, I have been known to count things, and I should be programmed to understand it, but …????


  • Incident Four: More on the observant front… the other day my child noticed that the moon had moved in the sky. Yes, within the space of 2 hours, he had noticed that it had moved. Of course, following this observation, we had the dreaded question… “why mommy…?” [[[fuckit, fuckit, fuckit to hell]]] I tried to explain, to a three year-old, to the best of my ability, that the moon moves around the earth and that is why it looks like it moves in the sky. I demonstrated with my fists and some expansive circular arm movements. He seemed satisfied with the explanation and we moved on with our day (mental patting on the back). Blow me down if, yesterday, between the morning and the afternoon, my child has realised that, not only does the moon move in the sky, but the frikken SUN does too… “why mommy…?” [[[fuckit, fuckit, fuckit to hell three times and back or more…]]]… I think my answer to that one was “oh, look!!! a plane…..!!”   

Please send large quantities of red wine ASAP, my nerves are shot and I have used up all my mommy-mental-agility.



10 May

Adam (I provided guidance) made cupcakes on Mother’s Day. He did all the measuring and pouring and stirring.

He switched the oven to the right temperature and he sat and watched them get “tall”. He decorated them with much diligence and ate them with much delight and enjoyment.

It’s moments like this that mean the world to me.

Mother’s Day

9 May

I hope all the mothers out there had a wonderful day today. Look what I got!

A box with glitter (we are very proud of the glitter) and chocolates inside. And a card with blue paint-and-glitter handprints (again, very  proud of his glitter) and these words inside (ahhhhh…):

Sometimes you get discouraged
Because I am so small
And always leave my fingerprints
On furniture and walls.

But every day I’m growing –
I’ll be grown some day
And all those tiny handprints
Will surely fade away.

So here’s a little handprint
Just so you can recall
Exactly how my fingers looked
When I was very small

Just too adorable for words…

This is my Kid

31 Mar

Adam is his father’s child in so many ways. He looks like him, he walks like him. He has the same sharp sense of humour. The same naughty devilry. I don’t see a lot of me in him, except his obsession with counting (yes, I have been known to compulsively count lampposts among other things).

Today, after a lovely day out and about together, we were on our way home and I had my music playing (somewhat loudly) and I was singing along to my heart’s content. Soul Sister by Train came on and I sang along with even more gusto.

At the end of the song he turned to me and said with such earnest sincerity:

“I really enjoyed that song”.

I nearly hit the curb…

Maybe he is my kid after all!!


What’s That Smell?

25 Mar

My son seems to have a keen sense of smell.

He has this habit of going outside to sniff the air whenever someone is having a braai. He’ll put his nose in the air ((*sniff-sniff*)) and will say “hmmm-hmmm” in appreciation of the good smell.

((*sniff-sniff*)) — “hmmm-hmmm”. wash, repeat.

This morning he was lazing around in my bed while I was having a shower. When I got out, he was doing his sniff-sniff-hmmm-hmmm routine.

Curiosity kicked in and I asked him what he could smell that was so nice…

 Without hesitation he turned around and said

“You, Mommy”…

Now tell me that wouldn’t give you the warm fuzzies for the whole day too?!?

Little Old Man

9 Mar

Let’s face it… I’m never gonna win the mom of the year award.

This morning, I remembered with about 5 minutes to spare, that Adam had to dress up as an old man for school.

It was the school’s 75th anniversary and they had to dress up to celebrate.

After scrambling around, I managed to put together this “outfit”. Hey, it was 5 minutes… and we were still late!

He REFUSED. REFUSED. REFUSED to let me paint on any kind of a beard or mustache.


Wouldn’t carry the newspaper into class. Wouldn’t even walk into class. Was most put out that I dared to try and dress him differently. Wouldn’t sit with all the other “old men” for a photo. Totally unimpressed with his mother this morning.

It’s time I faced the fact that my son is not going to have an adventurous spirit. Along with “strong-willed”, the word I hear most from his teachers is “sensitive”. (see photo above – he’s giving me a flower. He picks me one almost every day). But, no matter how much I try and encourage boldness and fearlessness, his innate cautiousness always kicks in. Or is it just his “strong-willed” aspect kicking up dust for the hell of it…?

All I know is that you can’t force, coerce or convince him to do anything that he doesn’t want to do.

And if looks could kill…

Yup, no mommy awards for me today…

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