A Side Salad of Fury

Hello....Remember me????

2012-02-03T21:03:00.000-08:00

The nightmare of packing tape and boxes is over, the moving vehicle has come and gone and I am getting used walking past the last few boxes adorning the establishment without feeling any urge to do anything about them. I keep the garage door closed as there is a motherload of boxes there, that may send the pundits of "Clean House" over in a jiffy to have me sorting and throwing away on neatly arranged tarps.

My eldest has packed up and flown the nest to varsity. I sit with mad clouds of doubt as to how we are going to pay for all of this, swirling around my head. There is a vague sense of unease. I recall reading an article about how many children drop out of university in the first year because of financial issues rather than excess induced failures as one would commonly have presumed. Don't let that happen to my child.

I managed rather well, with few tears and only one meltdown. I steeled myself and reminded myself how lovely it was to fly the coop, yes, I can still remember it now, the moment I set off on my own steam. I told myself this was a happy occasion, a moving forward, not a time for mourning. Still we five survivors can sense quietly among ourselves that we have something missing in out lives, a wonderful sunny, peaceful, boat steadying presence that made us feel somewhat whole. We miss it, we miss her delicious brownies, her chilli con carne, we miss her apple pie....I will have to phone her up and ask her how she makes that pasta...funny...I thought I was supposed to be the one who she phones to ask for culinary advice....and yet I must have done something right to produce a product so accomplished and independent in the kitchen. Isn't that what parenting is all about?

Yesterday was a red letter day....Titch came over...and installed my internet. So today, it seemed apt to let you all know I am still alive...all twenty five of you followers...one of which is me...how did I get to be following my own blog??? How is that even allowed? Still it was rather exciting for me to see the number of my followers swell to 25...how surprised I was to see the new follower was me! I'm a do it yourself kinda gal..if someone else isn't going to do it for you..just roll up those sleeves and do it yourself..follow your own blog..go on...write nice comments to yourself...send yourself flowers, tell yourself you look like you've lost weight in those jeans..give yourself the odd wolf whistle... I'm self - sufficient that way!

News of Fluff and Roger??? Fluff and Roger are entering the domesticated portion of their relationship. It's still going strong. Fluff has used her inheritance money ( remember her dad died) to buy a lovely house, with a large oversized swimming pool, a huge veggie garden and lovely grounds. They have a puppy now, a Springer Spaniel, called Finn. They have moved to Jozi where Fluff will be studying full time. I think wedding bells will be pealing in the near future and when Finn and the African Grey Parrot Mika, just won't do it for Fluff anymore, she may produce a cute pink bundle of joy...who knows...I wish I could be happy for them.

Do you detect a little bitterness?? OK, ok ...a smidge...just I little ...but I have it under control, I promise ...I can stop at anytime...

Speaching to a Screaching halt!

2011-09-23T08:09:00.000-07:00

M had to turn in a technology project for Tuesday morning. He had to make a motorized toy. A motorized toy? One with a switch? I didn't know where to start...What do I know about building motorized toys at the eleventh hour? Let alone where to shop for motorized bits and peices. A padded push up bra...you bet , but a motorized toy...and with one and a half hours till shops close?

We eventually found a motor kit from a toy store, it must be a design from a Greek shipping company because I couldn't understand the instructions -It was all Greek to me!!!! Eventually a small odd, polystyrene boat emerged with it's motor clinging on to it from a dizzy height.

It went off to school barely dry. As we arrived at school the other children came baring their huge enormous polystyrene boats with massive propellers and serious motors, the dads had been rather busy...I thought I detected some dark eyes under some of their eyes. I wanted to give Roger a kick in the pants right then and there. I can see I am going to have to man up and get technical.

Apparently the motor lasted during the oral where he had to explain how he made it, but failed dismally when tested in the school swimming pool. M, good naturedly spoke about how all the other boats had a full on war...crashing into each other and charging around the pool. My heart broke knowing how he must have stood on the edge of the pool holding his failure of a boat that didn't even stand upright. I had a steely resolve form somewhere in my molten core...I'm taking those dads on...Just you wait Henry Higgins just you wait!!!

Well that was Monday night taken care of. So Tuesday rolled around, and that evening I had to do my first toastmasters PREPARED speech. It was M ( girl) 's dance recital the whole weekend, D had a cricket match, I had a 6am meeting with Roger about finalising the divorce, but I musn't blame as there was a great deal of procrastination involved as well.

I tried to prepare during my two free periods at school, I had something scratchily thrown together. The topic was myself so I was quite familiar with the topic.As the Seargeant at arms banged the gravel and declared the meeting open, the pit of my stomach wasn't doing very well. I sat there wishing I was a little more prepared. Eventually my name was called to come up and give my speech. I had between four and six minutes to complete it.

I decided to talk about names and how they may shape our lives. I had a great introduction and just before I reached the part about talking about myself, which was the whole point of the talk,the green light came on, indicating I had two minutes to wrap up the speech. I hadn't even begun yet. I was free falling from a high point in speechy abysses and the landing wasn't going to be a pretty sight. I pulled the emergency concluding paragraph and finished with a lacklustre "Thank you."

The comments and evaluations were great! Here are some of them. "Well done! I enjoyed the style you presented the speech, you looked very relaxed.Look forward to your next speech!!" " A good introduction to yourself, very interesting and amusing." " Very good start. May be you could have said a bit more about yourself (ah someone sharp and on the ball) and project your voice a bit more." "Very well spoken and structured, you brought humour in well, dealt with time pressure with ease. At times your voice is a bit soft."

Excellence was something I strove for when I was a stay at home mom and still married. If the children had to dress up, I really went to town and they had amazing costumes, it there was a project to be done, it was always amazing, Roger and I were a good team, he always could figure out the woodworking and technical stuff and I always had the ideas, art and design as part of my porfolio It became a family culture, we always tended to do things well.

After moving back to South Africa and the subsequent upheavals in our lives we lost that. Just getting by seemed a bit like a miracle and I found distractions that didn't involve the children. I miss those times and feel it is time, to raise the bar in the family again. To strive for excellence in all that we do as we have done in the past, to do our very best.

So it's time for me to up my game as a mom. I have become sloppy about so many things. Excellence begins with me. My next speech is coming up in October. I have been having some EXCELLENT ideas. Which is great. Cause excellence is coming back to this home. I just wonder how I am going to convince the kids about letting him come to stay...or is it she?

Drowning

2011-09-11T13:06:00.000-07:00

I know I shouldn't do it but I do. I compare myself continually to Roger. It's as if I am holding an unofficial competition with him. Guess who always comes stone last? Me! Today I discovered he is studying to do his PHD. He is going to be Dr Dr.... I just can't compete with him...but how do I stop?

I am desperate to prove to myself and those in my past I have appointed as judge and jury over my worth that I am not the useless amount to nothing person they all thought I was. That I wasn't toxic. That I shouldn't have been cast aside. Each time I squeeze into my snug jeans I berate myself. Roger lost his boep and goes to the gym regularly. I am studying a Mickey Mouse coaching course, and he is doing his PHD.

This unofficial competition is relentless, the rules unfair. I have to be better than him in all aspects to prove to myself I am worth anything. To prove that I was not worth casting aside. To prove that he made a horrible mistake leaving me.

I guess my rules for being an OK person are all crazy making. I'm looking for affirmation outside of myself. The sensible rule book always says comparing yourself to others is not helpful. How does ones self esteem ever recover from spending fat too many years with someone who thought you weren't worth building a marriage with and sharing a life together? Someone who found the girls at work far more worthy of his attention? How soon into the marriage did he decide I wasn't worth anything or at least I wasn't worth staying faithful to?

Tonight isn't a good night for this girl. It doesn't help when your teenager says "I hate you!" as some teenagers are prone to do when their phone has been confiscated for a while and you just discovered you have been holding the body of their phone hostage rather than the whole phone and that the SIM, which is really the brains of the cell phone has been freely roaming into and out of their siblings phones.

Recovering a sense of self and worth is a long hard process particularly if you sold out to yourself a long time ago. Just need to figure out how to do it.

Ahhh, Ummm, Errrr....

2011-09-01T13:20:00.000-07:00

Well I did it! I joined "Toastmasters" and after a month of being a guest, I am now a card carrying book toting fully fledged member of the Protea Toastmasters Club. On Tuesday I will be performing my very first duty as an official member of the club. I shall be, and I say so with much chest puffing and the like....the oh ever so important...Um and Aah Counter! Next Tuesday, I shall count every um and ah and err escaping the lips of those speakers and will be required to give a full report on these infractions at the end of the meeting. I'll be the Mr Plod of Speechland.

Each week we have a series of "table topics" which really are impromptu speeches delivered on the spur of the moment. After the speeches are completed we vote for the best speech and yours truly won! My topic? My favourite colour, which led me directly onto the topic of chocolate, which led me directly to the prize....a slab of chocolate! What this woman will do for chocolate!

Windsongs of Joy

2011-08-27T05:46:00.000-07:00

My studies require a lot of self reflection and thought. Iv'e been thinking in parts of my brain that have probably never been used before. One reflection activity asked me to write down 50 things that make me happy. Eish!

It sounds deceptively easy, but I suspect that this list will be collected one at a time over a few weeks as I notice moments of flow.

So today let me record todays one. #1: Flying a kite. I went to the kite festival today with N and D and D's girlfriend. We wandered around looking at all the kites. I decided I would buy one, a real beginners kite called an Ollie. It looks a little like a jelly fish. It was a lovely bright purple colour. We took turns flying the kite. It was such a happy moment standing on the field with lots of other kite flyers, my kite soaring and dipping and diving and crash landing on the field.

My thanks go to the Chinese who apparently invented the kite, largely due to their abundance of silk and bamboo. Thanks guys. Just goes to show how important it is to use what you already have.

I'm a student !

2011-08-14T04:50:00.000-07:00

It finally arrived! When I got home from school on Thursday, a huge brown cardboard box was waiting for me on the dining room table. In it was all the materials for the course I ordered from "New Insights". I am now studying to be a life coach. I am pretty excited and look forward to having 2 careers, 2 dogs, 5 kids and hopefully many, many clients!

Climb Ev'ry Mountain....over and over again...

2011-08-04T12:54:00.000-07:00

Well, the very fact that I am writing this blog suggests to you, my dear, dear reader that I have survived the much anticipated and feared hike! Here follows an account, of my journey.

It took me two full days to pack for the hike. You see I had discovered the vacuum sealer machine and I was most entertained by the act of vacuum packing my undies and socks. You should try it, but be warned this is a very addictive practice. It started with me vacuum packing my daily rations for the hike. All the chocolates and sweets I had anticipated eating, this time without guilt as I would "have earned them" were sealed in little plastic baggies, so I could rip them open whenever the chocolate fever grabbed me. After every little snack was vacuum packed I searched for other things to pack. Fresh, crisp underwear and socks...I would be hiking "buisiness class" with all the necessities shrink wrapped in little bags.After that all extra clothes were shrink wrapped, did I mention how addictive all this can be? Once everything was vacuum packed I proceeded to pack all the little bits and pieces into the bag. One or two minor snags followed ( I have never been able to pack light...) but eventually I was able to get rid of some things and keep the important ones like chocolate...

We travelled 11 hours inland to our starting destination. I pulled the bag on my back...it was quite heavy but I reminded myself that at any time I could eat my way through the kg of treats I had vacuum packed...
The first minute of hiking saw me huffing and puffing and because of the altitude, I was quite literally gasping for air. I sucked at the atmosphere like it was the bottom of a chocolate milkshake, but I was still desperate for oxygen. Ten paces into the hike and I was already in line for a heart attack...Luckily, it turned out to be the high altitude and within 10 minutes I was walking alright again.

The first day was alright, I was tired and very aware that I was unfit, but I was already planning my next hike. "Next hike I am going to be a lot fitter.." I arrived to the camp 14 km's later, at sunset but in good spirits. Supper around a roaring fire and good fireside conversation followed. Marshmallows were the treat of the day and I wryly noted that I didn't crack open a single treat the entire day. I had walked all day, sipping my Mexican water bottle.( Just water - I promise) Exercise had curbed my chocolate cravings. Go figure.

The second day saw us hopelessly and completely lost there had been a mix up at the front desk and we had been told to double back to a certain hut on the first day of the hike, it added over half and hour to our labours, but didn't seem at all relevant. What we should have been told was to double back to the hut on day two,or "you will most certainly get lost." Which we did. It's bad enough taking your lardy heinie up and down marked trails, but it loses it's savour when you are just running in circles going nowhere.

Eventually I suggested we go down to the road and ask one of the service vehicles to tell us where to go or give us a lift to the hut. Unfortunately my hiking partner was overcome by the spirit of Dr Livingstone and we forged on for several hours longer covering the same mountain side like the Grand Ole Duke of York , marching up and down, much to the amusement of the odd Eland loping over the craggy hilltop. After a further three hours, I would have understood if those 10 thousand men had staged a mutiny and had shot that Grand Ole Duke execution style. My sense of humour had left me.

It was eventually decided to head to the road. I sulkily loped down the mountainside, my ankles twisting over all the stupid idiotic rocks. By the time we had reached the road, the service vehicles had left and we were two lone fools heading in one direction on the tar. My partner, Dr Livingstone, decided we should sing hymns. I scolded her roughly for even suggesting it, so she sang merrily along while I rehearsed a scene or two from Scrooge trudging grumpily behind...Bah Humbug!

We phoned for help on the emergency line and "Paul" arrived in his white pickup to load us to safety. We drove for over half and hour and I was so incredibly thrilled to be back to civilisation and warm baths and all the comforts of life as I knew it. Would I do it again? Yes, but I think with a crowd of people and a hiking trail that is reliably marked and I would try to be a little fitter. Am I glad I did it, Yes. I am.

It Gets Easier...is that a good thing?

2011-07-07T02:38:00.000-07:00

Roger drove his dusty Mahindra into the driveway this morning to load up all the children. I was in my purple spotty flannel jammies, pink bathrobe, green fluffy socks and slippers. My hair had that tousled untouched au naturel look about it. One of my more veteran divorced friends told me always to look your best when you see your ex and make sure your house is spotless. I have followed her advice up until this point. I would wake up early, feverishly tidy and scrub the house, straighten my hair and put on make-up. When he left, I would still feel like the food left on a plate, just before it gets scraped off into the garbage or the dogs bowl. The sloppy leftovers!

Instead this time I noticed, he had "man boobs" - did he have them before? I can't really remember. He was looking washed out and although his biceps looked slightly bigger I couldn't make out whether they were fatter or more muscular.He had what looked like a small varicose vein popping out of his left upper bicep. As he lowered his chin a grand double chin appeared all speckled with salt and pepper stubble. ( Does one applaud at these moments? It was an impressive one, I couldn't keep my eyes off it.)

He has asked me before to make lunch for these car trips. I had always made an excuse as to why I couldn't, but the truth was, I felt something akin to outrage at his asking. Am I still your wife? Making packed lunches for your trip? I wasn't about to do anything that would benefit the old git. Nasty, nasty, nasty!

This time, I needed no prompting and it was a pleasure going shopping and deciding what yummy treats to pack for Roger and the kids.I decided on chicken mayo rolls, apple, yogurt, a handful of chocolates, some biltong ( a little like beef jerky), a granola bar, a bag of sweets and a bag of Fritos. I labelled each bag with care as well as the bottle of flavoured water. For "breakfast on the road" I made "Egg Mc Muffins" which they could all eat in his car. I enjoyed being of service to him and the children. I didn't at any time consider whether I had a little anti-freeze in the garage or some rattex in the cupboard, I swear. No poisonous thoughts lurked behind the stage curtains of my mind.

As the dusty old car eventually moved inch by inch out of the gate, with a huge trailer in tow - I felt every bit the amazing diva in my mismatched fluffiness. Usually I would be beside myself with grief at having an empty house, no-one to make a mess and leave mugs of half drunk Milo on all surfaces. No-one rolling their eyes at me or trying on an outfit and then putting it in the laundry basket. No I was quite alone and content and happy that the kids gone to spend good time with their dad and his Fluff.

So - I can see progress, which is great. I feel much better about myself in his presence and I feel great about the direction my life is taking. This forty-something year old, isn't about to wallow in self pity about being the spare parts left after an upgrade, instead , my life is becoming more my own and less a reaction to Roger and his shenanigans. PROGRESS. SUCH PROGRESS!

WHY? I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I am making strides to build another life for myself. I am going to start studying next term. My books and materials should come by the thirtieth and then I begin the journey towards being a life coach. I finally plucked up the courage to phone "Toastmasters" and will begin honing my public speaking skills.I'm going up to Johannesburg to see about a parenting course I am planning to give. I'm walking, I'm toddling, I'm crawling, but I'm moving forwards and THAT has made all the difference in the world!

Grumpy Groundhog.

2011-07-02T01:37:00.000-07:00

Alas I fear I am more bitter than I give my self credit for. We have been having a lovely break in the bush these past few days. We were so close to elephants we could feel their breath on us and if we wished, we could reach out and ruffle the fur of some lion cubs as they sat in the shade, while their parents had an afternoon nap.

Eldest son, D, has a love interest. He has been spending his time texting and texting. I shall just call it flirting with your thumbs. Like a patient fisherman in the new game of love, he has caught himself a fish and like any inexperienced fisherman is asking himself , "Now What?". Catching a fish as you well know is far easier than reeling it in and of course all the nasty getting the fish off the hook and even nastier stuff like scaling and gutting. I'm starting to make him sound like a serial killer. Perhaps my metaphor has been stretched too far?

Anyhow his flirtatious thumbs have reached the point of asking her out. Of course this needs plenty of strategics and planning and advice from the experts on love. So with fingers blurred by speed he was texting his love mentor, HIS DAD and dad was freely giving advice which was being relayed to the front seats of the game drive vehicle for discussion.

DO I WANT THAT MAN TEACHING MY SON LESSONS IN LOVE? Harumph! Yes, he may be VERY successful in hooking women ( over 15 while he was married) on the end of his fly rod, with his artificial lures but what does he know about true love and lasting love and how to really treat a woman???? I ask you with tears in my eyes!

This situation was ludicrous in my opinion and on a few occasions I voiced with exactness how I felt about their dad and his love advice! PAH! If we take a completely scientific stance on the whole matter, he really does know how to reel them in. Even as a married man he was constantly surrounded by swooning women gushing over the handsome doctor. He has been living with Fluff happily for over 3 years now. She's half his age.. So scientifically speaking, in comparison. I shall not be surprised to see him in a silky paisley printed gown, smoking a pipe! In our small circle if acquaintences , he is as close as it comes to being a real life Hugh. Hefner. What young boy wouldn't be wowed by such skill and talent?

On the other shoe, I definitely don't have suitors banging down my door. The kids haven't seen me go on any dates lately. So it all makes perfect sense and in an instant I wished to be a femme fatale, with men falling over their feet to muddy their jackets in puddles for me and my phone ringing off the hook with interested suitors. Why him and not me? If I had a penny for every time I asked that question I would be very wealthy. In the end all I want is one man to love me and have space in his heart for my children and for us to have a love where we are able to keep "the spark" alive despite any of the obstacles thrown willy nilly in our path. I wonder if there is a silk paisley print gown in my size? Just wondering?????

Sneakily does it!

2011-06-08T07:14:00.000-07:00

An awkward situation developed a couple of months ago. Roger, the artful dodger committed to pay for a hockey tour that K was going on. It would see her challenging some hockey teams in Kwazulu Natal, a good experience for sure.

When the time came to pay, Roger was ~~predictably~~ out of pocket. So I scraped together the last of my funds and paid for the hockey tour with Roger promising to repay me soon, very soon. Of course, his soon and mine, just aren't on the same planet. Venus's day is equal to 243 earth days.

I suspect poor Roger had urgent work to do on Venus, and while my world and empty pocket spun round and around day after day, his alarm clock hadn't even rung yet. I tried many things. ~~I was an annoying nag about it.~~ I reminded Roger several times. ~~I tried to guilt him into it.~~ We had a short discussion about how important is is to keep ones word.

So I was walking in Game, shopping for paper for the computer and decided to call him, as one does when one is shopping for computer paper. I was really not surprised when...he didn't answer.
He sent me a hasty sms telling me he was in a very high profile meeting and he didn't know when it would be finished but could I please understand it would be a while before he could get back to me.

I sent a text back to his air conditioned boardroom.

Me: "Just send the money, surreptitiously to me on the phone, no-one will be the wiser..."
Roger: "Let me see if the salary advance has come through. ~~I don't really believe he is that destitute, but I can play along"~~
Me: "Don't make any sudden moves or you will blow your cover"
Roger: ~~007, Bond, James Bond..a little stirred by all this sneakiness:~~ "Ok, I sent it sneakily on my I-Pad, no-one suspects a thing."
Me: Nice. ~~A bout time chop!~~ ( Of course I am too much of a lady to say that)

Look at that, after all those years of ole Roger running around on me and sending sneaky sms's to all the other woman, he couldn't resist the urge to be sneaky once more for old times sake. Who would have guessed. I guess he is sneaky -deprived poor old git!

Looks like I might be up for a little sneaky myself!

How I know I won't die laughing...

2011-06-01T10:00:00.000-07:00

I have now accepted an invitation to go hiking with a friend and his friends in the Magoebaskloof this coming holiday. I have a mere 28 days to get myself hiking fit, before I find myself looking at uphill after uphill with a large burden strapped to my back. People do this for fun you know.

I sense this hike is a lot like studying for a Latin exam.You can't really cram for a Latin test. There is no way one can learn all that vocabulary in one night including all the declensions. I know this because I have tried. Puella ...Puellarum...oh heck look at all the Pooh-I -am-in....You see? You can't cram fitness either.

Let me put you in the picture of the physical shape I am in. I am sporting an extra 20 kg's - weight that I have put on in the last three years, like the extended version of "Eat, Pray, Love..."( Elizabeth Gilbert) I certainly have spend a lot of time at eat...and I figure this hike will certainly set me firmly on the path of PRAY..pray, I make it out alive, pray my knees hold me and I just don't go tumbling backwards down the slope as my backpack unends me. I have never been one for travelling light.

It will be an austere version of Elizabeth Gilbert's quest for self -enlightenment which finds the author in some Indian monastery having taken a vow of silence and meditating whilst being devoured by mosquitoes. Pray!

I can almost hear you asking yourself , "Why?" Good question. Well? I don't know, but something in me says,perhaps this hike will lead to more and take me closer to the lifestyle I yearn for, an active, cleaner healthier way to be. In other words I feel compelled to do this. It may propel me in the direction of LOVE, not the romantic, love, but a LOVE for life. One step further on the happiness ladder.

What a girl has to do to get a hug and a kiss in these parts nowadays...

2011-05-28T11:27:00.000-07:00

We have had a few days of torrential downpours and Thursday morning was one of those days. I was late leaving the home as N, my 9 year old daughter, had left something absolutely crucial behind and I had to turn around as the time ticked on and traffic became heavier.

My windscreen wipers were labouring heavily and still, it was hard to see. The robots ( traffic lights) changed inconveniently and the car in front of me stopped, something I wasn't anticipating. Usually we not so law abiding South African drivers, gun an orange light. Not this polite white sedan.

I braked, I was going a little too fast, and the car aquaplaned in slow motion right into the back of the nice white polite sedan, who was after all, just following the law. I had tried to miss him, but impact was unavoidable. I had seen his vehicle move forward with the impact. Time to get out.

A nicely dressed, pleasant looking old man got out, his head, a mass of tidy white hair.

I got out the mother ship. " We come in peace," should have been my greeting. I started apologizing as my feet hit the tar. "I am so sorry."

"He said, I just stopped at a red robot...and you, I interrupted him with yet another apology.

"We will have to take down each others details he said, "

"You are absolutely right, " I said.

Then we looked ...not a single dent, bump,scratch or sign that I had rear ended this fellow. Our eyes scrutinized every inch of our vehicles. NADA! It had just been a case of my bumper kissing his,very lightly...

I was apologizing again, telling him I had had an awful morning. He told me he had had the same.

"Look at my red eyes," he said. I looked they were blood shot. Poor guy. Had he been crying all morning, had he just lost his wife?

So he gave me a hug, and said, "Let's get back in our cars, "

and so we did.

I can't forget his kindness, he will forever be etched in my mind. I am eternally grateful we still have such wonderful people left in this world. Aren't you?

Things to look forward to, things to look back on and the blue bird of happiness...

2011-05-15T05:32:00.000-07:00

I have a colleague at work who is happy. Can you say that? I mean how many really happy people do you know? See what I mean? It may have something to do with her gorgeous surfer girl blonde locks or her slim figure. I mean I would be happy with a figure like that!

So on Friday, after a spate of wintery and wet days, the winter sun came out to play. Not the beastly, harsh summer sun with all her cancer-making rays,but the oh so welcome, slightly weaker winter sun. We all took our books and marked together on the picnic tables in the playground, enjoying the warmth on our backs and the companionship of friends who work together. We joked, we teased and marked.

Later it was decided to go for tea together at a nearby watering hole. Sitting around the table,sipping oversized cups of hot chocolate all covered in cream, we quite naturally asked our friend, what makes you so happy? She said, "I always have something good to look forward too." Like Bali? we asked, ( she has just come back from Bali) or Cold Play? ( she is going to see her favourite band play in Cape Town.) "Yes, but not always the big things sometimes the little things too.."

I guess that is why divorce can be so devastating, because all the things you looked forward to involved you and him and the kids. It seems for a while that there is nothing to look forward to. In time you get to a place where you have healed enough to start to see a glimmer of light and eventually in that dark and lonesome cocoon, you begin to nurture more dreams, and the butterfly of hope settles on your shoulder - she's called "your future" and she is beautiful and bright.

This is definitely a habit I intend to incorporate into my life.

Weirdness, my life is really yingy and yangy. This advice has just come on the heels of a decision I made to create a Red Letter Day Diary. I have written the days of the year, in a lined hard cover book.One day per page. On these pages I will record all the red letter days in my life. This Friday I look forward to entering a milestone into it. My oldest daughter will be going to her matric farewell. Eventually after many years I will have a record of all those monumental days in my life. Writing the dates in my book really filled me with a heady anticipation for the future. I wondered what wonderful monumental events I would record in my book.

Looking forward to things and looking back, the wonderful whiplash of a life well lived.

Easter with kids...

2011-04-25T05:11:00.000-07:00

It was my turn to have the children for Easter this year. I love celebrating the holidays with the children. I unpack all the old family traditions from when they were children and conscript even the coolest of teens in the whole business.

This year we decided to invite some friends over to join in the festivities. On Saturday night we decorated Easter eggs. We dyed them various colours,( a little food colouring with vinegar and water will do the trick) and created over 30 little egg people, complete with googlie eyes, glitter, wooly hair and so on. The occasional egg couldn't handle the pressure and collapsed, but all in all we all had a lot of fun. Who would have thought 17 year old boys could get so into decorating hens eggs? My son, D, was a little too cool for it all, but he did decorate one egg nicely, scribbled a face on another and wrote on the third, "I'm rolling, I'm rolling," by then his creative juices had run out and the siren call of computer games had become too much to resist.

On Easter Sunday, the children woke up to homemade Easter Baskets with a few eggs in each. ( please don't think Martha Stewart here- picture ice-cream tubs with ribbon around them.) We got up and got dressed for church. Following church we came home and started the Easter Dinner preparations. This year it would be gammon, cherries and pine adornments and a sprinkling of breadcrumbs. This was served with mash and veggies.

The Chocolate thieving hounds had to be banished inside while I got ready for the egg hunt - I was very pleased to have found some camouflage eggs from Woolies this year, just to up the anti a little. They were coloured the colour of grass, tree and cement and were very hard to detect.( The grass ones worked particularly well in our hippy-like lawn! ) Perfect! Eventually the children were released and the dogs saw the gap and escaped - their swift work of the children's chocolate advent calenders was still fresh on my mind and I raced inside to find two large bones from Easter dinner to distract them. It worked quite well. The children made quick work of finding the eggs and then went about dividing their loot evenly. I thanked my lucky stars for instituting this team based approach very early in their lives.

After the egg hunt, we got everyone ready for the annual Easter egg rolling event with all our decorated eggs. Plenty of our decorating friends had decided that they wanted to join in and so the van was groaning with kids ( about 13) squashed into it's limited space. We headed out for the large sand dunes of Bonza Bay. We looked for a really tall and steep dune and trekked that way.

A line was drawn at the bottom, this would be our rudimentary finishing line. Each competitor was allowed three eggs to compete with. On go, the eggs were rolled down the hill. The winning egg was allowed to continue in the running. Some eggs just never made it down the hill... some"inadvertently" landed on other competitors ... and some were launched like surface to air missiles in defense of an invisible, yet all the more menacing, air raid. Mayhem and chaos would be the official cover - up understatement, but they all seemed to have great fun and good naturedly handled being on the receiving end of the heat seeking egg shaped missile...

When it was all over, the children went off to wait at the van. I was a little slower than them as I was a little more fastidious in the mop up operation...one terrorist had saved his egg and snuck up on the others while they waited for me to unlock the car in the parking lot, without warning the last of the eggs was launched at the unsuspecting huddle which dispersed rather swiftly...

The evening was spent with friends playing board games and some outdoor games. That is my Easter story.

The Tar and Fluff Baby...

2011-04-19T12:21:00.000-07:00

I love the old folk tale about Brer Rabbit and the Tar Baby. Brer Rabbit comes whistling around the road, humming a merry tune, when he sees, Brer Fox's Tar Baby waiting in the road for him. He greets the Tar Baby, like a fine upstanding Southerner should, with a warm, good morning and nice weather we are having... The Tar Baby says nothing, it just stands there all cute and sticky. Brer Rabbit gets offended and swipes at the Tar Baby, the more he fights the more stuck he gets, till he is well and truly stuck.

The whole thing with Roger and Fluff, as well as Roger and ...and....and.....has really got me well and truly stuck. I can't get over the insult to my ego. I can't see the path to letting go. My mind is a rubick's cube, of tangled and thorny thoughts not much unlike a "strangler vine." I try, but sooner or later I find myself back at the part where I am stuck. It's not as if I am in love with Roger. I'm not. I don't want him back. It's how the marriage made me feel, the conclusions about myself that I have drawn as a result. I am immobilized by feelings of inferiority. I obsess. I agonize. I am the queen of feeling less than. The Queen of Feeling less than Fluff. It's a world of my own creation. In this world, she's younger than me, prettier, thinner, cleverer, better in bed, superior in every way.

There must be a way to escape.I feel sort of Alice in Wonderlandish - the darker Johnny Depp version of course. All it would take would be a small hair fine trigger, that will boost the escape hatch. I can't find it. Perhaps I am losing hope that there is a way out.

Sharon Saltzberg, knows something I don't. She said ' In the midst of devastation, something within us always points the way to freedom." If you say so lady. I agree the answer has got to be around here somewhere. If I can only do something about these weeds I've let swamp the vegetable garden of my mind.

When Brer Rabbit was finally good and well caught by Brer Fox's Tar Baby, Brer Fox emerged from the bushes licking his lips, ready to make a meal of Brer Rabbit. However Brer Rabbit was not deterred, he finally managed to outfox the fox and scampered off into the briar bush albeit still a little sticky. Indomitable. That Brer Rabbit.

I suppose, this land I have created is a place of my own creation, which is key. A woman who had a great self esteem may dismiss her filandering husband as trifling and no good, she may never think his behaviour had anything to do with her, she would walk past the tar baby of self doubt and inferiority, without giving it a second glance... and she would be quite right. No need to embrace a tar baby of your own making.

I'm never going to find the validation I seek, by obsessing over how Roger chose Fluff over me. These demon's I wrestle were there before Roger. In fact I used Roger to mask these feelings. If HE loves me...I must be someone...When HE didn't love me anymore, I suddenly noticed that Self-Doubt and Low Esteem, had grown. Only because I fed them the steroids of self obsession and the growth hormones of a fortified inferiority complex.

I have to live in the world of my interior landscape. It could do with some weeding and some careful landscaping. The only difference between your landscape and mine is what we put in it and what we choose to grow and nurture.

SMILE!

2011-04-16T01:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a red letter day in our household... K ( eldest daughter) got her braces off, after nearly six years of railway tracks, tears, heartache, monumental battles and the like. ( see Inglorious braces) I had to arrange for the next door neighbor to take her to the orthodontist as I was teaching, so she had to take time off school and as a result had the whole day to sit in front of the mirror and admire her pearly whites before we arrived home.

One of my favourite songs of late is Uncle Kracker's SMILE. I adore the lyrics. What could be cooler than the flip side of my pillow? The funny thing is, and I have tested this theory....I think the DJ's at radio Algoa, wait for me to be in the car before they play this track. I was taking the kids back from youth on Thursday, and it played, 9pm, it was, The next morning I had to do a very early morning run to the corner cafe for some unmentionable girly things, they played it, on the way to school , they played it...It's getting uncanny...
I thought I would share it with you....enjoy!

This is dedicated to my fabulous and amazing daughter, who spent her whole high school career behind a barbed wire fence. A true prisoner of war hero. She never bit into a ripe juicy apple, she didn't chew gum, she stayed away from toffee and all illegal orthodontic substances. My daughter who gave the world her robotic smile everyday, but wept silently on the way home from every dental appointment. I am proud of her and very happy for her. You should see her smile...it's cooler than the flipside of my pillow...

So SMILE everyone....

A Tale in Which Roger Loses his Mojo....as Mr Cool Dad.

2011-04-12T09:35:00.000-07:00

For so long I have labored under the anxiety that the children find Roger, to be Mr Fun, Mr Cool and Mr Amazing Dad and find me to be Mrs Uuuunnnnncooool and not much fun to be with. Anyone who has read my blog will attest to the fact that this theme has circled in and out of my thinking perpetually, neverendingly and ad nauseum..

I'm learning VERY SLOWLY that things are not always how they seem and shockingly that you can't judge a book by it's cover. Who would have thunk?

The girl's were all draped over the counter as we prepared last nights Macaroni,with bacon and onion. If Marie Antoinette were alive today, she would bellow "Feed them Pasta," instead of her much maligned, "Feed them Cake." I just know these things.

So M, my middle child starts a conversation something like this. "I think dad has lost the art of being with children. When I speak to him, he speaks to me like he would one of his business associates." She always has her nose in a book, so she tends to use big words.

I tread carefully. The clam will slam shut if I say the least thing derogatory about Roger. She goes on to explain that she thinks it's because he doesn't spend enough time with children and spends his time with adults.

" I always thought he was so good with kids, "I say, not a word of a lie.

"Well maybe a while ago she says matter of factly. but he has lost it a little bit."

"I thought he was such fun?"

"Well, he can be fun....but not as much anymore." she repeats.

" I just think he is just not that used to it anymore. It takes a bit to get used to."

Certainly it does.

Amen Sista! -I think, awfully glad I'm the one who is "used to it" and feeling ever so much better, about life, the world and the universe.

Fluff Loses her hero...

2011-04-11T14:22:00.000-07:00

While the children were visiting with Roger, Fluff received a call from her brother in Botswana to inform her that her father had passed away. N told me he was the fun one, the one who was always ready and willing to help her. It reminded me a little of Roger. In the relationship,he was always the active fun parent and always threw himself headlong into projects with the kids, his whole self in the process of helping. I always admired that about Roger, his ability to wholeheartedly throw himself into the process of helping another no matter who it was.

N reported that Roger and Fluff spent a long time behind closed doors, as he tried to console her. N reports, that the crying could be heard from behind the door. Then Fluff packed her bags and flew to Botswana, to begin the proceedings of funeral arrangements and the like. It would seem that she was to be the one who would have to make the arrangements.

When the children came back K ( eldest daughter) had a bag of chocolate Easter bunnies. It was explained to me that these were sent by Fluff's father for the children. It was a little weird seeing the children carefully share the fruits of one of the last acts of a dead man. Interesting too that Fluff's dad would send treats all the way from Botswana for my children.

The children then explained that all Fluff's dad wanted to do was to come and see these children. His wife had already seen them, his brother had made the trip up and even Fluff's cousin had come to visit them. It doesn't take much reading between the lines to realise that Fluff has really taken on the role of step-mother, as has her family, who in someways I suppose feel like uncle and grandma and grandpa to them. A sort of unspoken adoption. It feels a bit in my heart like an abduction, you know the ones that happen in the supermarket...One day you go grocery shopping and when you come back, while your eggs and cheese bump together in your shopping bag, someone takes your children and claims them as their own.

I'm struck full force with the feeling that these are my children, I want them, they are mine. Somewhere in my heart, the fibers are stretched and torn and there is definitely a great deal of pain associated with this. Like a toddler at playschool feeling the pain of his or her first lessons in sharing. " No Mine!" I don't want to share. So the only way I can deal with this is for me to see it from an altruistic point of view. My children have more people to love them, That can only be good right?

On Sunday I taught a Sunday School lesson ( adult Sunday school). It was on the admonition Jesus gave people to become like little children. I had a guy friend come up to the front of the class with his 3 year old little girl.( who is noonie...as the kids would call it- cute ,cute , cute) I asked him to talk about all her wonderful qualities. It was really beautiful. One thing he said really struck me. He said when he first started having children, he thought that with each new child, his love would have to be divided between them, thus the more children you have, the less love each receives.He said in fact with each child, his capacity for love grew and he had more love to give. Awesome.

All I can say is loving my five is such a privilege and honour. I love tucking people into bed at night, giving fishy and butterfly kisses, hugs, even the stiff ironing board hugs you get when you try to hug your 16 year old boy. I love making supper together with all five, and washing up alone....cause everyone remembered they had a project to do. I love seeing the fine and wonderful, tremendous qualities and talents housed in my five. I love the giggles from rooms, love it's a big thing, is there anything bigger? So if through some quirk of fate, there are some more people queuing up to love my kids,that's alright, afterall "It's love that makes the world go round..." and no-one else can be their MOTHER.

I Have a Houseful Again.

2011-04-10T13:06:00.000-07:00

The children spent the school holidays in Durban with their dad. They are back now. I remember, when I was a young woman at college, my mom always used to ready my room with a small vase of flowers and a note welcoming me home. I didn't really appreciate it as much as I should have then, but what I learned most from being treated so kindly was the habit of making a homecoming an occasion.

So today, in anticipation of the children coming home, I turned down each child's bed, and laid three little chocolates on their pillows, ensuring that the vagabond dogs didn't help themselves to the chocolates. They did quite well off me this week. They polished off a box of marshmallow Easter eggs, and 12 guilty mini-eclairs I bought for myself from the Spar shop just around the corner. I can't blame the dogs for doing the work of karma, or preventing me from sinning with calories...

Next I bought some roses for the girls rooms yesterday. I was careful to pick a shade that I knew would go well in each girl's room. There are some really stunning colours of roses nowadays. I tried my best to arrange them, without using any of the principles of how to successfully arrange flowers. The arrangements were... amateurish to say the least, but the thought was there. I had lost the special florist sachets you are supposed to put in the water to make the roses last longer, so I searched the house for a Disprin.I had heard that if you pop a Disprin into the flower water it does the same thing. My searched turned up not a single Disprin, sorry flowers.

Then I decided to make a bouquet of flowers for the boys. I hunted for a small vase, the size of a shot glass.It wasn't my day for finding anything, so I turned up nothing. Eventually I found a small egg cup. Then I took a bag of whispers ( small chocolate covered malt balls) and some tooth picks. Bear with me you have to try to picture this. I stuck a whisper on the end of each toothpick and arranged my "flowers" in the egg cup, with some extra greenery from the previous floral experiments. I was quite proud of my Whisper bouquet and I was sure the boys would appreciate my wackiness. They did, and before long, they had plucked and eaten ever flower in the arrangement. The girls were equally thrilled with their roses.

We've had some chats,some giggles and some cuddles...it feels goooooood!

It's wonderful to have all my children home. I read a wonderfully inspiring quote today. It goes as follows." To be upset about what you don't have is to waste what you do have." I have so much to be grateful for. So much of my thinking is around what I don't have, and what is unfair. Part of letting go of Roger, is realising what an amazing, wonderful, full and blessed life I do have and using what I have to the max!

Snap, Crackle and POP!

2011-04-04T00:58:00.000-07:00

Do you hear that cracking and snapping sound? Music to my ears..it's the sound of the tectonic plates of my life shifting into focus.

I have been feeling incredibly stuck the last half decade. Whilst I like teaching and in particular the holidays, lets face it one of the reasons I like the holidays is the time it affords me to do hours and hours of preparation for the upcoming term.( Did someone say holiday?)

One of the biggest drawbacks to teaching ,is the unfortunate salary, this wasn't an issue earlier on, but as a single mom, the issue has swelled in importance like a pimple just before an important event. ( ewww - could be grossing myself out..)

I have had several dreams I have kept under wraps, not able to see how they can be fulfilled and this combined with the embarrassment of actually thinking them. Who me? Do that? How crazy, pretentious and who do I think I am? Those bullies, couldn't and shouldn't, have been keeping my head in the toilet and have given me swirlies every time I thought those thoughts.

For some reason, they were caught off guard, and I have been thinking, and more importantly seeing, the vague outline of another route I could take in my life, one that would detour past all these ideas and dreams, a route that makes me feel ...it could well be possible.

Added to that, something I have been doing on the backburner of my life may have sprung to life, and may be gathering momentum as we speak. Now all I need is another, let's say, 8 hours in my days....
I've been feeling up and down the walls of my life, looking for the light switch, I may just have found it...

Motivator speaks at St. Mary's High School

2011-03-31T21:47:00.000-07:00

Loved This!

2011-03-31T21:38:00.000-07:00

momentumgathering.com/i-am-afraid/

That Villainous Venus...

2011-03-31T13:58:00.000-07:00

I give you the Venus of Willendorf....sex symbol of ages past. Large droopy and uneven breasts, podgy thighs, and look at the "muffin top" on the girl will ya? That will definitely spill over her low cut jeans like the Niagra Falls after a heavy rainfall.

I have a Scottish born, flaming red-headed, haggis- lovin' friend, who is an artist. She has dabbled in this and that, mosaicking, collage and of course painting. She has had a fascination for the female form in all its voluptuousness and celebrates the dimples, lumps and bumps of us ordinary mortals.

As I sat on her couch one day, before she sold the house and relocated to Scotland...we spoke about the female form, and our own bodies. I haven't embraced the aging process in my own body, or the changes that have come about through becoming a mother. Somewhere deep inside, I think I allocate some blame for Roger's leaving to my body, convinced if I was a perfect size 0 he would have stayed. The extra pounds I have picked up have further dented my body image.

She leaped off the couch and grabbed a pencil rendering of the Venus of Willendorf she had done and asked me what I saw. I saw a very fat chick.I told her so. She was horrified. She explained to me how Venus represented everything beautiful about a woman in relation to bearing children right down to the uneven breasts.

She told me I had to take Venus home, display it in my bedroom and only return her when I saw her as beautiful. I looked at her every day. I tried, honestly I did.The day before my Scottish friend left, I gave Venus back to her, without the epiphany I was supposed to have. I still saw a fat chick. I think perhaps I may be esthetically challenged...

So now there's a blank space on the wall where Venus resided, keeping her dimply watch over me. I cannot turn back the clock and have a 30 year old's body again, but I can begin to understand what true beauty is and seek after it and begin to make peace with my own body.

2011-03-29T11:04:00.000-07:00

Though no one can go back and make a new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new end.

I hate to admit it but.....

2011-03-29T10:48:00.000-07:00

Most times I don't admit it. I won't even admit it to myself, in a hot shower with the scalding water gushing down in torrents. I haven't made peace with the idea of my husband leaving me for a woman who is 14 years my junior. She's a lot younger than me, A LOT YOUNGER than me!

Yesterday the kids were looking at pictures on facebook of Fluffs 30th birthday party. I told myself I shouldn't,I warned myself sternly, but I couldn't keep away.I LOOKED... There she was, young and looking gorgeous.I mean she really looked stunning. Slender legs , decades away from a single varicose vein stretched tauntingly out of her mini dress. Her shoulder was flawless and milky. Her hair was a little longer than I remember and she looked to be having the time of her life...

It left me feeling so disposed of. It left me feeling old and unattractive and just plain awful. Darn that aging process - the thief of time and good looks. Darn that Roger! Darn me for not having a better perspective. Darn, darn, darn. Magic mirror "Who is the fairest of them all?"

I'm positively stuck in this tiny, cramped box of self loathing. How do I escape? What will make me feel better about all this? I can't compete with Fluff. Oh that I was a Michelle Pfeiffer....gorgeous to the last drop of life. If I can't look like Michelle, can I at least feel comfortable in my own skin, can I ever feel attractive again, can I ever feel sexy again? Can I learn to love this aging body of mine despite the visions of Fluff in all her gorgeousness and leggy sex appeal?

Am I shallow and vain? I suppose. Should I rather be concerned about the starving children in Ethiopia? You betcha! I have no answers.

keep it simple Simpleton!

2011-03-26T02:57:00.000-07:00

Here's a picture of the top of Mount Calorie...as it errupts ...YUMMY!

When it came to family planning, some would argue we forgot how to say "when", but as far as birthdays go, I think we deserve a pat on the back. Starting from January, our family members have a birthday every second month and two in July.Which in case you are not paying attention is right in the middle of the year. Symmetrical and systematic...

Now of course, "September", is living in Durban, with Fluff, which does mess with the perfection of it all somewhat and if I ever get hitched again, I will have to bear in mind that the only opening in the nice and tidy arrangement of birthdays, is in September. Just something to bear in mind...This arrangement is really well done as it gives you a months breather in between birthdays to recover financially and otherwise.

So it's March, which means my youngest daughter had her birthday. N turned 9 this year. Instead of baking and icing a birthday cake, I made an ice-cream mountain. All I did was take some vanilla ice-cream, slightly softened. I sculptured it into a volcano and let it harden in the freezer. When it was time for "the cake", we just twirled chocolate sauce and caramel sauce and "Astro's" and "Jelly tot's" all over it. We congregated 9 candles at the tip of Mount Calorie and set them ablaze while Grandpa pounded out "Happy Birthday " on the piano and the rest of us sang along. We dispensed with bowls and other polite things and all just dug into the mountain with our own "earth movers". We mined Jelly Tots like they were gold, and panned for "Astro's"

Following the birthday, of course, was the birthday party. I usually pour over party planning web sites as I plan the my party masterpiece.This time I didn't even plan. We invited 6 little girls for a sleepover and just had fun with it.The girl's designed and created dresses from newspaper and modeled them. We ate KFC and made banana boats. M, daughter number 2, made some homemade face masks and we had a"spa" with blended cucumber and sugar face packs and oatmeal face packs. I even got a wonderful foot massage out of it. Ah bliss! All in all it was a very memorable and enjoyable party for N and her friends at a fraction of the effort I usually go to.

One of N's friends enjoying her oatmeal mask!

Keeping things simple, is really keeping things smart.

Le Miserables....

2011-03-23T12:02:00.000-07:00

It may not be bigger than a "who" but with a mother's ear as big as Horton's, I heard, or rather I felt, a small murmur of discontent echoing around the walls of this small house. We are not happy. Let's be honest 3 teenagers, a preteen and a pre- menopausal mother is certainly the hormonal ingredients for grouchy soup. Let's not forget the 9 year old.

Of course there are moments of lightness, but they seem more like the small but brief moments of comic relief standard in any tense white knuckle thriller. Underpinning everything that goes on, there's our quiet unspoken pain. The collective hurt is a heavy burden I bear, it's weighted down with the guilt I guess all single parents bear. The guilt of failure. Never really measuring up to our "still married" acquaintences.

With all this pain, hurt and failure, my eldest son, is in the vortex of teenage angst, worthlessness and simmering anger, which he fires my way willy nilly as he challenges my authority like a caged tiger, too big for it's enclosure. This kind of unhappiness and discontent scares me a little. "Home is not one of my favourite places to be," he snipes at me from behind his laptop,"I just want to get out," some violent game still on the screen. There it is. I failed at being a wife, now here I am failing at being a mom too.

I feel myself buckle under the strain and weight of it all. I am not in a Walton's rerun, that's for sure. The smaller son comes crying down the passage down to me, the dogs have chewed his luminous shoelaces given to him by his sister when she came back from Germany. He is overcome with grief. He laments like a man who has lost his entire family. I feel so sad. I'm truly surrounded by misery, there isn't a ray of light or comfort.

Who Scrooged my life? Someone came and rained "Bah Humbug" all over the place and we are sinking in a deluge of misery. I'm looking for answers. Can I turn this around? Do I perceive things worse than what they really are? I don't know. I was comparing notes with an acquaintance the other day.She has been divorced for three years too. She says her kids are falling apart at the seams too. Hello? Is there a 3 year falling apart rule that I have not been aware of?

This I know, I am not as strong as I was emotionally 3 years ago when the Roger left. Single parenthood has eroded my very soul. I am spent. I have little to give and the children need so much. I have obviously been doing it all wrong. Time to roll up my sleeves and get to work. Get the saws out and the plywood, the chipboard and the wood glue and build me a happy family. I can't possibly give up.3 year falling apart clauses or not. I do need to give up some of the things that are not working though.

They say wisdom is the application of principles you know to be true. There are many of these principles I know, and yet do not apply. Perhaps this family is like a Phoenix, crumbling into ashes, at three years only to be reborn again, feathers of fire and happiness? Perhaps somewhere they say, it takes 3 years for the old family to die completely, so that the new one can be born again. I like the ring of that. Even if it isn't true, I'd like to believe it is.

Hmmmmm and maybe I can....

2011-03-19T10:07:00.000-07:00

I grew up in a household where I was very much a child. Just before I got married I was given a crash course in cooking. Every time I cooked, Roger ( lets give him his dues) told me I cooked better than his mum. I lived for the look on his face with each meal I prepared. He never disappointed. He always complimented the cook. That was one of the nice things about him.

However, for everything else, he thought I was incapable and a half wit. I wasn't allowed to help with the taxes, or budgeting, anything "adult" was organised by Roger and I became one of the children. It happened imperceptibly as that was pretty much how I grew up. Mom ran our house, dad and I were the kids.

Eventually Roger began to resent the fact that he was carrying the administrative duties of the house and began to cast his eyes about for woman who were capable, organised and together.

After 17 years of marriage, I was convinced I couldn't do anything, let alone order a pizza. I have avoided leadership positions like the plague and have tended to avoid many of the adult things in life like tax returns and so on,convinced that I really would be no good at it.

Last year, I put on the end of year concert for the Foundation Phase at school. I organised rehearsals, co-ordinated with the music department, organised costumes, backdrops, sound, lighting and so on. It was hailed as a complete and utter resounding success. Compliments flowed in, from all places.

Last week I offered to put on a family fun adventure day for the families in Foundation Phase. I procrastinated a little and it became a rather last minute affair. It was arranged around an Amazing Race theme. We had a record number of families attending and once again, it received the most amazing positive feedback. Days later people were talking about it and in our Friday Staff meeting I was given the "multi-tasking" trophy. A fun sort of pat on the back for a job well done.

For so long I have believed myself to be very incapable. I never really attempted much, believing that I couldn't. Time and time though as I have put my foot forward to try something I have proved this long held theory wrong and quite convincingly too.

My mind is now open to the possibility that I am actually quite capable. How strange. Me? Who would have thunk? Not Roger. I'm pretty surprised myself.

A Dreamer gets one step closer to the saddle...Hee Hah!

2011-03-02T12:04:00.000-08:00

When I was a college student, I dated a guy called John. He had a dream. He wanted to own a tandem. When his grandfather died he left each grandchild a little bit of money with the stipulation that they use it on something that brings them joy. No serious presents like a set of pots for cooking or a tumble dryer. With his money, John bought himself a tandem. He had always dreamed of having a tandem. So I hopped on the back and we lived his dream together. After a little bit, our wobbles were sorted out and I fitted quite nicely into his dream. We did the Argus Cycle tour, 104 km's around Cape Town. I have such fond memories of doing that race.

When Roger came along, it seems that I figuratively hopped on the back of his tandem of dreams and peddled along really hard trying to help him get closer to his dreams. He wanted to work overseas, and we moved over to Canada. He wanted to fly fish in the Rockies, he did that. He wanted to do photography. He bought all the things he needed to take indoor photography, lights, backdrops and screens. He got himself a nice digital camera too. He wanted his pilots licence, he got that too. I figured that my dream was to have a happy marriage and one way to do that was to help him reach his goals. Besides I never really had a good handle on my dreams and never felt like I could go out and buy stuff for me as we were always spending a fortune on Simon's dreams.

So I sit and think and wonder to myself, what are my dreams? I am friends with John on facebook and he has moved from road racing to mountain biking. I look at his photo's with his face covered with mud and I say to myself that really looks like a lot of fun. I remember when I was pedalling at the back of his tandem, they are happy memories. I think to myself that I would like to do mountain biking. Then my good natured fears say to me - You are so old, you are so unfit. Don't do it you will embarrass yourself - You'll fall down the mountainside. True I probably will, a few times. I'm anxious, I'm nervous and I'm scared. I talk myself out of it. It's too expensive, you can't justify the expense ( And I probably can't) You won't have the time. To the back burner these dreams are dispensed.

Today I had an interview with a mom. She is a mountain biker. She knows all about it and all the races. She is going to lend me her book on how to get fit for mountain biking. I say, to heck with it all. How long must I pedal for other peoples dreams? It's time I started realizing some of my own dreams. I'm scared but inside myself I can sense I have taken a mental step closer to this dream - I'l be a free-wheeling lass yet!

A Rant in My Pants and somewhere an alarm clock is ringing...

2011-03-01T12:11:00.000-08:00

So I took a long extended holiday from my blog. Truth be told I have been oh so down. I traded in my side salad for a huge heaped plate of fury and I simmered like a dry pot on the stove, getting all blackened on the bottom. I snuck off to the back porch and smoked some bitterness , like a truant schoolgirl. I was angry, bitter and sad and I hated everything that was Roger. In my long lengthy hating, I came to realize that in actual fact the person who had let me down the most ,was myself.

I was sickened by my cowardice. Why did I let Roger treat me that way? Why didn't I show that rotten old toad the door after the first affair? Why did I lay down at his feet like a door mat with a sign on my forehead saying "wipe feet here." I was victim, and that my friends is cowardices middle name. Yes, I may not have had numerous affairs, or done any of the things Roger is accused of, but I have done worse, in doing so little. Oh I would that I could have been Joan of Arc, riding out in the front of my own personal battles. Instead I was a wee timorous beastie cowering and frozen with indicision, pathos and my own personal brand of feebleness.Yes, I have let myself down.

Like Alice in Wonderland, I cast my eyes round about, looking for neon signs that say "This Way You Feeble Git" The Cheshire Cat tut-tuts and says - "You don't really know what you want do you?" And he is right. I don't really.I look in my knapsack and discover absolutely nothing as I look around me I discover I haven't really moved from where I was in the beginning. I'm standing on the yellow brick road right next to the sign that reads "begin here" and I realize I haven't gotten very far at all. I'm scarecrow, tin man and the lion all rolled into one, seeking a brain, that really thinks and doesn't just react, a heart that loves bravely and unconditionally and most of all my dithering, withering self seeks COURAGE. I realize that the thing I most need is courage.

I lol about in various stages of woundedness as if the wounds were badges of honour. I have unmet dreams and unresolved issues. I'm furious alright, only I realize the one I am furious about is me. I hate my life, whose fault is that? I'm unhappy. Roger? I'm still married for goodness sakes. Roger? I'm overweight and unfit.Roger? I need to offload the biggest excuse behind which my scaredy cat ineffectiveness has been hiding. Roger and face the real villain, myself.

What's With the Animals Lately?

2011-02-24T11:36:00.000-08:00

I just want to know...what's up with the animals lately? As I was driving off to school today, there was a story on the news all about a well known doctor who also owned a crocodile farm. The story reported how he had accidently fallen into his crocodile pen and was promptly devoured by the crocs he has been taking care of.

Then tonight I was reading about a man who was gored by a grumpy old elephant most probably in must. I don't know about you, but next time I buy a hamburger from Steers, I'm going to make it a "veggie burger" - just until things in the animal kingdom have simmered down a little.

Telling my Kids

2011-02-01T13:17:00.000-08:00

I have a friend, who is beginning the process of getting divorced. After a long separation, it has finally been decided to formalize what has already happened several years ago. Divorce tends to happen emotionally first, before the late night anguished talks, tears on the pillow and lawyers letters begin.

When children are involved it is a particularly depressing event and they are a savvy lot from whom little can be hid.The best books tell you to tell them earlier rather than later. This event of "telling the children" is by far the worst part of the early cataclysmic events. You just don't destroy children's families lightly.

Roger, the old toad, had no problem telling me that it "was all over" and "he couldn't do this anymore." I always felt he took some perverse pleasure in hurting me thus. March 2008, was when he gave me the old boot. It was then decided that we would tell the children together. I had taken a trip to the local headshrinker to talk about the best way of doing things. Is there a best way of doing this? I came out with the book called, "Children and Divorce" which I gobbled up determined to try to do the worst in the best way possible.

Roger then took off on a long business trip leaving me to deal with the end of my marriage in peace. He flitted from one place to another, ignoring my pleas to tell the children and it was only in June, that he eventually came home to roost and tell the children. They had spent 3 months already watching me drive long distances, while tears streamed down my cheeks silently. Drive time seemed to be my cry time. The van had a flip down screen and I would put a movie on for the kids, crank the sound up and let the tears roll.

When the toad arrived home, he had bought large gifts for each child. The floor was littered with paper, making the lounge look like Christmas in June. They were so excited to have their dad home. Their spirits were high. It just wasn't fair.

After the greet and gift ceremony Roger had planned, we retreated at his request to my room. He lay on the floor and proposed the following. He was still stalling. He could stay in the house, the children would have a father and mother under one roof. He would continue to cheat on me, couldn't love me and the marriage would be a sham. I said "No thanks," It's getting late and we need to tell the children." I had had enough. I wasn't interested in any more of his shams.

Reluctantly he left my bedroom, for the last time. We called the kids together and told them that their parents were now getting divorced. We discussed who would go where and when and how often they would see their dad.We stressed that this wasn't their fault, just like the rulebook said we should. There were tears.There were at least 6 broken hearts that night. D, my eldest son, who had been horribly hurt by his fathers continued absences said, "Oh well, not much will change. You are hardly here anyhow."

Roger then asked if he could sleep on the couch. I said I didn't think it would be appropriate. He gave the children several long hugs and he was off. Santa Claws, with his box of tricks, broken promises and bad news. The children's lives have never been the same since.

Vaguely Out of Sorts

2011-01-29T00:23:00.000-08:00

I'm flitting and flying and spinning in circles, darting here and there, but without a good plan or a trustworthy course or direction. This is my year of getting organised with a capital O. My year of finally flying and getting somewhere with my life. I'm like the kid who upon hearing her mother's call to come inside for supper,pretends not to hear and continues playing outside, listening for the shrill pitch in mom's voice to signify that it is REALLY time to come in.

It's not that I am too lazy or don't desire change enough. It's that like all single mother's I'm conflicted. I only have 24 hours in the day, and less energy than that. My resources are few and I can't decide what I should be doing right now. With so much to do and so many good options, it's hard to know how to spend my time. The enemy of best is most certainly good.

So ENOUGH ALREADY! Time to move..RIGHT?

First step, I think I'll go check out the new Chinese Market in town. That should be fun....

*sigh*

The Words I Crave.

2011-01-20T12:06:00.000-08:00

I'm such a sucker for a well constructed line. My knees go weak at the slightest hint of a compliment. I can live on some words of affirmation for eons. I know the story of the spider and the fly. I have been warned. I have been caught.( Many times) Like a moth, I just cannot stay away from the light. What woman doesn't want to be told she's one in a million without the use of a single cliche? One of my love languages just has to be "words of affirmation" Like a plant I just blossom with a few well directed words of encouragement.

Now when your household outnumbers you, one middle aged mother to three teens, one pre-teen and the youngest child, words of affirmation are few and far between. So I fill my cd player with the likes of Jack Johnson and Seal. They tell me how amazing I am and how gorgeous I look. Jack's lyrics are a little offbeat and I like off beat. I pretend they are singing about me and I get my fill somehow.

When I was studying to be a teacher I spent one amazing night with a Zimbabwean, who was really, really tall and lanky. He was the epitome of quirky and his sense of humour was off-beat. We went to a university party where gorgeous girls were being romanced by slightly intoxicated jocks and alpha males. He wasn't an alpha male. I wasn't exactly an alpha female. We stood by a fountain and talked and talked and talked. He lead me to the dance floor where his solar plexus and I got better acquainted. ( I told you he was tall)

As the night wore on it was apparent he wasn't exactly a fast mover and eventually he managed to hold my hand. After another slow dance with his head towering over mine, he led me outside to "our fountain" and suggested we played a game. The object of the game, he explained was to kneel down facing the other person, knee to knee and to get as close to the other person as humanly possible, without touching. Off beat yes, wacky, true. I was dangerously close to him,determined not to touch him. He leaned over to me and kissed me very briefly on the lips. "You win!" he said.

That could be one of the singularly most romantic moments of my life. What words could be sweeter than "you win" anyhow? Those Victorian Gentlemen were a wonderful lot, they specialized in the art of woo-ing women with words.If Jane Austen is to be believed, what they lacked in after sales service, they made up for with an array of spectacular romantic verses and sentiments,penned in quill and ink or whispered to the half fainting, blushing corseted woman.

Nowdays the closest we come to the love poetry of the past are the pick up lines bandied about every pub this side of the North Pole. Many of them bawdy and crude. I'm wondering...? What is the most romantic thing someone has ever said to you? Wouldn't it be fun to find out?

Return of The Kids

2011-01-15T13:54:00.000-08:00

Today was a "red letter"day. The children came back today. My house has been strangely quiet and echoey for far too long. I have got used to doing whatever I please and answering to no one. A meal could be half a can of beans and no-one would be there to bat and eyelid over it or complain. I had time to dream and work on hot sunny beach days without that nagging voice telling me I should be doing something fun with the kids and soon they will be all grown up .... My time was my own and I owned it. My energy to be dispensed on what I felt like.

Tonight that all changed though. I busied myself making supper for the returning horde, minus one who is still overseas. ( I really am missing K) It would be Shepherds Pie and salad. Fairly ordinary fare. I hoped it would he homey and welcoming. I have this secret hope that my house will be HOME for the children. The place where they yearn to be.

I always feel out of sorts when the kids come home. In fact it's sort of a nervous feeling.I felt it as I set six places at the dinner table. Will I remember how to mother? Will I cope? Will they still love me? Strange that.

The doorbell rang and N's excited voice came over the intercom."Open up." I felt excited, elated, but there was a squeeze of dread there too. I opened up the gate from inside the house and listened till the vehicle came to a stop and then I pressed the button again to close the gate.

No-one came to the door. "Do I go out to meet them, or do I wait inside?" Anxiety. I went outside. I saw M. I hugged him. He gave me a stiff and awkward hug back. It's a difficult process letting go of one parent and moving in with the next. I am making inward transitions myself. M S seemed the happiest to be home and hugged me warmly and told me she was glad to be home. I'm grateful.

D,my teenage boy, was chatty and hung out with me for a bit. Telling me stories of his cricket tour. He showed me his eyebrows. Two patches had been shaved off each eyebrow, as part of some initiation program from his cricket tour. He showed me his legs, they also had two racing stripes shaved into them. We chat nice and easily together, in stark contrast with the tension that was between us before he left. Thank goodness for small mercies.

Eventually Roger leaves. He looks a little relieved. I pack him some dinner. I hope it tastes alright. Liz is apparently a good cook. He has kept his weight off. I'm feeling fat. I'm hoping the apron is hiding some of my bulges. I still feel cast off. Rejected. Will this feeling ever release it's grip on me? Will I always be defined by the fact that Roger discarded me? Who is he anyway to define me in this way? A no good rotten cheat who DIDN'T WANT TO BE WITH ME ANYMORE.

I'm never very good at transitions. It will take a little while for all of us to settle down into our life as it has been without the interruption of a holiday with dad. They will miss him, but even that will ease with time and soon the family machine will be roaring full steam ahead with the business of life and life will feel back to normal again.

I vow not to be so tense this time around. I vow to have more happy family moments. I vow to be more loving. To be more fun. To read more stories.I vow to laugh more and relax. I remind myself to try to hold onto some of that "essence of me" without drowning in motherhood, making ends meet and exhaustion. I ache and ache inside. I fight feelings of inadequacy. I mourn the family we once were. The family I wished we were. I'm hurt, I'm angry, I'm happy to have my children home. I like their company. I am an oriental mix of sweet and sour feelings with a few down in the dump - lings.

I desperately need to make peace with my life as it is. I'm a single mom of five children. I struggle financially. I struggle with feelings of rejection. I feel lonely in a crowd of 5 kids. I'm the only adult.I'm the lone policewoman. Stopping squabbles, being "unfair" and "not understanding". I'm unpopular at times, when dishes need doing and curfews have to me met. BUT I am a woman and a mother and I am alive. This is my life to live. I'll only live once.

Struggle = opportunity. I've hit the opportunity jackpot.

Today reminds me I still have a long road ahead of me in my quest for healing.

Leaping Lizards and Fleeing Lawyers..

2011-01-14T07:24:00.000-08:00

I feel like cheap and easy like the girl who sleeps her way through the entire football team! Only I seem to be going through lawyers. I just heard today that the lawyer that I am using has met a new man and is moving off to Pretoria. She leaves tomorrow!

She was my fifth lawyer.

Lawyer one: I didn't really feel like this one was there for me or on my side. I FIRED HIM due to a lack of confidence.
Lawyer Two: This one seemed at least to want a good settlement for me. It turned out his family law was a bit yesteryear as pointed out to me be Roger's lawyer. Anyhow, I moved to East London, so we parted company.
Lawyer Three: Took me on as a client and then left the legal profession.
Lawyer Four: Took me on as a client and left the legal profession.
Lawyer Five: Took me on as a client. We even got a summons issued.Progress. BUT She is leaving town, is probably going to give up law as well! ( Her man is insanely wealthy..)

SOLUTION: I must study law become a lawyer myself and do my own divorce.
Reason no 1: I'm on my side and I want a good settlement for myself.
Reason no 2: I'm not likely to leave the town I am staying in, without me that is.
Reason no 3: If I am planning on leaving the legal profession which seems to be the trend of late. I'll be the first one to know.

When Loneliness becomes "being alone"

2011-01-09T23:02:00.000-08:00

My children have been with their dad for over a week now. I remember in the beginning how absolutely devastating it felt. The quiet house and tidy rooms made me feel empty and lonely. As a result I tended to frenetically spend time with friends and make sure that I never spent much time at home. I have continued that habit of having people over, of going to visit friends and of spending as little time at home alone as possible. I said goodbye to one great friend last night fairly late, we had been hanging out on my couch watching crime channel and movies on TV whilst eating ice-cream and my kicking hot chocolate sauce..

I climbed into bed and remembered how anguished I felt sleeping alone without anyone. I used to feel so sorry for myself. I was angry at Roger. Why did he leave ? I hated the fact that my bed was so empty.

I realized as I climbed beneath the covers that I no longer felt lonely, only alone. Alone is quiet and peaceful and glorious.It's contentment.When did my loneliness give way to aloneness? Since when have I started to make peace with aloneness? It's definitely the art of being definitively me AND I like it. I like it a lot. I could get used to this alone thing. It's worth embracing.

I found this poem on "You tube" about loneliness and being alone. It's fantastic.I wish I had seen it before. On second thoughts perhaps I wasn't ready for it's message then, but I am now! I hope you enjoy it! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k7X7sZzSXYs&feature=player_embedded

Easy Does It...

2011-01-06T23:46:00.000-08:00

The last time I posted, it was last year! I admit I have been remiss...
It's a brand new year, 2011. Time for making resolutions and getting to the gym with new resolve to shed the kilo's. I have decided not to make any resolutions this year. I plan to set some goals. More about that later.

I finally graced the gym this year. I forced myself to spend 20 minutes on the treadmill at the speed of 6km per hour. No speeding fines there. It was a little disconcerting I was flanked by two elderly people both running for our allotted 20 minutes. At this gym you can only spend 20 minutes on the treadmill and other cardio apparatus or something may happen, and I didn't plan to find out what. I glanced over at lady no 1 on my left...she was jogging at 9.9km's per hour and the elderly gentleman on my right was doing more than her. They looked like they could go on for hours.

Meanwhile I was feeling like I may be close to death. I glanced down to see how long I had endured the relentless torture. I had only been going for 2 minutes. I had 18 more to go. I closed my eyes and played the guess how long youv'e been walking game. 30 seconds feels like 5 minutes - I swear. I had grabbed a flavoured water on my way out the house. I am not really a fan of water. I took a swig of it on the dreadmill. It tasted perfectly awful, my face looked like I had just taken a swig of home brewed Gin. Liquid fire. I closed my eyes and tried to picture myself somewhere off the coast of Zanzibar, sveldt and wearing a white bikini. That didn't help.

After the treadmill. I floated off to the stationary bikes. I had done it. SUCCESS.I was generous in my congratulations. I spent 20 minutes peddling ever so imperceptibly on the bike whist my tail bones and the bike seat worked together ensuring I would find sitting strangely uncomfortable for the next few days. I must say it was a little easier on the bike if you don't ask my tail bones for their opinion.

Finally it was time to head over to the toning machines. I studied the instructions on each one. I failed to understand any of them. After making up several exercises I was forced to seek help from one of the muscular men in red. The personal trainers on duty. In a jiffy I was off the machines and in his office. He was punching in personal information and printing out diet plans and excercize regimes. I was to be reorientated.

He pointed out that he had red eyes. So he did! He then went to explain that he had been having girlfriend troubles. I listened intently to my patients troubles like any good shrink would. Asking questions and making aha's at the right time followed by the " I see's" and " how do you feel about that's ? " All in all I believe he had a good session. We made a plan to have a follow up session the following day. He would take my muscle fat index and I guess I was on the hook for a few more intelligent grunts.

I arrived at the gym a little late and couldn't find my man any way. I headed over to the treadmill. Another twenty minutes of grueling torture. I was going to be a super spy and never let up or reveal the secret identity of the other spy's or their whereabouts no mater how hard the dreadmill pushed me.

That's all very well in theory. Here's how it worked. I had some time to think. In between my painful pacing. Stress causes cortisol to build up in your bloodstream. Cortisol, a particularly nasty stress hormone is responsible for weight gain around the midriff. Which I already have plenty of. Now all this torture on the treadmill is bound to stress me out, particularly the pain, which would negate the benefit of the exercise, causing me to get fatter rather than thinner. I concluded that I was better off finding a form of exercise that I enjoyed. I hit the emergency stop on the treadmill sped past the exercise bikes and slunk past Andrew ( the PT) without him seeing me. I didn't think he would understand my reasoning.

So today.I am off to the beach to do some snorkeling, far away from the grind of the treadmill or the seat bruising stationary bike...

Spreading Christmas Cheer, well almost...

2010-12-25T02:19:00.000-08:00

I took the children caroling with a group of members of my church, two nights before Christmas. We discussed the prospect of caroling at the dinner table. Of course my eldest son, D, thought this was an idea that could only end badly for him. A, he detests singing ( I should have sung more to him in the womb?) and doing so in public seemed an unbearable humiliation. Undeterred, I pressed on,( ignoring all the normal teenage boy's feelings) convinced that somehow we were going to try to go beyond the Christmas gimmies and reach for that real, true, yet elusive Christmas Spirit. I was met with severe opposition, but a chocolate slab was negotiated for each trooper/Christmas caroler ( terrible I know) and we were off...Me, three kids and the GRINCH, simmering vehemently in the back seat, like someone who has been kidnapped ( which of course he was)

At the first house we assembled at the outside gate, electric battery operated candles, ridiculous singing hats, four carols on a sheet of paper and some of the lousiest voices you have ever heard. We sang robustly and with all the vigor we could muster.( None of us in tune) The dogs began to quiver and howl, their ears are a lot more sensitive than humans. Eventually our first victims emerged in bathroom robes with towels swept up in turbans on their heads. It seems we had caught them during bath time. We ended with "We wish you a Merry Christmas " whilst the Black Eyed Peas were playing loudly in Grinchie's ear-phones. BAH HUMBUG. Where is the ghost of Marley when you need him? I confiscated the earphones which added to the icy atmosphere in the back seat as we drove to the next house.

This continued for some time. I noticed that in time, the dear old Grinch was at least moving his lips in time to the carols. He must be a huge fan of Sir Oliver Cromwell who banned carols in the 1600's, which then started an underground carol singing movement. I must tell him about that.

Eventually we landed up at the Children's Home and began singing outside their front door. Several small children came to the door, their faces pressed against the security gate. I thought about their circumstances, how some of them have been removed from their homes because of abuse, other's have been orphaned by AIDS, my heart just broke for these gorgeous little children and the tears just rolled as I sang for them.( I know I know....I was supposed to spread Christmas cheer, but gimmie a break - I am just an old sap) I think each of us rather untunely carolers had our hearts touched. We caught the Spirit of Christmas, and felt the old adage " It is better to give than to receive" deep in our hearts. I glanced over at my son, and could tell he could feel it too. I think all of our hearts grew a few sizes in that moment, including D's - which is why I dragged him there in the first place. I just love Christmas , don't you?

Letting Go

2010-12-19T00:58:00.000-08:00

When you meet someone who"lights your fire" it's a curious mix of emotions. Heady euphoria and "in love" feelings aside, one of the emotions that really come to the fore is the elusive feeling known to us, as HOPE. The hope of things to come. I hope he likes me too. I hope he phones, sms'es and calls. Hope, the expectation of good things to come. The first touch, followed by the first kiss and the monumental first " I love you."

Eventually all those firsts become something ethereal that binds us with invisible cords to the one we love with shared jokes and memories, experiences, confidences shared and TRUST. We make certain adjustments for each other as we learn to intertwine our hopes and wishes and dreams with theirs and make our best efforts to accommodate each other in the arrangement. Sort of like two dancers in a rather complicated contemporary dance.

Certainly as we come to know each other, there are always those unexpected surprises. Obviously we love the ones when our partner reveals something about themselves or does something completely unexpected and totally wonderful. At times the unexpected shocks arrive too and we do our best to deal with them and make mature choices about whether we can live with them or not. If we decide we can live with them we stay and make allowances for the odd quirks and mannerisms that form part of the make up of the person we have chosen to spend our todays with.

In some cases we know that it isn't a workable match. We question whether the other person " is really that into us after all" and realistically realize we are no longer just ourselves anymore, we are so much more, kids, dogs, household routines and lifestyles. When the puzzle pieces don't match, we try to live with the differences for a season since we've invested ourselves quite heavily in the relationship. A sort of balancing the books ritual follows as we try to assess losses versus gains. When we finally realize it isn't going to work out, the process of letting go begins to happen. We slowly begin to retract ourselves, like someone trying to steal back the bedclothes from a light sleeper, till eventually we have to make the break and leave all the good behind, rueing the choice to become more than friends in the beginning and then we feel LOSS and sometimes this comes with RELIEF.

The hardest part of this process is letting go, knowing you may never hold that wonderful person so close to your heart again. Letting go of the good parts is especially hard, your mind is wise, but the heart isn't willing and loneliness waits patiently for you in the shadows with your bag packed for the next portion of your journey. You feel the chill of fear, loneliness is not the most pleasant of travelling companions. Yet in the silence you do learn more about yourself, a twixt and between the the empty inbox and painfully silent cell phone.You may be filled with regret and guilt or the pain of rejection and the pang of an empty love life when you see a couples embrace.Letting go of your hope is perhaps the hardest part of all, what are the chances of that elusive balloon slowly drifting back down into your life a few days, weeks, months or years down the line.Will you ever feel like that again? UNCERTAINTY. Will this all be a big mistake? Letting go? Life is about making key decisions about what to hold on to tightly and what to let go of with unwilling fingers and hands. The human foibles of holding on to and letting go, we grasp what we shouldn't and let slip that which we musn't. Never sure whether we are making another awful mistake.

Letting go is a very individual process. Seldom do two people in a relationship feel ready to let go simultaneously. Usually one leaves long before the other. Leaving the other trying to grasp tightly to the emptiness of a love already let go.

Even I am tired of looking at these beans!

2010-12-17T00:40:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,
I know there may be one or two of you out there....I apologize profusely for the lack of posts. The truth is I have really had nothing to say. I've been ephipany - less for a while now. Yes, life has continued - the saloon door swinging open with happenings of various sorts, but none that would inspire me to blog. You can take a blogger to their laptop, but you can't force them to blog. Can you? So every so often, I imagine some soul painfully checking to see if I have posted and mournfully retreating from their desk. I know in reality this hasn't actually happened to any of you, but is it ok if I imagined it this way? Just for me?

It's a hot gorgeous day today in sunny South Africa, the first hot day of our Summer holidays. We have had a drought and our communities have done what they have always done for many generations in seasons of drought. We've flocked to our churches and prayed for rain. We've obviously done a good job of our praying because it has rained and rained and rained for over a month now. The drought's back has most certainly been broken. Everything is clean and green and there are little birds flitting about merrily wherever I look.

I'm putting an extra big stocking out for me this Christmas and here's why.... As a writing assignment my grade 2 class were given the task of writing letters to Santa. I love reading these letters before they head off to the North Pole. One little girl, whom I will never forget, had only one small favour to ask of Santa. Mind you, it's not an easy task for the big fella. Her favour? Aren't you all dying to know? A husband for me! Children say the darndest things. Don't they?

Half Baked Stories

2010-12-12T18:28:00.000-08:00

My feelings on the whole Fluff could be exiting the relationship scenario is rather interesting. I was sad! I have grown rather fond of Fluff myself. She is young enough to be like a sister to the kids, and has actually been rather good to the kids as well.I think she has had a stabilizing effect on Roger. Who knows what he would do on his own... and who else he may get into a relationship with. That old adage certainly applies." Rather the devil you do know, than the one you don't". Bottom line is Fluff is good to the kids, so I'd like to keep her in the mix.

Anyhow, I think I had a bit of a half baked story anyhow. It looks like she is only going to be going overseas after January, but is having Christmas in Botswana with her family. I expect Roger will join her there, so the alarm buttons have been accidently deployed. A relationship fire drill so to speak. Sorry! Got all excited for nothing...or was that panic? It was interesting to examine my feelings though. Is this a sign that I am well and truly over Roger? I think I have been so OVER him for a very long time, actually. YAY!

Now comes the hard part of trying to make sense of my own life and who I have become in reaction to the whole Rogering debacle. It's true to say, I'm not the woman I used to be. I'm crustier, dented, bruised and have lost that ole naivety and endless optimism. I'm a whole heap crabbier too. I may even go so far as to say I'm not nice anymore. I met someone today, who reminded me of who I used to be, pre-Roger. She was like a breath of fresh air in a room that hasn't been aired for a very long time. I breathed in great gollops of her niceness, ( not in a weird way I promise) grateful of the reminder. Iv'e survived a lot, been through so much, I'll never be the same again. There were times when I breathed in far too much of Roger's toxins and swallowed his poison, I haven't come out the other end unscathed, but like a small deer who has had a skirmish with a car on a busy highway, I have come out weary and a little less sweet and truth be told not very happy either. It's my happiness, I may have starved it to the point of expiry, but I think I may just have got a wake up call today. Ive wanted to be happy, yes, but finding it has been the perplexing puzzle, like a rubics cube. Progress looks like youre moving away from the solution, but in truth youre seconds away from having it solved.

The great thing is that I finally get it - My happiness had nothing to do with dear old Roger and his filandering antics. It isn't dependent of anything Roger does or doesn't it's really up to me. I'm in charge of my own happiness. Happiness and pleasure are not the same thing either. Happiness is more likely to be associated with peace and love, the giving kind that is. It isn't selfish, it is kind and not too crabby either, and happiness has a wicked sense of humour too. Don't you just love her laugh? Tomorrow when I wake up, I'll try to be nice, find those small people in the house that are mine, hug them and tell them I love them. I'll try to be nicer to them tomorrow than I was to them today. After all they have been through the ringer too. I'll try too be a bit more patient with them too. I'm going for less crusty and more Christlike. It's a good thing.

What the Fluff?

2010-12-11T09:50:00.000-08:00

I'm just curious.... not that it's any of my business....Tell me if you find this at all strange? Fluff has just spent ten weeks or more working in Tanzania. Roger did go and holiday with her there. They went to Zanzibar as well as Tanzania. Now Roger tells me she has gone overseas and won't be there for Christmas or New Year or even after that? Does that not strike you as as strange? It certainly has intrigued me ... just a little.

The Boy with his finger in the Dyke.

2010-12-11T09:32:00.000-08:00

There is a famous Dutch fable about a boy who finds a small hole in a dyke. He stays all night plugging the hole with his finger waiting for help to come along. Eventually he is noticed in the morning and receives the necessary help. He is hailed as a hero as he had single fingerdly saved his community from being flooded.

So today was the first day of school holidays. I was shuffling around in my pj's for the greater part of the morning. I cooked a delish breakfast for my children as well as the five extra guests we had sleeping over last night. Eventually I decided it was time for a lovely leisurely bath. I sauntered off to my bathroom really enjoying the lazy lazy day ahead of me, it was cold grey and rainy outside, so what was the hurry, no bright sun and scalding beachy sand beckoning to me.

I turned on the hot water, the plumbing growled at me and all the copper pipes in the wall reverberated. Ok fine! I'll turn on the cold water. I did. All hell broke loose! Like the spray from a fire hydrant, the water spewed from the hole in the bathroom wall, where my tap was supposed to be. Soon the water began to pool on the floor and sneak menacingly towards my bedroom carpet. I yelled, for Hans the Boy with the finger for my dyke...
I had to yell louder and louder...eventually Hans arrived....( They didn't have computer games in those days) my carpet was getting wet. Eventually Hans ( who is really D ) got things under control.

I left him with his finger in the dyke, till I had figured out where the main's water pipe was. It took a while...it wasn't quite nightfall but after a seriously long time, I had everything sorted while Hans patiently waited his finger getting a little numb from holding back the tsunami waiting for us on the other side of the wall.

Hip - hip hooray for my very own legend son - when I get enough money I will erect a statue, just like the Dutch did to commemorate his valiant effort today. Thank goodness for older sons! You gotta love them!

Bamberg.

2010-12-03T08:21:00.000-08:00

This lovely old building with it's two arm like bridges is found in the town of Bamberg. I'm not too familiar with Medieval architecture, but the front portion looks like Tudor gone wild and I love it. Look at the lovely old gargoyles creeping up the wall above the archway. I suspect lots of little German boys have had fun dropping things on people as they sailed below them through the bridge...I'm just saying...I'm sure it's been done.

This is where K spent her day yesterday, exploring this lovely old town. Luckily for Bamberg, it saw very little of air strike action as it housed a rather substantial artillery factory during World War 2.

And I'm just saying isn't this gorgeous? It is but it probably isn't looking like this today, as Europe is covered in a huge blanket of snow, and many Europeans are bracing themselves for the coldest Winter in twenty years. Brrrrrrr! I should like to go to school like this though in the mornings. I'll have my drum at the back and pound on it so the children can know when to dip their oars. If they have made me late,of course the pounding will have to be double time....I suspect it will only happen a few times and who knows what will happen to the child who "forgets" something at home...I can't see the oarsmen wanting to turn around. These houses were fishermen's houses in the Nineteenth Century.

K went to school today in Memingen. I asked her how the language was going. She said she understood the English class, and art, cause they only had to draw a shell. It must be difficult going to school in a foreign language, luckily smiles are a universal language and by the sounds of it, K is full of them.

Climb Ev'ry Mountain....

2010-11-30T07:45:00.000-08:00

It was "D - Day today!"" K left for Germany today. Germany is waiting to welcome her with a cool embrace of -2 degrees and about two foot of snow. Glad we got those snow boots... I wasn't sure how I would feel seeing my eldest off on the most epic adventure of her life thus far. I do now...and well.....

It was grand, I was so excited for her and happy, not worried or anxious or sad. Isn't that wonderful. I felt like "Mother Abbess"( without the habit) in the "Sound of Music" when she councils Maria to " Climb every mountain, ford every stream, follow every rainbow, till you find your dream." Sometimes it's really special to give your children wings, and watch them fly off into the horizon and to feel trust in that great old Universe. Yes, trust. After all "How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?"

Making Sand Angels

2010-11-27T08:22:00.000-08:00

Hallelujah! Summer is finally here and the school holidays are just around the corner and to be honest I'm lovin' it! I am an only child so never really got the opportunity to engage in the well worn and time honored sport of SIBLING RIVALRY. I was afforded the occasional spat with the girl next door, and I can still vividly remember sinking my teeth into her scalp...once ( Perhaps the Lord knew what he was doing when he sent me no siblings...) He did make it up to me in the form of children, I have the biblical quiver full of them.

Most times I do feel rather blessed to have a household full of astoundingly unique individuals,but truth be told the squabbling and fighting does unnerve me somewhat. My two eldest girls spent several years hunkered down in their own separate bunkers, hurling hurtful missiles at each other, to the point of my despair. Would they ever be friends? I wondered fretting a little. I know it's a risky business and some siblings never actually become firm friends, which for someone who never had any, feels like such a waste. What I would have given to have had a sister or brother when Rodger the artful dodger made his exit...just to phone up and cry to.

This year, the two girls have had an awesome year, going off to the bedroom and sharing and giggling till late at night.Talking about boys and fashion and teacher's at school. It has made my heart powerfully happy to see them developing the most amazing friendship. My heart feels truly blessed.

Today, the two youngest set up a restaurant and played in their imaginary restaurant all morning. After a spat over the computer, I did what all parents in the know do, I took them out of the house and off to the beach. Here the two of them had the most amazing time, sandy smiles ruled and windswept giggles were the order of the day. They sand boarded down the dunes, boogie boarded in the waves, built castles in the wet sand and made snow angels in the sand together without a single tiff. Seeing both of them having the time of their lives making those sand angels together filled my mommy soul right up, something I'll need to draw on for the next patch of acrimony, which will come, as reliably as the sun's rising. For now my mommy soul sings.

Driven up the wall.....

2010-11-27T01:53:00.000-08:00

It's the end of our academic year and it feels as if all my aspirations and my mile long to do list, have been crunched up in to an itty bitty snuff box of time.It's CRUNCH time, and I'm sitting on the proverbial overflowing suitcase of things to do and it's not all fitting. Into this box I'm trying to cram all sorts of holiday classroom activities, parent interviews of the "your child hasn't made it this year" sort, report cards and the end of year concert, which has fallen squarely on my shoulders as well as K's trip to Germany. ( 3 days to go)

So, to relieve our stress, our Junior Primary Department decided that we needed a "team building " activity. The school that I teach at has a large adventure component, and encourages children to engage in various adventure activities. Running, kayaking, swimming, mountain biking, navigating, obstacle courses and team tasks are all emphasised. I'm usually on the encouraging side, egging little legs to "keep on going" and trying to instill a little more courage into the faint of heart halfway up the climbing wall, with a "you can do it.." or two.

I was in the lime green "loslappie" team, our opponents were the violently pink "pimpernels". It has been absolute years since I was engaged in any meaningful physical challenge, unless you count my rather leisurely stroll on the treadmill or stationary bicycle at the gym. My circuitous belly dancing hip moves weren't going to be of any assistance here. In fact I had no idea how my body would cope with any of the challenges, bearing in mind that I was packing some extra pounds.

I was nervous to say the least. I used to be a serious gymnast, but I had assumed that all those abilities and skills had long since evaporated, given that I was say thirty years older and a lot wider. The interesting thing was I just didn't know what my body could and couldn't do.

The last thing I felt like was some serious physical exertion , I had so much I needed to do and I was dead tired. I dragged my heinie over to the adventure center and tried to fake being "up to it". When I arrived it looked like all of us were in the same boat. We climbed climbing walls, clambered over assorted obstacles, balanced on poles and I found that this old body still has it.

Barring a spectacularly unplanned and speedy decent from the climbing wall as a result of me losing my footing, I was up to every challenge. When the afternoon was over, I was so full of energy and my mood was on an all time high. I found that challenging your body is a rather exhilarating pastime especially if you find out you have mad skills you never even dreamed you could still possess.

I'm so stiff today, and my legs keep giving way as I walk, but my spirit is determined to get this old body moving again....now that I know I can!

The Bafoon Call....

2010-11-23T11:18:00.000-08:00

So I absolutely HAD to phone Roger about something today. I can't stand phoning him or talking to him.So before I pressed call, I said a little prayer, "Lord let me not sound like a complete and utter idiot today,PLEASE " I think He must have been busy on a prayer call to someone else when I sent up my plea,because I feel like an idiot, and can't seem to shake it.

It usually has to do with money, our conversations, and I am usually asking him for more.My lips move,but my brain is on some exotic holiday or locked in the toilet. I'm the beggar with the small cardboard sign, all tattered and torn, ending with the phrase "God Bless". Roger is the guy in the shiny black BMW, casting a spare coin out the window and driving on before receiving his toothless thanks.

I can't really remember much of the conversation to be truthful, my mind has mercifully blanked it out for me. I do remember, my voice ending up in the usual powerless whiny place, it's been too many times before and my train of thought chasing it's tail like a lunatic dog.... and can you believe, I think I may have said something along the lines of ..."Just one roll of toilet paper now is a luxury for us....." I may be a lost cause...I expect Roger will think fondly of me as he pictures us "doing the necessary" with till slips or large garden leaves... I'm sure he will check twice before shaking any of our hands.

How and why my mind becomes all tangled up and completely devoid of sense when I am trying to talk to Roger, is beyond me. What I can count on is me replaying the conversation and finding in it many incriminating and cringe worthy sentiments. Case in point the luxurious bog roll clanger!

At least when the call is over, my dignity hanging on by a thread, I have the good sense to laugh and laugh and laugh at myself - which makes a whole lot of sense to me....I'm learning not to take things too seriously....one idiotic phone call at a time!

10 Days to go!

2010-11-19T22:45:00.000-08:00

Here's a picture of and old building in Memmingen. Memmingen is a town situated in Bavaria, Germany.Well, its actually way down South in Germany. It's a town steeped in history and the origin of the town goes back to the Roman Empire. In fact many of it's old courtyards, castles and palaces are some of the best preserved in Southern Germany.

The town motto is , " A town with perspectives" but more recently it has been called ,"The Town of Human Rights," as Christoph Shappeler, a famous Renaissance preacher, during the Protestant Reformation and German Peasant's War, penned the "Twelve Articles" which is considered the first human rights document EVER. What a spectacle ! 300,000 peasants armed with little more than pitchforks or rakes pitted against the highly experienced and well oiled war machine of the aristocracy. They were crushed like a bug.Of course. Perhaps because none of them had thought of the guillotine?

This is where K will be spending six weeks as a Rotary short term exchange student and she leaves in ten days. Isn't that so terribly exciting and most awfully, frightening at the very same time? She will spend Christmas there with her host family. I hope she has a wonderful time and brings back many new perspectives, from the town with perspectives. When you send your children off on an adventure of this kind you just know they will never come back to you quite the same again. I think I'll send Jeff off with her, just in case.....( see Hello Jeff , 2 December 2009)

The Lobster and The Whale.

2010-11-18T20:05:00.000-08:00

In my hurry to get ready for school, I forgot to put on sunscreen. It was a rather fatal mistake as it was our annual beach clean up. Now I look like a well cooked lobster! Hundreds of small bodies would be descending on the poor unsuspecting shore to gather all sorts of unsightly debris cast aside by beach users.

It was an incredibly windy day and as each child received their bright yellow garbage bags the wind filled them up like a high pressured pump much to the obvious delight of each child. This prompted one or two boys to consider parachuting off the nearby wall, but their ideas were quickly quashed and they were ordered back into orderly lines, legs crossed, one behind the other, still with a lingering longing.

We began our trek, head toward the wind, yellow bags flapping and floundering. The children took their job seriously and scoured the area for wanton chocolate wrappers, the beach was very clean and litter was very scarcely distributed. Soon children being children, they began to find sticks to drag behind them in the sand in all sorts of swirly patterns like a cluster of drunken snails on a moonlit night. Every so often you would hear the sharp reprimand of a high pitched voice as another child stepped on his snail trail.

Some children began to find and collect shells, and every couple of steps I needed to wow at another treasure collected by a small sandy hand. Pockets began to bulge with shells, pebbles and "mermaid's purses". Eventually it was decided to sit down and let the children play and build sandcastles.The spot of beach soon became a major construction site of small shell decorated hills, tunnels and moats with brazen sticks supporting huge sloppy sea-weed flags.

I sat down to take in the beautiful surroundings. As I looked out at the sea, I was startled to see a Southern Right whale breaching close to the shore." Whale! " was all I managed to say. ( Oh how exciting) She put on a spectacular show breaching over and over again, every now and then I could see a huge white spray of sea as I presume her tail smacked the water playfully. Whales really are huge,the average length of a Southern Right is 18.5 m.

Apparently size does matter with these whales as the Southern Right's sport the biggest testicles of any animal on earth, a fact I was careful not to pass on to the children. You know how these things get lost in translation when they arrive home.
Mom: How was the beach clean-up Johnny?
Johnny: Awesome Mizz Scorn was gonna let us parachute with our garbage bags off the top of a big wall only we didn't have enough time and then she showed us these things with the biggest balls e-v-e-r!

I could see the characteristic white callosities on the whales head. I am told each whales callosities form a unique pattern, like a fingerprint. It was such a spectacular show, I felt so utterly blessed. It would seem the children felt the same way as they gave "our whale" a standing ovation before sitting down again to commence building.

And so I wonder, what will I see or experience today, that will deserve a standing ovation? Spectacular is just around the corner from all those whose eyes are trained to notice it.

Momentum

2010-11-11T10:15:00.000-08:00

So there's this story about this little girl who fashioned a small, white snowball at the top of a steep hill. The conditions were just right..STICKY! As it rolled down hill. the snowball gathered more and more snow to itself and it rolled at a faster and faster speed...The little girl's snowball became a force to be reckoned with. I'm not too sure what happened to the snowball,for all I know, it could be the size of Manhattan now, and travelling at the speed of light. By small and simple things great things are brought to pass.

I lived in Africa for all my formative years, never seeing or experiencing snow. We moved to Canada in the winter. I dreamed of snowmen and snowball fights. My snowy naivety knew no bounds. So, at the first opportunity, I dashed out into the snow and grabbed a handful of snow. Pat,pat,pat....pat,pat,pat..( Roger was going to get a fat snowball in the pie-hole....he,he,he)...and... NOT A THING...Who knew? Powder snow? It doesn't make snowballs and snowmen...you can't stick it together - it is as it's name suggests, uncooperative, uncohesive and stubborn...BUT great for downhill ski-ing. I didn't realise then that I would have to wait till Spring for the snow to get wet enough for snowballs and snow forts.

So I have really enjoyed reading the posts of my fellow bloggers lately...one that has had me pondering all week was one called "How to harness the power of momentum" from a guest blogger over at Zen Habits.
zenhabits.net/momentum/
I've been thinking about this concept, and it's HUGE, like the snowball now... I just need to slowly change the little things...and the big things will take care of themselves. So pardon me as I go off to make myself a tiny, tiny snowball of change...and watch out...it's gonna be HUUUUGE!

The Exhausting but not exhaustive list of things you should do when your partner leaves you for another...

2010-11-06T04:23:00.000-07:00

1) Breathe, just breathe. Realize this is going to be a bit like child birth. When you are 9 months pregnant and your first contraction starts, THERE IS NO ESCAPE...no way around it, you have to go through it. Same here, when your spouse walks out that door, no amount of begging, pleading, guilting him or promising him dire acts of suicide will change his mind, and if it does, he'll come back grudgingly or only in body. Hand your marriage over to "your higher power" if He ( Or whatever pronoun fits for you) chooses to ressurect your extinct marriage He will do it in his own time and in his own way, so don't interfere. Your job is to heal and learn. BREATHE AND LET GO.

2)Go to the bank and speak to someone who can advise you best.Close your joint account and open a new account in your name.Make a plan with the credit card too. Before I knew it Roger had maxed out the credit card in our name buying himself brand label clothes and taking his new girl to the Bahama's. There are a lot of things you thought he would never do. Make sure you don't end up having to pay for it.

3) Allow yourself to miss him and love him. Recognize when you do.Go easy on yourself. Feelings of love have a shelf life, eventually they will subside. You may always have a soft spot for the philandering lout, and that's ok. Even if your friends try to get you to hate him,give yourself permission to love him.The fact that you do speaks more about the kind of love you gave, and who you are, rather than a sign of weakness. BUT don't go and express those feelings to him, don't call him up to sing "I just called to say I loooooove youuuuuuuuu" Even if you are pitch perfect he isn't going to give you the golden ticket back into his life. You will probably be left feeling foolish and he will see this as nutty behaviour, more reason to leave you. Remember affairs take time and bucket loads of rationalization. He's been telling himself you are no longer the one for him for an age, no hysterical words on your part are magically going to change things and his pity is not what you want.

4) "Unfriend" him on facebook or other social networks. Don't be tempted to constantly stalk him on these websites either. The less he knows about what you are doing the better. Don't use facebook or twitter to update everyone on the various stages of your grief. Sooner of later he'll get to hear about it and start patting himself on the back for leaving you. ( a complete nutter)

5) Get in touch with the things you love. You may not be able to express the love you feel for him anymore, but there are other things you can love and loooove them to death. Your children, rotund cats, sunrises, sunsets, a good book, sunday roasts, your friends and famiy. old fashioned movies....be very aware of those things that fill your soul and include them into your life.If you are a list maker, make a list of all the things you love and have loved in the past. ( Try to exclude him on your list - if you can) Nature has a magical ability to heal. If you live on the coast, enjoy walks on the beach, seek out places of beauty in nature.

6) Use up ALL the space in the double bed, because you can. I started sleeping like a giant, prone land based starfish, my arms and legs spreadeagled.( Ahhhh the bliss...) This is one advantage you can maximize go ahead and give yourself the permission to enjoy it. You can do what you like now, snore loudly, fart in bed,( if that's what you into) kick to your hearts content, stay up late reading WITH THE LIGHT ON .

7) Get something snuggly like a delightfully soft and cuddly blanket. If you are like me an irrepressible snuggler, you going to have to find something to snuggle up to.Initially it is better if that object is not another man...

8) Redecorate your bedroom if your funds allow it. It doesn't have to be much, a change of paint colour may be all you need. I painted my bedroom a lovely midnight blue and found a new picture to hang up above the bed and I didn't need to worry about what Roger thought about it either, I could be unrestrainedly girly. Later, when I found the cash, I was able to buy a new set of bedding. Who wants to sleep on the same sheets you and THE MAN HO slept together on?

9) Journal, journal, journal... Let's face it - there's a lot of absurd crazy and demented thinking going on...Get it all out on paper. Write down all your fears and all your feelings - pretty soon you'll find that there is a strong wise and insightful sage lurking under all the craziness. You'll gain more respect for yourself as you get in touch with your own voice again, something you may have lost in the marriage.

10) Exercise. You may think this is a time to sit on the couch flipping the remote,a large tub of ice cream at your side with chocolates filling you gown pockets. THINK AGAIN.Exercise releases happy endorphins. There is something to be said for pacing on a treadmill, some lonesome cowboy song keening in your ears and your feet mindlessly moving, just moving. I used to imagine that every step I took was a step toward a better future for me and a step away from the heartbreak I felt. I used to say to myself, sometimes it wasn't quietly either, "You may have walked out on me, Bozo ( you're allowed to be uncomplimentary on your own) here's me walking away from you!

11) Listen to music. More than likely you will find a CD that speaks to your soul. I used to have the same CD in my CD player for months on end. The first time Roger left me, it was CHER who helped me through my misery. The second time, I have Jacksoul to thank and the finally ( I'm starting to look a little pathetic) it was Celine who reached down into my soul tweaked the parts of me that needed tweaking and whispered belief down deep into my questioning soul. What's going to be your heartbreak CD? ( I make no apologies for the artists used in my music first aid kit...)

12) Try to find women who have been through the same thing and may be further along the road to healing than you are. Avoid the bitter and twisted ones who will try to whip you up into a frothy man-hater such as themselves.

13) Get in touch with your spiritual side. Read the scriptures, pray or whatever else fills you up spiritually. Your spiritual reserves are going to be taxed in the next while so build up those reserves. If you haven't gone to church/synagogue or other holy house for a while, give it a try.

14) Take a class and learn something new, or improve in a skill you already have acquired. I started watercolour painting classes with an elderly house bound artist. We spent about two hours together a week talking, painting and laughing. I was a breath of fresh air for her and could help her with things she probably couldn't do for herself and she opened the doors in my soul to the new possibilities in me.

15) Reach out to those less fortunate than yourself. There will always be someone in a worse pickle than yourself. Forget yourself for a little while. It won't hurt.

16) Take extreme care of your physical self. Dress your best, go and have your hair done, paint your toenails,lose those pounds you promised yourself you would.... go and get a facial.

17) Develop a habit of gratefulness. Begin by listing all the wonderful experiences and things you have gained from the failed marriage. There is a lot of hurt and pain right now, but in the balance of things there were things you learned, memories you made, children conceived, for which you can be very grateful. Without Roger I wouldn't have gone to live in Canada or have met the most amazing Canadians that I did and that continue to bless my life. Without him I wouldn't have had the 5 wonderful children that I have....what a blessing. At the end of each week I listed the ways in which my life had been blessed so that I wouldn't overlook them, I began to feel very blessed even in my dire circumstances. Go ahead dare to be grateful.

18) Talk to your religious leader, your best friend and your therapist, they can correct your thinking when it gets stuck, or heads off at a tangent.

19) Get yourself ready for a time of great growth, make a commitment to acting with grace so that when the storm blows over you can remain proud of how you behaved and have very few cringey moments of regret.

20) Remember the best kind of REVENGE is to move on and find your own happiness, independent of the toad....and his piece of Fluff... after all for all her efforts her prize is HIM....

It's amazing, yet true...

2010-11-04T03:22:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning and realised...It doesn't hurt anymore. I tried to dredge up all those facts that have in the past caused me great pain...NOTHING...
I don't know when the hurt and pain slunk out of the back door unnoticed and I realise they may be back for a visit, like a pair of unwelcome relatives with their loud shirts and bulging overnight bags BUT they have gone without a forwarding address for now.

I took out the WEDDING ALBUM ...paged through the pages....NOTHING...When Roger first walked out on me, I couldn't imagine a day without pain over the loss and hurt I felt; but here it is.
My life is not perfect, I spent nearly two decades obsessing and trying to make the marriage work, it was my ultimate purpose and my passion. My singlemindedness took many forms, both healthy and unheathy.

In it's place there is a void. I have scattered purpose and vague direction, but I have burning bright choice and from the charred rubble of the old life, I could choose to build a new one brimming with ....anything I please. A real chance to start all over again. Like the veldt after a devastating busvelt fire, black and seemingly without hope, but alive with a million tiny green shoots of possibility...

Luky me, lucky,lucky me!

50 ways to leave your lover

2010-11-03T12:55:00.000-07:00

Like Roger, Paul Simon is also a Libra. Paul wrote this song after his divorce to his first wife, Peggy Harper. Apparently the song is a mistress's advice to a poor,compromised married man who has one leg in his marriage and the other's in bed with his mistress. She is gently nudging him out of his marriage. Of course Roger has probably had several discussions of this sort, having had a few serious affairs.

Whilst the song boasts 50 ways to leave your lover, Paul only supplies about four.

"Just slip out the back, Jack
Make a new plan, Stan,
You don't need to be coy, Roy
Just get yourself free.
Hop on the bus,Gus
You don't need to discuss much.
Just drop off the key,Lee
And get yourself free...

Luckily Rosecrans Baldwin of "The Morning News" gives a few more colorful ways to give the ol'e ball and chain the slip. These seem quite useful for those scorned and seeking some illegal means of retribution.
Here are some of my favourites....

"Feed her to a shark, Mark"
"Harvest his kidney, Cindy"
"Chop off his organ,Morgan"
"Throw her down a gorge, George"
"Fake your own death, Beth"
"Bury her alive,Clive"
"Run him over with a trolley,Molly"
"Give her a double-barreled hug, Doug"

And I suppose the verse went something like this with Fluff...

You see my little darling, Rodge, that wife you simply must dislodge
We can do so much better than to hide in this dingy old Travelodge

His reply was probably something like this....

I say my little cream puff Fluff, your'e sexy and so hot stuff,
Your'e right ...I must say to the old wife Iv'e had enough,
Cause life with her is so dang tough,

And out the door that Roger, slunk,
Leaving me in a hot blue funk!

Cause there 50 ways to leave your lover/wife/mother of your 5 children.

Lessons in Life

2010-11-02T13:37:00.000-07:00

"It takes a village to raise a child", - an African Proverb

Tonight I think I'll talk about some of my feelings about having five wonderful children.I am quite used to the stares as the kids all bail out of the mothership,( their affectionate name for my van) one at a time, like some alien invasion. Questions like "Are these all yours?" are as common place as "What's the time?" When they were little I used to throw them all in the grocery cart as I began the shopping. As the grocery cart filled with the things on my list, I started to remove the children one by one, until the cart was full and I was left with the baby, N in the baby seat.

When people I know introduce me to other people, they feel duty bound to point out that I have FIVE CHILDREN. Once at a ladies book club meeting, the ladies gathered around amazed that I had mothered so many. ( In South Africa it is considered highly unusual) How do you do it?, they all asked. I guess I do things half as well as you, I said, and pointed to my toes. 5 of them were painted a pretty pink colour, the other 5 not.(oops)

I often am amazed by them, they operate as their own little self contained community, not quite a village, but probably a small hamlet. There is a fair amount of "fair trade" operating in the Hamlet. D ( first son, 16 years old ) is determined to make it with the ladies. He has cottoned on to the idea, that guys who can play guitar, have an obvious advantage over those who are merely skilled at computer games. M has been playing guitar for several years, she is pretty good, so D has arranged to have guitar lessons from M. The two of them spend about an hour holed up together in her room, singing and strumming together. She has prepared a beginners file for him with all the songs he needs to learn. Hopefully there will be some he can use as he serenades Juliet from her balcony.

In exchange for the guitar lessons, D who is a wizz at Math gives M extra math tuition. Her maths marks have taken a death spiral into the 40 percent range ( unfortunately she has broken the heart of the math teacher's son, which does not help matters) Today the two of them very proudly came to interrupt the supper preparations to announce that together they had scored a 69 percent in M's latest maths test. I think the tutor was just as proud as the student.

K my eldest is the baker in the small hamlet. She makes pancakes for breakfast and delectable treats. Her bakers shop is always busy with requests from the other members of the Hamlet. She can play piano quite well, and is currently giving piano lessons to M in exchange for guitar lessons. She can be called upon to do numerous tasks, French plait hair, give advice on outfits before going out...typical of an eldest child she most often gives more than she gets.

M, my youngest boy, is an very talented young man, who has an incredible sense of rhythm. He drums amazingly well on African Djembe drums as well as a drum set. Lately he has been drumming up business of a different sort. He circulated a questionnaire to his prospective clients, ( all in the hamlet) They filled in the form stating what sort of things they would like in the shop, and taking out a loan from M, ( achy breaky heartbreaker of math teacher's son) of R50 and negotiating a deal with her so give her a percentage of his profits ( D's math's lessons must be paying dividends.) he went and stocked a big orange suitcase with supplies. This he sells to the villagers in the afternoon when they have the munchies and have too much homework to walk to the shop.

This little village, with it's principles of fair trade operates without any imput from me. ( Mayor/Town idiot - I'm not sure which) Here confidences and secrets are shared, along with jokes and advice about teachers and life.Tears are wiped away and turned into smiles, skills are readily shared and made use of. I am amazed at times and overwhelmed at other times - I'm raising a village, one child at a time.

The Wedding Dress

2010-10-30T15:39:00.000-07:00

With Halloween being around the corner, my N,who misses the excitement of Halloween ( South Africa doesn't celebrate Halloween the way we did in Canada.) has made some forays into the great big old dress up box. One item she found has made me stop and ponder. MY WEDDING DRESS. I admit, I kept it. Is that bad?

It's yellowed ( just like I remember my mother's was, when I was a little girl) and has a slight moth bally wiff to it. Lacy, with poofy sleeves and lots of pearl like beads hand stitched to it with love.
There has been a large debate raging inside me. What do I do with it? AND why do I still have that thing? At R500 a session I don't really have the cash to thrash that out with my therapist.

I feel an incredible reluctance to get rid of it. It's so tiny, it's a monument to my rake thin past.WOW! I really fitted into it.I have fond memories of the anticipation I had of marrying the man of my dreams and the creation of the wedding dress, one dress fitting at a time. It testifies of a mother's love as she was there with me at each step of the way. I love you mom and thanks.It also serves as a reminder that not all dreams come true. It really was also one of the happiest days of my life. Despite the heartbreaking years that followed.

We can have incredibly wonderful moments in time. They will for the most part become etched in our memories side by side with the gut wrenching ones, but do we have to keep the clothes we were wearing at the time? I don't have the hospital gown I was wearing when I gave birth to any of my five wonderful children so do I really need the wedding gown?

My final answer is, no. Perhaps getting rid of the gown will take me one step closer to the healing I seek. Of course my next thoughts center around how to dispose of the gown.I could have one spectacular bonfire and toss it on the pyre or bury it somewhere with a roughly hewn cross and some apt epitaph scrawled on the cross bar. In the spirit of recycling and the whole green revolution, my thoughts are of course turned to ways one could recycle the dress.

I must give thanks to a wonderful gentleman blogger who has put a lot more thought than I into the art of recycling wedding dresses. His wife left him after 12 years of marriage, her parting gift to him, as she rounded up all the cd's and dvd's, was her wedding dress. He has spent over a year masterfully finding nearly 101 uses for his wifes wedding dress. You should take a look at his side-splitting blog. The blog is called "My ex-wifes wedding dress.
myexwifesweddingdress.com

I will keep you posted on what I decide ....

This hammock looks pretty comfy!

I'm that good!

2010-10-28T11:17:00.000-07:00

My eldest son is never without his cell phone nowadays. Whilst I was still patting myself on the back for having no MXIT addicts in the house,( the local cell phone social networking device) he was hitting his first fix of chatting to GIRLS on the phone via the hip electronic text and flirt program - MXIT. Imagine being able to chat up all these girls without having to worry about whether your breath mints are still working or not? Remember how wobbly and weird your voice used to sound when talking to someone you liked on the phone? ( I used to hate that.) For someone a little awkward with girls - this program is heaven sent...   Now he's an Amy Whine-house,they tried to make me go to rehab, but I said NO,NO,NO MXIT addict.

And me???? Well I'm the quintessential HOT MXIT MAMA! - and I'm good. Take today for instance....

Me: ( Usual question designed to drive teeenagers moggy) "Who you chatting to on MXIT?" His fingers fly effortlessly over the keys of his phone.

D: "Ah just some friends..." ( He has this certain smile ....I have been taking mental note of for a few days)

Me: So why have you got your I'm talking to Clarisse ( the girl of the moment - I think)  smile on then?

D: Shocked beyond measure....How'd you know....? ( Accompanying blush - I think I may be onto something. I can tell he is genuinely impressed.It's not rocket science - really)

Me: I'm hot like a lava lamp in Mexico...I just know these things.( I'm showing off now - I can't help it- I just loooove being right )

D: ( He decides to put me to the test.) Who am I talking to now?

Me:( It's not Clarissse, that much I am sure of. I have no clue...I could guess, instead I try.....)

   "You have your I'm not talking to Clarisse look on now..?." ( lame I know)

My super mommy juice has all run out...

It's just me now , looking at a boy, starting to take his first few steps into love, romance and girls and I'm hoping against all hope ...it's going to be good...
Go easy on my boy cupid....( I know first hand how rough it can be out there..)

Ding Dong The Witch is Dead!

2010-10-21T14:35:00.000-07:00

Ding Dong the witch is dead!

"She's not only merely dead,

She's really most sincerely dead."

She's positively, absolutely undeniably and reliably dead!"

Yes, let the joyous news be spread. The wicked old witch at last is dead! ( Wizard of Oz)

I feel fantastic tonight, so light and fluffy, nearly two decades of angst just slipped off my shoulders today and evaporated into light, airy nothingness. BLISS.

I walked around floating on a cloud of euphoria like an infatuated young girl , her life suddenly brought to life by the attentions of a handsome beau.

And all of this the result of a few snippets of conversation with K, my eldest, whilst we were sitting in the waiting room of the facial-maxilla surgeon's office. This was to be our last appointment post operation ( see inglorious braces) with the (~~divorced and single~~) surgeon.

The patient before us,was the same girl who was in hospital with K, they had the same operation. So the two of them could compare notes on how things were going.

"Does your jaw click ?"

"No, does yours?"

They eventually got on to the subject of how sick and tired of soup they both were.

"I stayed with my dad about a week after the operation." says K.

"My grandma and grandpa arrived so my dad's girlfriend spent hours in the kitchen cooking these fancy meals every night to impress them, and all I got to eat was butternut soup" she complains.

The receptionist calls the other girl in. The two are us are alone in the waiting room. I am slowly savouring the delicious little morsel of information that had just been served up to me. I picture poor Fluff slaving in the kitchen,making homemade pasta instead of lying on the beach. The Wicked Witch of the East having just flown in unannounced and gatecrashed what was to be a relaxing week at the beach. Oh how many times has that happened to me??? I don't have enough fingers or toes to count!

"I thought Fluff wouldn't really have to work hard to impress gran and grandad??" I pretend to casually remark...

"Oh no," says K. " She does"

"Fluff says that she always feels judged by gran and she just hates having them around because she doesn't feel like gran likes her."

"Gran complains Fluff isn't organised enough."

" I guess no-one will be good enough for her son," she sagely remarks.

For so many years I have allowed this couple to make me feel lousy about myself. A large part of me believed that I wasn't worthy of their approval. I can remember trying so hard to win their affections and failing so miserably. How it hurt so very very deeply. In contrast, my parents welcomed Roger into the family, like their own son and loved and appreciated him. Oh how I wanted to find out how to unlock that affection from my in laws. If only they had a heart....

I have tortured myself by imagining Fluff, Roger and the in-laws, sitting round the table, laughing and joking together. Fluff meeting their approval and running in the inside track of their acceptance and love. It ate me up inside. And for what? It was absolutely incorrect. In fact Fluff is suffering in just the way I did, trying so hard to win them over, the truth of it is, she never will.

It frees me completely from the thinking that this was because of my failings. Iv'e been sitting for nearly 18 years with the Wicked Witch of the East , screeching my worthlessness from rooftop to rooftop.When like Dorothy - Ive had the power to go home to a place of love, worth and acceptance at the click of my heels.

If I had just been true to myself , I would have caused the cyclone to drop that house on top of the Wicked Witch of the East.

So tonight I celebrate the final demise of the Wicked Witch of the East - she's positively, absolutely, undeniably and reliably dead...

but somewhere.....in Durban, her sister the wicked Witch of the East, has taken up residence in poor old Fluff's mind. She's sitting on a couch, in full control of the remote, singing "I'll get you my pretty...."

I think I may have to buy Fluff some sequined red shoes for Christmas. I don't think she deserves to be tortured the way I was....do you????

( Feel free to leave your own comment)

My favourite car...

2010-10-15T23:56:00.000-07:00

This is my dream car. I know this because I drove behind one for at least half an hour yesterday and I was still filled with that longing tinged with sadness that you feel when you fall head over heels in love with the most popular guy in school and you know it's an entirely hopeless case...
Have you ever seen something so beautiful? It has such a retro nostalgic look to it, and you know if you had one, you could go places... up north into Africa...up steep and rocky inclines,if you so wish, even if the very thought of doing that right now,produces something akin to terror.Even if the gearstick requires you to grunt with the effort of changing gears and even if there is very little luggage space. You would have to learn to travel light. Oh but you would if you owned such a beautiful car,you would.

My first car, was a white Ford Escort, like the one above. It's roof had a black vinyl cover. I got her from an old gentleman who had loved her up for many years. She was almost as good as new. He had named her Brenda, so she stayed Brenda. He had religiously polished her every Saturday, kept her in a garage, protected her from the elements and only taken her for short trips to the shop and back.

I knew that deep down she had harbored the itch to travel all those years and was done with the cosseted life she led. So I dutifully took her on as many road trips as I could afford and in gratitude, she just kept on going and gave very little trouble in the way of breakdowns.

We had a clean bill of health when it came to accidents. There might have been a little bumper kissing when I threw her into reverse once or twice,but it never involved another car,I swear. There is one significant blot on our record, but it's also our biggest claim to fame and I am yet to find someone else who can brag of the same small driving indiscretion...

It involved someone that looked like this...

Brenda and I went over it several times,but we could never really decide which one of us was really at fault...
Let me explain..
I was teaching at my first teaching post,and was a little late leaving home. I knew I needed to be quick,there was no time to delay. I might have been dreaming a little, I don't know, but I forgot that when a traffic officer had his back to you it meant you had to stop.

I surveyed the scene,carefully and determined it was safe to proceed, so behind his back, whilst he was distracted by other cars, I made my bid for the highway on ramp. He might have had eyes at the back of his head,I don't know, but his traffic officer senses were tingling and he sensed my intentions so.... in a bid to stop my teeny weeny infraction of the law, he boldly leaped in my path, hands in the " stop dammit"position.

I tried, but I'll admit to being a little flustered and I might have stepped on the gas instead of finding the brakes. The net result was , the nice traffic officer was sprawled on the bonnet of Brenda. It was quite a predicament for Brenda and I to be in,something akin to being caught with your traffic ordinance pants down, and to make matters worse, I was suddenly overcome with giggles. ( I always giggle when I am nervous)

Luckily for me, the traffic had not slowed and his sojourn on my bonnet, had begun to cause some traffic snarl ups. With nothing more than a very dirty look, he left Brenda and I to sort out some more pressing matters. I was in shock. No ticket? No jail sentence? I gratefully maneuvered my way off to school - a little shook up but grateful he didn't even appear to have a limp

I thought I had gotten away with the worst kind of traffic infraction like the great train robbers, but one day, about a week later, I was coming down the hill when I saw the same traffic officer on point duty...
Determined never to repeat the mistake again, I dutifully and obediently stopped well before the line. I was the first car in the line. ( Darnit all) .

Mid arm waving, he suddenly recognised me. He had had a close look at me after all and I am sure I was indelibly etched in his memory. I felt a nervous giggle begin to rise up in my throat. Not now darn it all...
He motioned to me with his index finger, the unmistakable "come here" his finger beckoning me closer. Who me? Yes you.... His finger still beckoning he made me drive right up to his feet. ( Brave lad) The other drivers I assume were rather puzzled.

I stood at his feet while he moved other lanes of traffic with great skill and precision. Then when it was my turn to go....he banged hard on the bonnet, gave me a stern look and said, "Now you can go..."
There must be only a handful of drivers out there,who can boast of having knocked over a traffic officer and lived to tell the tale.......

After all those experiences and shared memories,one learns to love ones vehicle as they become so tied up in one's life memories.Gorgeous drop dead retro Defenders aside, my vote for favourite car, must go to Brenda, after all we were the "Bonnie and Clyde"of the open road!

Let's Celebrate! I turn 50 today!

2010-10-09T05:07:00.000-07:00

Dear Blogger family,

I'd like to make an important announcement.....I have just posted my 50th post! The fact that it features a picture of an old nag wearing blinkers is a trifle unsettling, but celebrate we must....
I am just amazed....Did you know????....I have have had visitors from as far a field as Barbados,Turkey, South Korea and the United Arab Emerates. I just want to say thanks for stopping by.
My most viewed post is "Jaw Drop Fantasy", but I am not so naive as to think you came looking for me.... It seems that if you use the word fantasy and a body part in a blog title, you can guarantee yourself a few hundred hits. Don't be surprised if the titles of my next few blogs are "Toenail Fantasy" or " Elbow Fantasy".
I would also like to thank my 16 followers who have stood by me through thick and thin and more especially those of you who took the time to comment.
Well, here's to another 50!

Winkers,blinkers and nod.

2010-10-09T01:24:00.000-07:00

Blinders, blinkers or winkers are names given to a piece of horse tack that restricts the horses vision to the rear and sometimes to the side in an effort to focus the horse on the race. At the start of this blog - I made myself the promise not to get stuck in the quagmire of bitterness and misery. Truth be told I think I may have taken the very road I said I wouldn't. Naturally.

When you are in your vehicle skidding on black ice, ABS break systems or not, it matters where you look. A key rule is: Where you look is where you will eventually land up. Control your fear. Keep your eyes on your destination of choice. The chances are despite the fact that you have very little control of your vehicle mid-skid, your focus is key.

I saddled up the old mare, threw my bundle of dreams in the back of a rickety cart, put blinkers on and started trekking. My goal was to get as far from the hurt and disappointment as possible. Each step was a step away from it all and thus with my blinkers on, I was making progress. Right? Uh-uh.

Whilst you may not "spook" with blinkers on, you also miss the amazing,astonishing,enjoyable, extraordinary,incredible and sensational parts of everyday life. I may have missed a stretch of fabulous scenery, but I won't take the crop out and give myself a lashing or two. I'll toss my blinkers and keep my eyes open instead, for the surprising splendour of my everyday life and focus not on what I lack, but cherish what I have.

Joy, I discover is something we create, with the clay of what we have today, with our own hands and our own heart, and how you look at your creation makes all the difference. Right now I'm a work in progress. How did you create joy today?

Wrong choice of movie.

2010-09-29T00:55:00.000-07:00

The kids have gone on a short holiday to the coast with Roger and Fluff. The car left, filled to capacity with Charles, the puppy and Mika, Roger's African Grey Parrot and a bootload of fishing rods.I know I should be dealing with things better but I'm like a stuck record, stuck on feeling inferior, stuck on feeling sorry for myself, stuck on being stuck. Oh yeah, I'm Brer Fox and the tar baby alright. I'm faced with the cold hard fact that Roger is now in a relationship with Fluff. He seems to be happy with this new relationship, Fluff seems to be happy. Mika the parrot is happy. Charles the puppy, is happy. Everyone else is happy, except me!

I'm trying to discover why I feel like I do. Do I still have feelings for Roger? I don't think so. I still have feelings for the notion of an in tact family. That happy little unit, where everyone is where they are supposed to be and the circle is unbroken. No ragged, wretched ripping apart of the family unit, no children barely living without a dad, no miserable mom merely existing in despair and clinging on to sanity with her un gel tipped fingernails.

A marriage has a life of it's own, with it's own character traits and personality. The fact that our marriage was like a highly dysfunctional teen, addicted to tik, means nothing. The truth is I worried about it, fretted about it, cried over it, prayed about it and agonised around it, for 17 long years. Like the mother of a wayward child, I was always hoping that one day things would turn out alright. It didn't. I wanted it to be ok,not only for me, but for the children too. I think it died a long time ago, and I probably carried it's carcass around with me for at least 8 more years, not realizing it was long gone. Smacks of madness I know. I pretended to myself it would resurrect itself, like the mythical Phoenix if I would just not give up. I was living in the twilight zone, on the razor edge divide between sanity and delusion with one foot firmly on the delusional side.I'm scaring myself now...

Not to get all co-dependent on you all here, but truly my source of self - esteem came from the fact that Roger loved me and thought the world of me. Like an umbilical cord, his love fed my feelings of worth. I'm like the mouse whose cheese was moved, but a really dim witted one. I've been scurrying to the same place for years, discovering and rediscovering the cheese has been moved.I angst and fret, "Oh why oh why was the cheese moved?." Each day I arrive disappointed -no cheese....Geez Louise - "Who moved my cheese?" You would have thought by now I might have tried a new and improved route to the same old corner of disappointment. I have sort of, but the net result is the same, I still think that the solution to my self-loathing and unhappiness, will come in the form of a man. Period. A new plug in drug, where I can mainline my processed cheese. I'm sure the Lab Tech above is scratching his head amazed at how infinitely obtuse this lab rat can be. While all the other little white rats have given up long ago and now have found new ways of finding cheese, I on the other hand have worn out the path to major disappointment. So imagine my feelings as I wave goodbye to Roger and the kids, whilst Fluff sits in the front seat, my nice block of cheese sitting on her lap...No wonder I wasn't in a good place yesterday.

So Yoda phones to see how I am doing. I'm doing abject misery and self loathing,with a twist of feeling very sorry for myself and I'm pretty good at it, thank you. I do a good job of winding myself into deeper and deeper depression as I lament to Yoda on the phone. Yoda wisely realizes there is not much he can do here. I'm childish and silly and I know it, only I don't know what else I could be, given that Fluff has just driven off with my cheese!

I'm also no Einstein when it comes to operating all the electronic media devices in the house, and I can't figure out how to change the channel to crime. I'm craving serial killers and rapists. The TV is stuck on the movie

channel and "Stepmom" has just started.

It's the story of Jackie ( Susan Sarandon) crows feet beginning to show, slightly jaded single mom. Still not over the whole cheese snatching thing... She plays opposite Isabel, ( Julia Roberts) . Oh for goodness sakes, Julia Roberts and ...those lips! Life's not fair. It's clear from the start that Isobel and Luke have a wonderful sexy, romantic awesome relationship ( Oh fail) and she loves him, ( Ed Harris) despite his obvious balding.

Susan is a great mom, still struggles to come to terms with the fact that Ed and Julia seem to be having cheese fondue's every night if you catch my drift. She gets cancer and eventually dies, leaving her kids to that balding flake Ed and Julia... Oh what a movie.

I cry in Disney movies. I disintegrated in this one. Eventually had to call in Maggie, the hound for moral support. Maggie sat on the couch next to me, while everything in a half meter radius got moistened. Just at the end of the show, Yoda phones. He finds this terribly funny and laughs hysterically and uncontrollably. I'm still sobbing as I explain the plot and the various stages of my falling apart. I'm laughing, I'm crying, he's still laughing. Thank goodness for good friends eh? ( smile)

On being "fun"

2010-09-27T05:54:00.000-07:00

I saw a friend of mine the other day who I knew as a child. Her family left an indelible impression on me as a child and I have such a huge amount of affection for them when I see them. We haven't seen each other for years and I was delighted to find out that they have children the same sex and ages apart as my three from the bottom. Already I was conjuring up in my mind images of their kids and mine becoming really good friends. Her husband was there playing with her kids. As much as I tried to coax my little one to play with her little one, I was met with great resistance.

N kept on hanging on me and asking to go home. I was irritated. Eventually she all but pushed me into the car. I was embarrassed to say the least.I hastily said my goodbyes, wishing I could stay. I acknowledged to myself that somehow the discipline in the house had slipped and felt the usual helplessness as I considered how to improve things. ALONE. Here's an area where it really helps to have some backup. Two adults are better than one when it comes to stemming the tide of misbehaviour, my least favourite part of parenting.

I started to probe a little to find out what all the hoo hah was about.The answer was very telling. N said categorically. "She has a dad who has fun with her and plays with her" " Does that mean she can't be your friend I ask?" "No she can, but she was busy playing with her dad, so she wouldn't play with me anyhow"

I kinda know how that feels. There have been days where it's been so hard to see couples together, at the grocery store, parent interviews or even concerts. There's an empty space tattooed in my heart. It leaves me feeling so less than, and that great sleeping pain, sleeping soundlessly at the bottom of all that is me, stirs and I am reminded I am standing on the back of a great sleeping monster.

It's easy for me, given the right circumstances, I could fall in love again and then I'm one of them, the happy couples feeling the avo's together in the grocery store, saying, "Don't forget the loo paper" or other such benign things. But N can't get herself another dad can she? She only has one, and though it's very complicated, in some ways he has abandoned her, he isn't there standing in the parking lot playing with her is he?

I have abandoned ship as well, if I am perfectly honest with myself? When was the last time I was fun? 14 years of living with a serial adulterer can sure knock the stuffings out of you, but can I honestly blame Roger for the fact that I chose not to be a happy or a fun mom? Can I really blame him for the fact that I am mostly unhappy,seldom cheery and hardly ever fun? There are single mom's out there who are fun, and every once in a while I may be somewhat cheerful. At times like these my oldest son will come up to me and say,"Why can't you be like this more often mom?"

Well? The answer is I choose not to. Heaven only knows why. I choose to wear my pain all over me like Lady Gaga's latest fashion statement made entirely of slabs of maggoty meat. I feel sorry for myself. Yes, I know I am being hard on myself, but every now and then someone's got to.

I was always the serious parent, constantly fretting,worrying about this and that. Roger was always the fun parent. Always introducing us to new activities and situations. He loved being spontaneous. He was never afraid of new challenges. He ski-ed, snowboarded, he water ski-ed, he fly fished,tied his own flies,did photography, sailed,he learned to fly a light aeroplane and got his pilots licence. When he left it was like the fun left our house. The tickle monster left with him and the bucking bull too. The children loved to ride in our home-made rodeo. He would snort and paw at the ground in the homemade pen made from blankets in the lounge, when we opened the gate he would charge out bucking and bucking until the screeching and giggling child was thrown from his back and then gore them several times in the tummy with his face. I'm tearing up as I read this, cause I loved the tickle monster and the bucking bull too.

I have to believe that there is some kinda wonderful fun in each one of us. My beautiful 5, really miss those fun times. They spend their days with their noses in cell-phones, computer games etc. I scold them and try to restrict their electronic time, but I really should be introducing them to other ways of enjoying life. The prescription for our family is a good healthy dose of fun, in whatever form that takes.

Fun people are often funny. Take Yoda for example. He has a naturally amusing personality, I am most often laughing when I am speaking to him, he can't help but be entertaining. My children just love having him over. Partly because he is such fun to be around, but also because they like to hear me laugh. We had such a fun time the other day playing boardgames with him, his laughter was so infectious. Good memories.

So, it's time to remove the un-fun parts of me and get in touch with my own brand of fun. My children really really need it, and amidst all those have to do's,I must find a way of making FUN a priority. Wouldn't it be nice if when I die, people remember me as someone who was fun to be around. Wouldn't it be wonderful?
You bet it would.

Inglorious Braces!

2010-09-25T00:18:00.000-07:00

Oh what a time we have all had my best beloveds, at the hand of that Nazi, the ex and his Fraulein Fluff!
I feel like I just come down from them dern Smokie Mountains,dressed like a civilian, crossed five thousand miles of water, fought my way through half of Sicily and jumped out of a fetchin' air-o-plane to teach those dern Nazi's a lesson in humanity. ( To misquote Lt Aldo Rein)

Let's back up a little, dearly beloved to put you right smack bang in the middle of the perty little picture. About 5 years ago, K, my eldest had the most shockingest pair of easter bunny teeth you ever did see. Her baby teeth were just peachy, but as each cute little baby tooth pushed the tooth mouse down deeper into overdraft, the biggest most unruliest teeth you ever clapped your eyes on, grew in it's place.

On school picture day,she did one of them lips squeezed together curl up the ends, you ain't never gonna photograph MY teeth, smiles - and she was a smart kid for it. So there was nothing we could do, but hitch up the old mare and go riding off to the orthodontist. Him sitting rubbing his hands together in delight,he saw the both of us coming , me and that toad Roger, forgive me, that Nazi toad Roger.

So K got her braces. There's a certain satisfaction knowing that those lecherous teenage boys are going to think twice before diving in and French kissing a girl who has Alcatraz style barbed wire protecting her pretty little mouth. BUT, there is skant comfort in it for the poor teenage girl. So wearing these horrible braces has been a source of great torment for the poor K, she's had them on for 5 whole years, that's like life without parole for a kid...

Eventually it was decided that K needed to have an operation on her jaw, to shortcut the whole braces procedure. So nearly two years ago I sent the Nazi toad, the information on the pricing for the operation etc etc. He agreed to pay the fees. Sorted, right?

Of course your'e a savvy bunch and you know with that Nazi, Roger on the loose, some sort of screw up is bound to happen. Anyhow, the day of the pre-op visit to the dental surgeon arrived and and half an hour before the appointment, Roger, the Nazi toad, sms'ed to say, he didn't realize that the amount he had ready for the operation, was only for the surgeon, a further sum of R30 000, was still needed for the operation to pay the hospital fees and so the operation would have to be postponed.. Add another year of braces. NOOOOOOO!

I phoned the dental surgeon's rooms, I was a hostage negotiator, we negotiated, she gave me a day to come up with the money. I went to work, and came up with the money. You should know better than to play Nazi poker with me, toad. I see you the hospital fees, so let's have the surgeon's fees, nice and easy, no sudden moves, I have the barrel of a gun pointed right at your...most nazi-est bits!

But that whiley toad had an ace up his sleeve, a card he reserves for just these sorts of circumstances, his most nazi-est bits were OUT OF CELL PHONE SIGNAL...touche!( The Botswana wilds has his Nazi behind covered) One day for the money to be deposited into the surgeons bank account or no operation this year. tick...tock...tick...tock...., the blue wire...or the red...which one do I cut?????

I decide to phone his head office in Durban for assistance, the same offices where Fluff works side by side with Roger. I take the "Phone a friend " option, only this isn't friendly territory. "Do you have any other way I can contact him? It's an emergency regarding his child." First time I am phoning his office.

The Nazi personal assistant, gives me the satellite phone number. I try it ..nothing. So I phone back, anything else? No she has done all she can. THIRD PHONE CALL. ( Perhaps if I can find out which lodge he is working at, I can make a plan) Someone else is on the line....the PA has stepped out the room, as has Fluff, ( YEAH REALLY!!!) She tells me this is not their problem to solve, she tells me to stop calling, she tells me she will not take any more calls from me ( It sounds like she thinks I am a deranged stalker, just how imaginative has Roger been justifying this divorce?)...HOW RUDE. Nazi telephone roulette and I am staring at a bullet flying down the chamber addressed to me, with love from that vixen Fuff!

Eventually that toad Roger get's hold of me. I'm in tears. I wail in Roger's ear for a bit, like a second rate spy. The second conversation sees me a bit stronger. I'm fighting fit. To cut a long story short, I win the verbal tussle, the money gets deposited. Operation Bunny Teeth is on. The Allied forces are victorious, confetti floats in the air...what? Oh well I feel like I've just won a war...even if it's just one more battle.

Frolicking pups and channeling looooooove!

2010-09-12T00:18:00.000-07:00

Well after an extended five week holiday, my household hit school with bump. The annoying alarm clock went off in what seemed like the middle of the night. It was pitch black through the crack in my curtains and my toes were repelled by the cold as they hit the frigid carpet. Unwillingly I padded down the tiles in a fog, feeling like the lead in someone else's nightmare. How did five weeks of holiday bliss evaporate so quickly?

Nevertheless I dutifully roused the dead with varying margins of success and eventually there were 6 not very pleased undead vainly shuffling around like zombies from "Thriller" without much purpose. Teeth were brushed, all the hot water was used up in the shower till the last bitter complaint, and we were off, off to school again ready to talk and write about "What I did this holiday." Sadly the same fate awaited my class...and I was as excited about it as everyone else.

In the front seat, however there was another passenger in the car. His name is Charles. ( true story) He is two months and thirteen days old, black with some white flecks, a cross between Papillion ( French for butterfly) and a Skottie. ( A puppy, for goodness sake!) A gift from Roger to M, who turned 14 this holiday. When I hear the constant whining late into the night or find "an accident" inside the house...my suspicions are aroused about Roger. Do you think he lies in bed at night, his lips curled up in pleasure as he contemplates the hairy natural disaster he has gift wrapped my way?
I think so, don't you?

Rogers deft assault aside, I was in a quandary as to what I should do with the wee royal mutt whilst at school. You see we have a much larger hound at home, Maggie...and I have seen the way she has eyed Charles..the way I would eye a perfectly delicious hors d oeuvre on a silver platter.Rather than let her snack away while we were gone I determined to take Charles to school. I mean how much trouble can a wee timorous beasty be in a classroom ? I was about to find out.

It was bitterly cold when the bell rang ominously for the start of school. The children lined up a little noisily and waited for further instructions. Our Head of Department began with announcements and was all but drowned out by a high pitched moaning and whining from my classroom, not unlike a tropical bird I noted. I hastily explained what was causing the sound. Of course I had to bring Charles out to meet and greet, which he did quite royally, foolishly I was encouraged.

We lead off into the classroom. I thought I would throw the children headlong into work, the black fuzz nestled under my arm. Eventually he let me know he would prefer to be set down on the floor. How long since his last successful toilet trip? I tried to calculate, figuring if it would be alright to let him have a go at the carpeted floor. He bounded happily scoffing the scraps of paper the children had already begun to accumulate on the floor. I eyed him wondering how one would do Heimlich Maneuver on a small pup choking on a piece of paper.

Eventually the hair under my armpit goes limp and I lay the pup to rest in his crate. There followed a good period where peace reigned and we could get along with the classroom business of educating young minds.
Piece of cake....
During period three, someone in the area near to the blackboard dropped their pencil. The black peril zips out of it's crate, tears along the dotted line and in a millisecond has the pencil in it's mouth. The audience is appreciative and is over generous in it's laughter. Of note, the victims of the fuzzy guerrilla warfare include, several shoelaces, a severely disfigured eraser, a few more purposefully dropped pencils ( kids really!!!!)

During reading circle, we were all engrossed in our Ginn reader when the perilous fuzzball charges from an unknown starting point and plops into the lap of a well covered boy. ( Much to his utter surprise and delight!) He nestled there sampling the pages with his sharp little puppy teeth. Giggles...and more giggles...SIGH.
This was beginning to become tedious.

From somewhere in the classroom a messenger was dispatched to inform me our guerrilla warrior had left a small smelly landmine in "the quiet corner." Had we reached out of control? If we hadn't already we were pointed in that direction. Eventually the school bell rang to signify the end of a long tortuous day. I sigh, "Please Miss, " comes the polite request, " Can you bring him back tomorrow?"

Weighty Issues.

2010-09-11T09:24:00.000-07:00

"Even though I have fat thighs,

flabby arms

A pot belly still gives good lovin'"

words from Freshly Grounds "Pot Belly"

I've grown so much in the last little while.....but not in a good way. I've put on weight, and a lot of it. I may go so far as to say I may possibly be at a record breaking high. *SIGH* My closet is full of neatly folded clothes that I have now expanded out of. I'm like an obsessive compulsive snake who neatly folds its shedding and vainly keeps it hoping to "one day fit into it again."

The phrase "love handles" is a complete misnomer....in my experience love and fat, mix like oil and water.
The effect of the extra pounds are somewhat devastating and my self esteem is hanging in the balance. I tended to shed pounds quickly and without effort each time Roger left. It gave me some source of comfort to lose that weight. My weight was so inextricably part of the sick and twisted dance of betrayal Roger and I had become a part of. It was something Roger kept to himself, but his array of brightly coloured tarts were all far more slender than I and I always felt that in some way, those fat molecules had something to do with repelling his affections.

Once after we had separated for almost a year, he decided to come back. I vainly and foolishly took him back.He came back, not as the penitent sinner, but rather as a shrewd businessman. WITH CONDITIONS!
One condition was that I kept the weight, I had lost, off. It was out in the open. When the pounds started creeping back he viewed it as a breech of contract, simmering with an angry resentment and of course finding solace for this betrayal with some far more slender women. I try not to notice the irony of this.

If it was only Roger who came to the party with these shallow conditions for affection, I could probably brush things off, viewing Roger as a defective male, but that hasn't been my experience. I find it hard to think about issues of weight and love, but circumstances have forced me to view the whole subject again and its as complicated as INCEPTION. ( the movie) This comes as a shock to a girl who grew up with a dad who loved her mom whatever her size.

I decided to do some investigative work. I interviewed a male. ( over a chocolate milkshake with a delicious dollop of cream on top...tsk...tsk...) He felt that yes, if he had married me and I was slim and trim at the point of "I do", he may also have felt betrayed and let down by excessive weight gain.

Whilst he admitted some initial attraction to me when we were reacquainted,( some 15kg's ago) he did admit to the waning of those feelings almost directly proportional to my weight gain. A real knock on the nose for my already reeling self esteem, but lets keep things scientific for the purpose of my study.

Indeed this weight gain has definitely lost me bargaining points in the male attraction stakes, and I do so want to earn those points, but alas that is not all. Like the chicken and the egg, the weight gain costs some confidence points, a real kicker for the male populace who like their mates happy with life and confident Very overweight I am told ,is when your belly and your boobs are of equal size...( this has cost me several minutes in the mirror, trying to gauge how far my belly has to go to equal my breast size and has left me wishing I had bigger boobs!)

It would seem that males in general appreciate confidence, and would take an ever so slightly overweight girl with confidence, rather than a skinny one, all covered in self loathing and self doubt.So here I am an overweight girl, whose boobs and belly are in a photo finish race to the goalpost, all covered in self loathing and riddled with insecurities. Many years ago, apart from my frightfully pale skin, a figure like mine would have been revered by the African men, who found beauty in dimpled thighs and wobbly bits. Beauty is really culture driven and in this culture which reveres the young and slender,at least some men like Freddy Mercury understand that Fat Bottomed Girls ....make the rocking world go round!!!!

Frog Legs, the blind men in my life and I've still got twinkle - darn it!

2010-06-29T12:29:00.000-07:00

It's been so long since I punched these keyboard keys in a blogging frenzy and delight. In truth I had nothing to say. I remember that was one of my pre wedding jitters. True to pre wedding tradition, Roger and I had planned not to see each other on the day we were married. He was staying next door to my home, and my little white Ford Escort was parked between the houses on the grass. We kept leaving each other messages under the windscreen wipers. One read ....I'm worried...what if we run out of things to say to each other? Roger thought that was funny.

I remember the day we did eventually run out of things to say to each other. It was Valentines Day, the year 2000. He had taken me to the fanciest restaurant, the small town of Vermilion had to offer. Frog's Leg's were on the menu.a special valentines day treat. Roger ordered the legs I can't remember what I ordered. Here I was, with all the heightened expectation of romance and valentines, kids with a babysitter, and .....nothing. I remember thinking...this is what I was afraid of all those years ago. It turned out that Roger had more to say to the local ambulance driver and a steamy affair had already begun between the two of them. Not unlike many of these small town affairs, I was the last to know. But knowing about it hardly stung more than that moment of realization, that this man had ceased to find me interesting, or worth talking to.

The truth was ....I was always just an ordinary girl; but a boy had found in me something gloriously captivating and fascinating; enough to want to spend the rest of eternity in my company. How magical is that? That is what we bloggers do, we take the ordinary simple things in life, and magically transform them into something charming and captivating. When we cease to find magic in the ordinary, we cease to have something to say.

I apologize for the frogleggy silence you have had to endure, but I think I lost a little of my own magic along the way. There have been others besides Roger, who have been captivated by something they think they see twinkling inside me.It has hurt a little to see that interest dwindle and die and caused me to doubt myself as I tasted of the dust of nothingness.

But I'm 40 something now, a little wiser and sturdier and I know magic is in the eye of the beholder. I know that while I may have quiet moments with nothing to say, the magic will come back. And even if one hundred suitors leave, chewing frog legs, I can still spin magic out of the ordinary and have something to say to myself out here in the blogosphere and be quite content to do so. I know it isn't that I've lost my sparkle, it's more a case of that they have lost the ability to see it.

Blah Blah Blah Fishpaste

2010-04-09T13:10:00.000-07:00

Iv'e been a hamster in a treadmill lately. Feeling angry and blue, angry and blue...you get the picture. Round and round I go riding the gamut of negative feelings a never ending downward spiral. Am I depressed? I am in mourning. My feelings are draped in black lace. I can't seem to shake the heavy weight I feel. The chasm between where I wish my life was, where I expected to be and where I am now rivals the grand canyon. It is my grand canyon of disappointment .Inside of me a great and formidable two year old is having a terrible temper tantrum.I am so frustrated with life. Moments like these are where the brave and the strong and the brave rise up and fight. I am none of the above. I'm close to rolling over and playing dead rather.

I feel so terribly lonely right now. I want to connect with another human being in a very deep and meaningful way. I want someone to co-pilot this plane with this precious cargo in it, my navigational instruments have failed and I am all over the place. I miss being touched. Hugged, kissed.I want to be held each and every day and to feel loved and cherished.

There are so many things we want in life but the universe holds it out of our reach. Like a big brother teasing his younger sibling holding what we want up in his clenched fist high up above our heads. We jump, we lash out, we cry, we pout, but still what we want is out of our reach. Eventually we give up and leave, heavy hearted, knowing we are at the utter mercy of that vindictive older brother. Seeing his fun gone, sometimes he carelessly tosses what we want in our general direction.

So here I am with my dreams hopes and wishes all in a cherry wood casket. I make no apologies for this melodramatic moment. I'm dressed in black, veiled, hiding a tear streaked face, "Goodbye sweet girly dreams" Roger I thought you were my pillow guy, the one who, as a little girl, I would cuddle up to at night and dream of being married to. My happily ever after... Now you have your own pillow girl, Fluff, who runs every day, swims long distance, runs long distance marathons, and I can't even last five minutes on the dreaded step machine at Virgin Active. It hurts so much that you think she is so much better than me, that you don't want to be with me anymore, I don't want to be with you anymore, I didn't like the way you made me feel in the end, the way you saw me - all the cheating and all the agitation and crisis, the way I was always one of the children in your eyes, never your equal. I don't know when you started to loose respect for me,it must have been a slow leak, but one day I looked and saw you had little left for me. It hurt to see you have respect for Fluff, I saw it in your eyes, she's 14 years younger than me and I can see you value her opinions and treat her like an equal. Is it me?

Universe, with my dreams in your beastly balled up fist, Is it me???? Why don't you go and pick on someone your own size. Why don't you go over to that fellow Roger and snatch a few of his dreams away from him wouldn't you. I'm tired of watching him reach his goals and dreams.....his flying lessons, now he has a pilots licence and a plane, he always wanted to work in the bush, now he is a doctor to the rich and famous in the bush, he calls all the 5 star lodges in the bush his second home,Sabie Sands, Madikwe, Kenya,Botswana....What a dream....He was never shy to reach out and go for his dreams.....Now he has the girl of his dreams...... He is always jetting off to wonderful destinations "for work" - Bah Humbug...I know, he had the courage to dream, to chase after his dreams.....Maybe he outgrew me - I'm the tighty whities of his past...(that he wouldn't be caught dead in)..Fluff is presumably the silky smooth boxers of his present, his Calvin Klein's of today....

Time to chase a few dreams of my own... :-)

Slow pokes and an over due Cowboy

2010-03-22T09:44:00.000-07:00

Well that old slowpoke Cowboy hasn't even saddled up his donkey, never mind his robust steed.I was expecting to be in the middle of an almighty tussle :lawyers letters flying this way and that, angry soon to be ex spouses and me fighting over the carcass of our finances like a pride of hungry lions .......but the starter gun hasn't even gone off. I am waiting and waiting for the rough draft of the summons to be sent for my approval before the sheriff ( of the court - of king Karaktacus????)scrapes the last few baked beans at the bottom of his tin can and swigs the dregs of his stiff coffee before his bowlegged self heads off into the sunset....a nice little summons under his cap....

Not that slow is that bad.....sloths move so slowly that lichen grows on them.... I went to a presentation today for a new business op...presenting a book to government personnel. The book claims to change your life in just 90 minutes( the time it takes to read the book ) It suggests that we are our best selves when we remain calm and free of worry and other negative emotions so we can think with our subconscious mind rather than our conscious mind. I must confess I am a sucker, and have been caught once too many times by get rich quick schemes, I worked hard at my poker face and super sceptism, I slowed my heart rate down every time he mentioned the word " million" - I confess that word still has a hold on me....it's so sexy, it still makes my pulse rate rise. But like a scorned lover I spurned the notion of this being a successful venture. However I still bought the book and read some of it. It suggests you slow your thinking right down, I tried, I couldn't detect any thinking, I reassured my self that my thought processes were probably going the speed of light and thus undetectable to the naked inner eye.

A squabble broke out in the children's quarters, two girls battling a war of words with one son....now was my chance. I s-l-o-w-l-y sauntered up to the battle ground, my slow texan drawl without the twang, my mind doughey and slow....calm as a cucumber I took the problem in hand slowly turned it over, everything I said was measured and slothlike.....the result???? Actually truly amazing, genious if I might say it myself, my subconscious is funny, wise and kewl....My gosh! It worked very well as well! I might try that again. On Thursday, I have to do a mock presentation for a phoney group of potential buyers, we will see how it goes....

But I do wanna dance....

2010-03-12T12:53:00.000-08:00

I remember my first mini-skirt. It was a blue mini-dress, several palms were dotted around the front and it came in two convenient heights, one to get me through the door past dad and the other for the party. I was around fourteen and had never slow danced in my life before, a dance floor virgin so to speak. Reggae was the vibe at the time. His name was John, and he was tanned and gorgeous, curly hair and a cute smile. I didn't expect a dance, my female allure was yet untested and I had no clue as to how the opposite sex would view me. It was awkward enough bunched together with the other girls hoping someone would pick me to dance with. Each time a male advanced something in me stiffened and I held my breathe. John walked up to the huddle, confident and assured and asked me for a dance.I whispered a "yes," as he led me to the dance floor, the cement floor of someone's garage. I was shy and could hardly bear to look his way, we swayed to the beat of Eddy Grant's : "I don't wanna dance..." all the time I was thinking, but I do wanna dance, dance with me baby all night... I had my first slow dance with him that night, I was acutely aware of every particle of my body pressed against his, and I moved like a cardboard cut out, stiff and unsure of myself, but never the same again because he had asked me to dance. I drove home in the dark tonight, girl's sleeping in the van, on the radio, the same old song was playing, the music transported me back to that old garage party and I still wanna dance, love may have given me a sore beating, my romantic spirit, is so resilient, and after all the hurt and pain I still wanna dance, I really do.

Girl On Top

2010-03-09T07:13:00.000-08:00

I set the cell phone back down on my desk after my call to the lawyer and was not ready for the feelings of heady anticipation or tremendous excitement I felt. This week, let me repeat, THIS WEEK, somewhere in Durban, a sheriff of the court is going to tie his legal horse around a pole in Coral Street and sidle up to Roger, hereafter known as the defendant and issue him a summons for divorce. The lawyer and I discussed whether we should include a small line about his infidelity. The one half of me argues for this being in the summons, heck there is so much I could say, sometimes I want to shout his sins from the rooftop and let the world know what a lyin' cheating bum he was. The more logical, wily brain argues that ultimately it won't serve a useful purpose, no sense worrying a rattlesnake is there? He is just going to rattle his tail at you and you may coax him to strike and then be sorry ....So there is going to be one quaint, dainty reference to his skirt chasing ways. I hate to say it, I am almost more excited to finally toss this millstone around my neck off the cliff than I was on the day I got hitched. Sad isn't it? Only I'm really really really excited...and thrilled - it's been so long.

Dollars and Nonsense

2010-03-01T08:48:00.000-08:00

I'm not your typical heroine, gutsy and resourceful, I'm more of the patheticy hand wringing sort that hopes the solutions to life's problems will be whispered to me from the wings of the stage like the prompt at a school play. Iv'e always had some brave soul stepping up to the plate to take over from me and solve my problems. Now here I am, five chickens to look after and no-one to solve my problems for me.

And here come the problems...who..? Me...? are you sure this is the right address??? Couldn't you problems go someplace else, I have had my fair share of the likes of you. Anyhow the problems keep showing up at my door addressed to me. I have been sweeping them under the carpet, hoping they will disappear...but they insist they are here to stay. And good old panic is knocking at the door already...

The most frightening of the problems at the moment come to me in the form of plain old cash issues. Today Roger sms'ed me to say that he is having some financial difficulties and will let me know on Wednesday what his accountant says but it looks like he will have to downscale my maintenance. I am battling to keep my head above water as it is. I knew this day would come, Roger is notoriously bad with money and likes "the best" for himself.

I was living in Canada when he decided to move in with another in-patient he met whilst receiving treatment for sexual addiction at the world renowned Meadows in Arizona. She was in for depression and he was just the Rx she needed to get better, so they both checked out of treatment and he moved in with her to Florida. She was a millionaires who had inherited her millions from dear old daddy who had started a chain of stores, by the name of Johnston's I gather. Alison was her name.

There I was, with only a visitors visa, unable to work or provide for the children. He was gone for about a year. He maxed out the credit card buying label wear for himself and holidaying in the Bahama's with his new found love. Eventually, he discovered that she really did have a serious depression problem and it became too much for him and he came back , to the sound of many creditors threatening him on a daily basis, he crashed and burned financially and still has the burden of that debt resting on his shoulders.

I knew it was only a matter of time before his loser ways with money caught up with him again, Iv'e dreaded this moment when I would have to shoulder the financial burden of raising 5 kids on my own in this exorbitantly expensive, parched African soil. I have a teacher's diploma and teachers get paid pittance here and in most countries I am afraid to say. My salary covers the school fees and that is about it... eek!

What I do love about school is the holidays though and the fact that I am there for my children, any time they need me. Also I am so happy to be teaching N, it is such a privilege.

However I have not enjoyed having to rely on dear old unreliable Roger....it is not comfortable leaning on a crumbly statue and I've wanted to be financially independent of Roger, it would please me no end to be able to provide comfortably for them with my own hands and not care about what happens to Roger and his finances.

But how???

That is the question that begs asking ....and it's asking right now,

and universe I am straining my ears to listen for an answer.....

The song " I will survive" is blaring on the radio, perhaps that old universe is answering me in her strange old quirky way after all...

The Blue Finklet Dreams On

2010-02-17T11:41:00.000-08:00

I'm grumpy and in a blue funk today. I enjoy making people laugh and I absolutely adore theatre. In my minds eye I confess I have secretly dreamed of being a very good playwright. I have no idea how I could possibly get there, but thats the great part of dreams, they bypass all that stuff till one day, I am quiet in the back row...The red head with the freckles is a weak choice, but Charlie the lead is carrying the whole performance. The first joke goes off the stage, it takes a second to reach the audience, they consider it for a second...a few twitter, oh...oh dear???? Later there are belly laughs and tears of mirth and people doubled over in their seats. Dang that Charlie is good. I'm not like a comedian who stands in the spotlight, no I'm here in the dark of the theatre watching potbellied bearded men doubled over clutching their bellies in pain with my funny, laughing at themselves and life, so light, changing hurts and pain into funny magical laughter, the twist yourself into knots and laugh like a little child kind of funny, light and fluffy tickling us from the inside giving hope.There's been a drought of laughs in the household since pain and panic came about two years ago, and even before that there were years of teeth gritting and white knuckles and quiet desperation. My funny bone has gone on an extended holiday it's little brown suitcase covered in stickers from all the places it has been, Iv'e been Mrs Krankypants and Ms No Fun At All, what sort of a place to grow up is this? I say that funny bone ought to come home now, and liven up my life a little, I'd like to hear laughter and experience it every day now till the day I run out of "mortal coil". Single Woman, in search of funny....non-smoking please!

The New Sexy

2010-02-06T23:23:00.000-08:00

I took my podgy old self to the annual "Tomato Trot" yesterday. The kids were all taking part in the fun run and I thought I may as well give it a bash. Someone set the oven to "grill" and it was exceedingly hot. The expectant kind of hot that leaves you waiting for something like a soothing downpour. Ours is a humid hot and so in no time at all I was covered in sweat. I'll be honest and say it felt good. The heat, the fellow trotters, old and young, the view of farm country, large white tunnels where export tomatoes are carefully grown, big skies and small shrinking dams and the fact that I was getting some much needed exercise.

I found a great trotting companion who made the time and kilometers pass swiftly as we chatted the whole way, got into a water fight at one of the water stops and ate blueberries at another. I finally finished the race and spent a bit of time gathering my chickens till we were all in the "silver bullet" and off to the roadhouse for some "I'm definitely not cooking tonight" food. I managed to spill my milkshake all around my accelerator, so had to clean out the car before heading off to the late night grocer for supplies.

I was wearing stretch shorts( ewwww) and a huge white "Tomato trot" shirt , the spoils of my labours. It had chocolate milkshake in a forensic spatter pattern all the way down the front. I was still sporting some dusty old takkies and and a make-you -wanna-squirm farmers tan. My hair was post big sweat this-ain't-pretty.This was not in my opinion a great grocery aisle speed dating look. However I cannot tell you how many great looking guys came up to me and struck up a conversation all beginning with the phrase, : " Have you just done the Tomato Trot?" (Well go figure) In all my late night grocering , I have never even had one hot male conversation, I was astounded. I think I just found the "New Sexy" and whoever knew? I'm hanging onto my tomato trot T for dear life!

Silver Bullet Confessionals

2010-02-05T08:33:00.000-08:00

The Silver bullet has been cruising up and down the streets lately delivering children to their various lessons, tap lessons here, horse riding lessons there, chess competitions, swimming training, youth group, cricket matches. When you have five kids you can spend a lot of time in the car. It's a good thing I don't mind driving. As a child I often heard mum's complain about being taxi drivers for their teenage kids. I can't say I'm complaining. Actually I seem to be enjoying it. There's nothing like a long stretch of road to get to know a kid well. I drive and listen mostly.

I'm the bartender and the hairdresser all rolled into one oh, and don't forget the priest. For some reason one of my children has felt the need to confess to me all his misdeeds from the last year. Who would have thought. He's come to me to be absolved from all his sins. I try to stay calm and in control, but I must say my toes literally curl up with each new confession. The labyrinth of the pubescent preteen mind unfolded to me in all it's nakedness. It's not a pretty thing. I phone Yoda to ask when his first sexual fantasies began, "Four years old" he quips. I almost believe him. I pray my advice is sound.I look at 12 year old boys with new eyes, I think I know what they are thinking...at times like these I think to myself , I could do with a man.

N has just started drummies. ( baton twirling and marching) The squad is marching on Saturday. Since N has only been to two practices she was not picked for the march. She came home crushed. Disappointment written all over her face.
N: " I wasn't picked for the squad for Saturday"
Mom: I guess that's cause you have just started. I'm sure that you will be picked soon.
N: No I won't.
Mom: I know your teacher came to tell me how well you are doing. I'm glad you didn't give up though.
N: I just did.
Mom: Oh, you just gave up drummies?
N: Yes, I'm never going to get anywhere.
Mom: Would you like me to tell your teacher you will be giving up?
N:No.
N runs herself a hot bubble bath ( something I always do when life gets a bit much) She's seven and she's learning to handle something that life dishes out for free...disappointment. I'm quite proud of her.
After a good soak in the tub she comes to me again.
N: You know what mom, I'm just going to practice very hard and get in next time.
Mom:( thinks)Attagirl!

M comes home from tap dancing. She hasn't had the opportunity to tap dance for years and is really excited to be tapping, stepping on her heels and toes doing some shuffling and a bore change or two. After class I can see she is not at all happy. Her sad is always so angry. She is mad. I couldn't even get the most basic of steps right mom. She curls up near the window seat, her face away from me and cries bitter tears of frustration. I coo like a dove, trying to sound encouraging. We go home and the home is unusually quiet as the silence of her tap shoes fills the space of the house. I'm convinced in time I'll hear the old tap tap shuffle again down the passage. I hope so. I think how important it is not to help a butterfly emerge from it's cocoon. I wonder ( the lyrics of a local band ) Does a caterpillar die when it turns into a butterfly? I think it would be nice to have someone to parent with.

On the way home from chess, I am enthralled by the brilliance of D's maths brain as he explains to me the inner workings of a math class he just had. I understand nothing but I'm not alone it turns out neither does the rest of his class.

I know who has a crush on who, what the piano teacher said, what the coach said, which body part which girl hates about themselves. I think of all of this knowledge, drip by drip, trip by trip,and I feel sorry for Roger, missing out on all the nuances of each incredible human being and for a small moment in time I feel very very lucky.

Flat N

2010-01-24T11:53:00.000-08:00

I am so glad I still have someone little at home. This small little body, with small little legs and hands. It does something for ones soul to be around someone who is still fresh. Where giggles and belly laughs are commonplace, hugs and kisses easily dispensed and a mind relatively free of the inner critic that tends to take up residence in older minds.
I have the privilege of being N's classroom teacher this year, I was nervous, but I had nothing to worry about, she's nothing like she is at home...she's an angel and works so neatly in her books. Is this really my child? I'm so proud of her. It has been a mutual experience, she's looked at me and wondered the same. Is this my mom? I may be earning some coolio points here to be saved up for when I go into real coolio point debt during the teenage years.
We have just finished the book, "Flat Stanley" together as a class. It's a story about Stanley who gets flattened by a bulletin board. What ensues is a series of adventures made possible by Stanley's flatness. He posts himself to a friend in another state, becomes a kite and even solves a crime. He makes being flat seem like such fun.
For the last two days I have walked into my room to find a pair of small feet sticking out from under my standing full length mirror. I recognized it immediately, the Flat Stanley flattening procedure. I merely inquired how it was going. The muffled reply came from under the mirror, " I don't think it is working yet..."
I wondered how many of my other charges were spending their weekend under bulletin boards, bookshelves and other flattening implements. Had I not been the teacher I would not have understood what was happening, I may even be alarmed.
I'm enjoying every moment of my time with this free spirit, until the time comes when I look at her and wonder where she went. I recognize that at one time we were all free too, before all the pressures of life molded us into an automated cuboid. I think it is really time to find the little girl in me again, I'll start by lying under the mirror with N, just to see how it feels...

Oh perish the thought!

2010-01-20T14:45:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is a red letter day! I will have a real live died in the wool, truly-wooly seventeen year old. At least living out here in Africa, has postponed the inevitable for a year. I face, from tomorrow, a rite of passage that has my knees quivering. The Learner Driver!

I'm wondering what colour the L ought to be???? Pink with sequence? Shouldn't the L give some clues as to the severity and nature of the danger our fellow road ragers are facing? "Caution Blonde Learner Driver and Very Frightened instructor aboard." Truth be told due to some totally avoidable mismanagement of my paperwork, I had to retake my drivers again a few months ago and so I am very well aware of the grave situation the "silver bullet" and I face.

Now I know you are all thinking Pfft...so what big whoopee...but I'll have you know, I hadn't parallel parked since I passed my last driver's test in Saskatchewan, Canada.( That was at least 16 years ago..) I was eight and a half months preggers, and had only been in the country for a month or so, just long enough for my international driver's permit to expire. Roger had done almost all of the driving, and so I hadn't really practiced driving on the right side of the road. How difficult could it be really?

I swatted the theory portion of the test quite diligently and did quite well. Next came the practicle. I just had to remember to keep right. When the vehicle eventually came to a stop,post-test, the examiner was looking a little white washed. "Do you get danger pay? ", I asked. "Not enough," he whistled. Tears were pricking my eyes, it was really bad, I had made a few sorties on to the left side of the road, particularly after left turns, I was nervous so I prattered away continually hoping to distract the man from the level of mortal peril he was in. Eventually I was so focussed on keeping to the right I started driving in the parking bays. "We Canadian's usually use this portion of the road to park in, "came the ever so polite hint. I was off again talking rapidly about anything and everything and ramping the curb whilst giving my life history and parallel parking.

Imagion my surprise when he passed me. Well what would you do? Face certain death again, or help a pregnant fairy, just a little. I was grateful. Eventually, after 12 years in Canada I could drive safely in icy conditions, dig myself out of snow banks and keep to 30km's in the school zones. And not once did I collide into anything on the road. I did reverse into the garage door once or twice ( gotta make sure the darn thing is up when going backwards) and once for good measure, reversed my brand new car into Roger's brand new car. ( I hadn't noticed he had come home for lunch...) Otherwise I had a completely clean slate, not even one parking ticket. No legal infractions, if you exclude the time I was reprimanded by loudhailer one afternoon. "What sort of stop is that, Madam?" the traffic cop scolded, his loudhailer sticking out the window. "Not a very good one," I sheepishly yelled out my window. Murphy's Law! If I am going to slip through a stop street once in my entire life, I will get caught..

Back in South Africa, the licencing department was making some changes. Licences were now supposed to be on a card and not in an ID book anymore. Coming back into the country, this little detail had slipped me by. I was oblivious to the ruling, and also to the fact that I had a 3 month grace period to fix the whole ID/Card problem. After the grace period , a person would have to begin again and take the learners and practical test once more. Oh Moggy the mortyfying...such was my fate.

I was stopped at a roadblock one day, when an officer requested my licence. I cheerily handed him my green ID book. "Beeeg Problem...." he said handing my book back to me. He explained that my licence was no longer valid and I had to drive to Palaborwa to get the licence on the card system. Palaborwa contained nothing but bad news."It didn't matter that I could drive on black icy roads, and never once landed in the ditch, it didn't matter that I hadn't got one parking ticket or that I held liscences for more than one country, I had to do it over again.....none of my pitiful sob stories worked.

And so it was I found myself ensconced in a very old VW beetle, all covered with "Mrs Van's Driving School" signs. I renamed Mrs Van, Fraulein Van. Her vehicle had two steering wheels, mores the pity. One day at an intersection, I was instructed to turn right, "Hold on, " I hesitated," There's a car coming" Fraulein Van's was in a hurry, she took over the controls and gunned it over the intersection amid many angry hooting vehicles. I wondered what else she got away with in her "Driving School Car." I noticed the locals giving the VW a wide birth and I don't think it was all due to the student driving. She was right wing to the luftwaffer and her teaching style was militant. Oh, the torture I suffered doing alley docking for a solid hour, till sweat dripped off my nose.

It took me 3 trips to the testing office to finally pass...South Africa has a new K53 way of driving, each maneuver is choreographed by many checks. "Mirror, blind spot,mirror,indicate, blind spot." I chanted in my first test. I nailed the yard test all the poles were upright. The examiner looked at her pad. " I don't think you made it, she said apologetically, you made over 75 points in observation errors."

The second test, I woke up, without my mojo....I just didn't feel good, despite the fact that I would be taking the test in the brand new " One Step" driving school's vehicle, or perhaps because it was my instructors brand new vehicle.( Oh yes, I had given Fraulein Van, the boot.) I failed with aplomb, crashing the vehicle into a pole whilst alley docking... I can remember grabbing my male examiners leg in anguish. "I know I've failed ," I wailed, but you have to come with me to see what I've done to the car....I hauled him, clipboard and all out of the vehicle.I had done a good job of crashing, the evidence was plain for all to see. ( I wasn't doing my cause any good, he would be making mental notes for next time, she's insane...don't let her out on the road... )

So in two tests, I hadn't even made it out of the yard. I was feeling imprisoned... Finally test three dawned. The examiner led me into the room to give me my results. He hadn't forgotten the trauma of having his leg grabbed and made sure that he kept the big wooden desk between us. He began listing all my sins...you took your hands off the steering wheel 8 times...( drat that stupid bra strap, it nearly cost me my licence) I was beside myself had I failed again???? When he finally announced that I had narrowly squeaked through I was overjoyed. I began to bawl... he got nervous not sure which part of his anatomy I would grab this time in my emotional pre-menopausiality...I was ushered out of the door very speedily. all red eyed and looking like a panda bear ( gotta get waterproof mascara)

And so we begin the whole thing again....I'm off to get another steering wheel fitted...

I'm lovin' it!

2010-01-17T09:19:00.000-08:00

I first felt it, with a shimmy round my waist, as my hips did figures of eights in rapid succession. It was my belly dancing class, and I was Sophia Loren,(" everything I've got I owe to pasta"-in my case chocolate) I was alluring, seductive, my hands spoke volumes in the encyclopedia of come hither. I felt positively sexy, my eyes were blazing and I moved with joy to the middle eastern beat.

On the way home, I stopped at the pokey little flower shop (the one I always drive past) and spent a really long time marveling at all the wonderful roses, colours of every hue, eventually I chose a deep romantic red.
( Roses, sigh, you shouldn't have...) Couldn't and shouldn't were away, and so I did. When I got home I spent time arranging the roses ( not as easy as I had suspected) but soon a slightly lopsided arrangement was put on the sideboard. "Who are the roses from?" - "A secret admirer", I answer honestly. Has it really taken me so long to get to this point?

The kids were dotted all over town except for the youngest, N, my 7 year old. I showered, scoured the newspaper for whats on and took extra care over my hair and make-up. This was a date. We went hand in hand to the movies, N and I , we sat on the step watching fellow movie-goers, munching popcorn and waiting for the doors to open. "Planet 51" gave both of us time to catch up on any missed sleep and at it's conclusion, I carried my sleeping bundle off to the van.

Content.

I am happy with my life and I am finally learning to love myself. Serenity has arrived and has calmly unpacked her bags, I hope she makes herself comfortable. I'm plumping her pillows for her. The path to healing is not looking so rocky anymore, here and there some wild flowers are popping out. I'm grateful to be alive and to be so blessed and I am looking forward to all that I am going to accomplish in the years ahead. My heart is ready to love, I'll start little and love roses, sunsets, Sunday roasts, friends and my children.

I've come a long way.

Paradise Road

2010-01-06T16:56:00.000-08:00

We got into the "Silver Bullet" , the girls and I, fresh for the open road. A two hour and fifteen minute trip up Paradise Road. I plan to inhale in great gulps, the sights of this land I've fallen so deeply in love with. It feels so good to love something this much. I should be doing school preparation, so this feels like an affair, as I sneak off for a fix of heady road trip romance. My soul is ready to sing.This is no infatuation, no puppy love, this is truly , deeply madly.

I leave my city behind as it thins out into industrialized parts, an airport, and a petrol station or two, the termites have built their mansions on prime real estate,next to the road. I wind past five sentinel mounds. They are a red earthy colour.

Farms give way to hilltop villages, with thorny kraals and huts boasting coral coloured walls, bright greens, blues, apricots and small matching outhouses. Mielie plants ( Corn) sway to the music of sun and wind, and here and there a bent back hoes the weeds while laundry flaps in the wind. There are goats everywhere grazing small patches of grass. Here and there a long,narrow bi-coloured school stands with a corrugated roof and two large plastic water tanks on either side of it like book ends.

The hills are undulating in an alluring manner, confident in their earthy sexuality. The flora reminds me of the peppercorn tight curls on a real African head before hair relaxers and weaves and wigs became fashionable. The roadside is lined with Accacia trees, or Thorn trees, as they are better known. Barefoot children quickly learn to give these trees a wide birth. Its summer and they are dressed in celebratory green and gold as yellow flowers multiply on the upside.Every now and then I catch a glimpse of the inch long white thorns lurking beneath.

The clouds are carelessly painted on a brilliant blue canvas a few deft flicks here and there. It's a hot, baking sunny day, my kind of day. The bow of happiness eases up and down my taunt strings and there's music in my soul. The truck ahead of me throws on it's hazard lights, as it breaks for a sandy coloured cow mincing across the patchwork road for greener grass.

Now a chorus of silver leaved bushes tell me the coast is near, and we cross a bridge with a breathtaking view of turquoise waters, platinum sand and a white boat moored to a wooden jetty.
Indigenous loveliness all around .

I come across a clump of sky high Eucalyptus trees, of Aussie descent. They look out of place like a small group of Aussie rugby supporters at a home game. "Go Home! " I cuss. They were first introduced to our country by miners who wanted tall strong beams to support mine shafts for sunless burrowings. They drink too deeply of our precious underground water reservoirs , unlike the dainty sips of our succulents.

Finally the Euphobia's with fingers pointing skyward announce my destination is near. Grazing cattle gives way to ostriches, impala and Blesbok. . Yoda, seems to be in a hurry, we pack the Landcruiser with Appletiser and camera parts and we head off in search of elephant and large cats. The girls bobbing in the backseat. I'm already sated, anything I see now is just bonus. Four muddy rhino's wallowing in the mud tell me I'm finally there. Hakuna Matata!

Men are From Mars, Woman from Venus and Ex's are from Pluto, which isn't even a planet!

2010-01-03T10:31:00.000-08:00

I have been tiptoeing around the ex lately trying hard to figure out the best way into his pocket...
You see the motivation is quite honest and selfless, I need to buy the kids school supplies and textbooks for the upcoming school year. The amount of maintenance he gives me isn't quite enough and though we most often squeak through to the next month, a large sum like school supplies just isn't in my budget. We are not officially or legally divorced so nothing is quite set in stone. I'm the legless Stork,with not a leg to stand on. I look forward to the time when one trip to the maintenance court will find him being extra careful with his "Lifeboy" soap in the shower of the local lock-up. Our law is quite severe on dead-beat dad's, our jails not very hospitable either.

Unfortunately this divorce is taking extra long for some unknown bad karma in pajama's reason - all I have been able to get out of my latest lawyer is a letter of apology for his tardiness. Something which I will probably have to pay for, by the syllable...I'm loving mama- Africa's efficiency.

Which means...all I have at my disposal are my feminine wiles....Oh bollocks...I could be in a whole lot of trouble here.

Getting your ex to part with cash is truly more complicated than solving the Rubik's cube in three easy moves. Let's face it, he no longer finds me adorable or cute,no long distance eye-lid batting is going to cut it here.It's been so long that any guilt he may have felt has been dissolved in rationalized rhetoric with Fluff and the in-laws punctuating every point with charismatic amens. I could rage and rant, but peace is only a phone click away for him. As most puzzled and perplexed African's say:"Eish!" I feel like I'm one move away from checkmate.

I've served the topic up to him about three times lately, but he has volleyed it right back in my court, saying he can't talk now he is busy. He says he will call back, I'm still waiting. My calls are less welcomed than a telemarketer selling hemorrhoid cream. I'm going to have to ambush him and hit him in the last vulnerable spot left...his desire to appear like the good dad... in his own eyes. I will never use the kids in this kind of tactical play, that is just too dirty and not fair for them.

In this war of the wallet, I'm going to have to think like a great tactician, the brilliant general of an infamous battalion. Gotta brush up on my Tongue-Fu ! Who am I kidding? Roger is the guy with all the guile, I'm just the girl that got played and replayed time and time again. The ex is a whole new species we woman have to figure out. They hail from a very far away planet all made of freezing cold gas and empty promises, but we have to learn to navigate our way around them anyway.

The Big 5 and I celebrate New Year's

2010-01-02T00:57:00.000-08:00

There's nothing I like more, than to bring the New Year in with some great snogging. I'm fairly superstitious about the whole first snog of the year, in my opinion it gives you an indication of how the rest of the year is going to go. I like to go for a totally cliche snogging session, fireworks exploding in the background, streamers sailing through the air and Old Acquaintances not being forgotten by everyone else.

This New Year was absolutely and utterly snog free, spent at friends of the children, an evening of ping-pong, chair soccer and a movie featuring several Guinea Pigs. By the time midnight stealthily crept into the room, there were sleeping bodies everywhere, 4 of my five had succumbed to fatigue and I confess I was laying tracks of drool on the carpeted floor myself, at 4 minutes past 12, I was conscious and prone, the carpet had left a semi-permanent tattoo on the right half of my face and I groggily wished all a Happy New Year. Thereafter, several bodies were loaded into the Silver Bullet, our weary farewells complete and we were heading off into the New Year.

By all indications a snog free New Year doesn't bode well, but it is a good time to put the old superstition to test and see if it carries any weight. Let's see if the old witch floats before we burn it at the stake.

New Year's dinner this year was going to be a royal feast, a small gammon was ready and waiting in the fridge, next to the cherries and the pineapple rings. ( The toothpicks would have to be loaned from the next door neighbours) I donned my black apron, and set to work. Four bleeding hours later it was ready. I'd like to say it came together like a well rehearsed symphony, but I got a little stuck in the cheese sauce movement and had to redo it. I was sweaty and disheveled but happy and a tad proud of my masterpiece as I triumphantly called :"Dinner!"

This year the children had been given homework to do; they had to list their 20 top accomplishments of 2009. Each read their list starting from the oldest. We punctuated each accomplishment with blasts from our noisemakers. Some children had five in their mouths at once. Can you ever celebrate their wins excessively?My nerves were jangling and my ears ringing. We ceremoniously handed round "the jug to end all noise making " before dessert could be served.

My chocolate pecan pie looked absolutely amazing and we dolloped great globs of cream on top. There was ice-cream and chocolate and caramel sauce, 2010 would not be short of calories. As we ate our dessert we spoke about our goals for the new year and whilst I hadn't come close to a good New Year's snogging I knew we were all making some childhood memories that were indelible, and maybe that is an even better indicator for the success of a new year.

We washed a mountain of dishes together some of the smaller children fell asleep rather suspiciously on the kitchen floor too exhausted to scrape another plate. We chatted and poked fun at each other and then carried off the sleeping bodies to their beds, each one sporting a Mona Lisa smile. Then we rolled off to bed full and exhausted and yet content all at the same time.

Hysterical Henrietta and Quiet Wisdom.

2010-01-01T03:54:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year Ya'll! I'm wishing you all sorts of good things for the year to come. Like a Christmas stocking, I'm hoping your year ahead contains a few cheap thrills, some unexpected joys and obviously one or two mandatory dud moments. I used to be quite excited by the new year ahead, like a kid before Christmas, but the last few years has me wondering if I'm going to be equal to the challenges that lie ahead.

I definitely am experiencing shudders that are well above normal on the trepidation scale. How jaded I have become! I hope 2010 restores my faith in life. I'm not feeling any of the electricity and excitement that a new year used to bring. The end of my fingers are tingleless and my heart is unmoved, the old resolution machine has rusted and I'm wary. I'm crouching tiger, hidden dragon - I'm ready for you, 2010, bring it on! You see what I mean? Should one really be reaching for the knuckledusters on the first day of the year? I'm like an ex marine that's seen too much action.

2010 has some pluses already. Iv'e moved into a spanking new home and apart from a small corner cowering in the scullery, my small corner of shame, it's all organised and so utterly lovely. I feel like a new girl. Is this really me?

I survived the longest holiday ever, including Christmas without kids. Truth be told I worked so hard the days just flew. I viewed Christmas with distasteful eyes. "Oh YOU again?" I feigned disinterest. I was the perfect Scrooge. Bah Humbug! It nearly worked and I only shed tears once and my voice only gave a small wobble ( barely noticeable) when I spoke to the kids on the phone. This year I can get all Christmasy again, my tree will be up in November, the 31st ( I won't push it) and we'll go caroling in sad sack Christmas Hats, Grandpa will don socks on his ears( In his all important role as donkey) as we "act" the nativity - it will be so super the glow will last for two years till I can do it all over again. I'll have 5 pairs of eyes rolling at me in perfect sync as I find new and glorious ways to embarrass them and earn fuddy duddy points. Ah! Too good to be true.

Seeing Roger and Fluff return from the three week holiday in his Mahindra and trailer and my kids was hard on the emotional parts of me. Fluff, was not nearly as harassed as I would like her to have been and seems to have taken holidaying with 5 kids in her stride. Close encounters of the ex kind always leave me somewhat unhinged in a rock bottom self - esteem kind of way. Hysterical Henrietta makes an appearance and she gets me so upset and worked up and depressed, Fluffs skinny ass burned into my memory.She can rant and rave for days leaving me feeling so last year, but I know how to handle her. I journal and journal till she's done ranting and Quiet Wisdom ( My inner First Nation ( Indian) Princess) begins to talk to me. She looks at things from a big,big picture point of view and assures me that yes indeed Fluffs butt will eventually sag and she'll lose her youthful glow too, she tries to point out that these things are really not so important in the long run, but knows I'm not ready to hear that yet. She shows me the things I have instead of highlighting in neon pink highlighter the things that I have lost, she whispers quiet courage into my soul and I am filled with wonder and amazement that someone so wise and present resides in my jumbled up trough of thoughts and feelings.

I must concur with Quiet Wisdom, I have a lot to look forward to, this is my last decade with kids at home, something that ought to be treasured down to the last little drop. Oh and I will...starting with 2010.

I've got the Queen of England all figured out!

2009-12-11T06:50:00.000-08:00

So today was the last day of school and Roger had planned to pick up the kids seconds after the last note of "Lord Dismiss Us" was played. Of course, punctuality was never Roger's strength and true to form he arrived a good hour later than promised, with suitable crisis as an excuse.

This time the games were on, as for the first time Fluff had accompanied him on his trip down to my lair. I say I'm all over him and wouldn't want him back, and I stand by that, but I must say I was curious. I have never really had a good look at Fluff.

I saw her briefly once in a car with Roger, as he whizzed passed me She struck a careless pose, hands behind head, perky breasts jutting out in a tight white tank top. ( This game has no rules)
The second time I saw her, she had her head firmly stuck in the window of a car, talking animatedly to it's contents, hoping to heck I wouldn't come and chat.

Of course who wouldn't want to see the other end of the woman you have been replaced with? Her derriere, I had a good look at, and while a good size or two smaller than mine, can hardly afford the nice French name given it and is probably, on closer examination , merely a size ten ten pair of buttocks, plain old buttocks!

So, like two no holds barred wrestlers, we eyed each other. I came up to the car to say my goodbyes to the kids. I gave her a cheery hello, she mumbled something not as cheery back. ( One point to me-Geez Louise, what have I done to her? )

I was a little disappointed, she is most plain. Her features are quite blunt and not at all what one would call pretty.( I know I'm beginning to sound like Jane Austen) She had no make up on, and her hair was carelessly pulled back in a pony tail. ( I hate to say it - one more point to me, in my judgement, I have the prettier face )

Ah, yes well her bod is definitely a few sizes less than mine - but heck I can lose weight... ( I great big point to her)

Her legs were freshly shaved, mine not quite so.... ( dong... a point to Fluff) Note to self. Shave legs. Just the other day, my very honest second grader made the self same discovery. Kids like to play with your shoes and legs etc during story time. One little boy stopped the story with a question he had obviously been toying with for a while, as Dick and Fanny traipsed up and down the Magic Faraway Tree. In all seriousness, he asked: "Mrs Scorn, why do you have thorns on your leg?"
" Thats because I'm a rose, " I replied.( We teacher's always have clever comebacks for situations like this) But point taken ....

I noted that her toe-nails were prettily painted and quite well groomed. ( Ding)

So lets go over it all, cheerfulness under pressure, me, facial features, me, bod , Fluff, legs, Fluff, nails, Fluff. 3 points to 2. Not too bad.

Roger was complaining about the size of the trailer he had hired.He couldn't get another trailer and worried it would not be big enough. Fluff told him she thought it was cute. Attagirl Fluff.

So our goodbyes were said, while I was thoroughly ignored by dear old Fluff ( I was beginning to enjoy myself - )

The car took off and I waved energetically to the kids. Heck! Major jiggling of the lower half of my arm. (Ding,ding,ding) My vanity had me in a death grip, I had to resort to something that very closely resembled the Queen's royal wave. Thats why I say, I have the Queen of England all figured out. She is every bit as vain as me!

Then. no car... One of my colleagues came by and gave me a big hug and it was there,my soft vunerable inner parts, no more Queen Bodicea stoicness in combat. I fought back tears, heck I already miss my kids. It's gonna be a long holiday.

Off -Road Revelry

2009-12-05T12:04:00.000-08:00

I paid a visit to the Temple of Testosterone today! It was a sight for my sorry single eyes to behold! Off- road motor-bike racing. Who knew it would be such fun?

I felt like I was in the middle of the Wildebeest migration, with wild beasts of steel, pawing the ground and snorting, their low rumbles could be felt deep in my bones. The deafening roars of the engines, the gunfight pops as several gnu's backfired together, smoke billowing behind. The testosterone hung so thick in the air like a smog. I revelled in it and took in every inch of the scene playing out before me.

There was a lot of camaraderie, guffaws and backslapping as the "ou's " ( men) got ready for the ride. Each had a signature arrival, revs, skids, squealing tyres. It all meant something to the group. Of course I didn't understand the language, so I just drank the visual spectacle in deeply and supplied my own subtitiles. I needed a fix like this. My days have been filled with children ( I'm an elementary teacher) and woman mainly. If I do get some contact with men they are accompanied by their wives. Here was a whole herd of them, behaving in their natural habitat of gears and chains and throttles.The roads were as slick as snot, so I was told, so there was mud flying everywhere, the skilled bikers flew over the obstacles, the less experienced ran aground, bikes flying one way and bodies the other or they merely kissed their bumpers. There was a lot of bumper kissing. Lucky bumpers. Men, mud and bikes - now heres a way to really cheer a girl up.

Hello Jeff

2009-12-02T07:27:00.000-08:00

Hi Jeff,( see Jerry lewis comes to dinner) can I ask you for a favour? Today my little girl came to me holding a picture of Roger ( not his real name) and I on our wedding day. She held the picture close and said to me, "Mommy I miss this."
I said :" You miss your dad? It won't be long and you will be spending the Christmas holidays with him. ( Heartstrings gave a big yank, this will be my first Christmas without kids.)
"No I miss this, she said, pointing to the two of us in the picture."
"I miss this too baby," I say, I am glad that Roger isn't with me anymore, but as I have always said:" A child who wakes up each day to a mom and dad who still love each other and are happily married, wakes up to Christmas every day."
With all my heart this has always been my wish for my children.
Then from somewhere deep within , she starts to cry with a really deep hurt, which wells up and overflows from her broken heart in loud heaving sobs. I do what any mother would do, I hold her close and do a little silent crying with her. After a bit, like a Highveldt thunderstorm, it's over and she pads off to her room carrying the picture.
So Jeff, if it's not too much trouble, would you go over to my little blonde baby and put your arms and wings around her right now, and help me to help her heart to heal? And would you remind me when I'm feeling sorry for myself and hurting bad, that there are five little hearts hurting even more?

I remember a conversation we had a year ago. "Why did daddy have to get divorced now," she asks, "I'm just a little girl"
She's just a little girl still, carrying wounds I am powerless to heal.
I'm a big girl now, and I still hurt like heck, can you hold my hand and her hand and help us walk this road together?
Show us the way?
If it's not too much trouble?
Jeff?

My mama never told me there'd be days like these...

2009-12-01T15:56:00.000-08:00

It's 1am, and here I am, still awake. Cruddy Crudcakes! This is crazy, Roger went on an extended "buisiness trip" in March 2008, from which he never did return. I was teaching when I presume he snuck in and packed his bags. I don't know, perhaps he had been stockpiling undies and clothes for a while. "Buisiness" had him on a short leash and he was run ragged servicing her needs. One night he came home and told me he wasn't sure he wanted to be married anymore. I didn't sleep a wink that night, I was panicked, nauseous, free falling into nothingness. Could this really be happening after all I had been through?

I went to school the next day, as if nothing had happened, Roger was going to come back to me about what his decision was, I was numb. His final answer was quite explosive, and I quote, "Do I love you?HELL NO! Do I want to be married to you, HELL NO!" At least the man is clear, leaving no margin for doubt.

For a while he stuck to the story that he was merely unhappy in the marriage, but unfortunately, for him, through a strange turn of events, that involved a car crashing into the causeway bridge, not his or mine, and me having to walk past his house, I happened upon a little overnight bag spilling with very colourful bra's. I explained that I was about to throw out some of my stilletto's would he like them for his cross dressing purposes, or would he just like to come clean and say what we all knew was the truth anyhow. Enter Fluff, the 28 year old, soul mate of Roger into the picture.

I don't begrudge, Fluff her dear Roger.I have no desire to have any romantic connections with him, besides I'm not sure all the machinery is working too well over there anyhow. The last unromantic sexual encounter we had was more like a sound technician who was testing his equipment. I kid you not. We had had a famine in the bedroom for rather a long time. One day out of the blue, Roger rolls over and says, this will make your knees weak ladies, I'm feeling a little relaxed now, lets have sex.( Don't tempt a lady on diet with a cookie)

Now I am a woman in her sexual prime, the sexy forties, and I'm parched, so I say OK. Well clearly the machinery was just not working so well, don't take it personally, he apologizes after a rather poor showing. I say the usual, don't worry this happens to everyone, or so I'm told. He's quite pleased with himself that at least in the end the most important bits work. Hindsight is 20/20 and I am a bit peeved that our last encounter involves our intrepid sound technician, going "testing,testing.... ( A dress rehearsal for something he and Fluff have planned?) If I had it to do over again, I would have said :" Go test your equipment where you intend using it, Buster! What do I look like a modified crash test dummy!" ( I don't swear, except in traffic, so that would have had to do)

It's been a while, since our hero departed the scene, riding his little blue Palio into the sunset, off to rescue the dear tenderhearted, Fluff from her life as Human Resources manager at a high end lodge in the Kruger Park.

Almost two years , so I must be honest I was not prepared to still be having days like this when it hurts so much still. I'm not kidding when I say it really hurts and I'm a real stoic when it comes to pain. I have had 5 babies for goodness sake!

Sigh, I must say, having purged this part of my story out into the ether capacious - I feel a whole lot better. I may even sleep. Blog catharsis.I hope you don't feel too used, dear reader, assuming there are any of you out there. Like the bear who went over the mountain, the only way to get to the other side is through, can't go around it. So whether mama told me about it or not, I guess there will be days like these, sad, hurtin',mournful days as I lay my old life to rest and start all over again.

Jerry Lewis comes to Dinner!

2009-11-30T12:26:00.000-08:00

It's report time and so I'm spending a lot of face time with this dear old laptop of mine, but not really in ways that please me. K my 16 year old, just a few weeks shy of being a learner driver was dispatched off to the kitchen to check on the dinner simmering away in the oven.

My finely tuned mama -ears picked up that all was not well with the dinner. A small panicky yelp, no louder than a who's came drifting up the passage and I dropped dear Suzie who ought to apply herself more in mid sentence and went to investigate.

There I saw, the tuna casserole, quite unperturbed, standing in the oven like Shadrach, Mechach and Abednego, surrounded by rather large flames. Not quite what I expected. I realize I'm the only adult here, the sub adults are all watching me and waiting for me to do something. Cue mom to the rescue.

For the life of me I can't think of what to do , Ive already turned off the oven, but the fire, she blazes on! I'm somewhat hypnotized by those flames. Somewhere in the slow moving coggery of my brain, I think to myself that water may not be the best idea. I take a large baking pan and try to off the fire by smothering it, it just burns merrily under the pan. Though I hate to admit it - I'm getting a little panicky.

Still no brilliant ideas, my kids are in various stages of hysteria , so am I - how the heck do you stop a fire? Note to self, fire extinguishers are a good idea. I cave, I fill up a pot of water and chuck it on the fire. Yes, my earlier hunch was correct, this was an ill -conceived idea. The flames immediately grow huge I'm all out of ideas now, except to dispatch hysterical children in various directions to get help. I turn back to the fire, it has died, something totally blackened, charred and steamy sulks at the bottom of the oven on top of the element.
Disaster averted.

The casserole, affectionately renamed Nebuchadnezzars flaming delight is unscathed and pretty tasty too. My nerves are truly shaken and my brain somewhat rattled, but I feel mostly relieved - I got the feelin' someones looking after me and my big 5.

For some reason I imagine his name is Jeff, feathery wings and sculpted six-pack - thanks Jeff!

Miserable Mystics and Captain Yoda

2009-11-28T14:15:00.000-08:00

Suffering Suffragettes! I've been snowed in with work this week. Chained to the desk pumping out stories of 240 words long, all in Arial, size 16 and I haven't even made a dent! Yes, and like Clyde the manure loving hound, the star of one of the stories, I have been waddling to old Farmer Brown's farm and rolling in manure of all sorts of descriptions, but more aptly named self pity and abject miserableness. I have had it!

So I phone Yoda, who isn't exactly small and green, rather large and not so green. Yoda spends his existence in a zen-like paradise, just two hours away from me. His place is full of all that nature's bounty has to offer. He's had a skirmish with Gout Vader, and has been poorly of late, still I hope to touch him for some pearls of wisdom, cause I'm in a place where I can't see clearly where to go next. Just give me a hint, you Jedi divorce warrior par excellence.

Nothing doing, Yoda full of mystical mysticalness, opts out of the free advice hotline business and texts me some smoke and mirrors about some things you just have to figure out and fix yourself. That was what I was afraid of. It's really up to me to change this life around isn't it?

That miserable ole Roger is in Botswana as I type, with Fluff, and it burns me up that he has bought his ticket on the happiness train and left me on the side of the path, with cacti thorns needlin' me all over. Okay, so it was probably me who sat myself down on the cactus plant in the first place.

Yoda is quick to point out that I'm in charge of my own happiness. I'm pretty fine at throwing those pity parties, perhaps I'll figure out how to operate my own happy hour. I wish there was a happiness vending machine, pop in some cash and instant happiness comes rattling out, together with some change.

I'm finally getting to the point of realizing that there are only calories found in chocolate bars, not happiness. I know this cause I've unwrapped so many of them lately and there has been no "Willy Wonka -Happy Plonker wonderous welcome to your new life ticket" found in any of them. Only calories....and with calories come extra inches to squeeze into those hardworking fat jeans. Consequently, I found myself doing backstage work at the school concert in a black tee and awful black skirt abounding in nasty floral patterns because I couldn't fit into any black pants any more. ( No blossoming jokes, please)

To tell you the truth - I'm the small green thing - I'm jealous of that miserable old Roger. He's good at making good things happen in his life. He's capable of knowing what he wants, understanding what will make him happy and getting it. He's prince charming on a white steed and has always made the girls swoon for him. Me? I always think other people are going to make me happy,or at least tell me where to find it and when they don't, I get a little panicky ,thinking that I will be miserable forever. I don't have much confidence in my own ability to produce happiness.

Right now - it's a boxed in cubicle existence for me, I feel trapped by a lack of cash, overwhelmed by a mile long to do list, and I'm lonely, I'm miserable, impatient I have nothing left to give, and I ache for my five children who are suffering because I'm a porcupine, prickly and bristly.

Roger comes to visit them and he's hip and fun and funny and warm and affectionate and oh how they love him.

It's nearly freakin' mid - jedi - night and I'm going to be Captain Crankypants tomorrow morning if I don't go to bed.

Yoda says I have to find my own path to happiness, just as he found his. He says he thought back to the last time he was really happy. It happened to be the zen-like natural spot Ive already mentioned, he packed in his city clothes and teleported himself there. He hasn't looked back.

Iv'e thunk and I can't remember.... when was it?

If I ever remember, you'll be the first to know....

The BLUE Blankie

2009-11-24T04:47:00.000-08:00

I was shopping at Mr Price a while ago, and I found this fluffy blue blanket. Usually when you come home from a little impulse shopping the goods don't seem nearly as wonderful as they did when they were under the buy-me-quick lighting. However when I took this baby home it was the softest most yummiest blankie ever.I had to fight the kids and the dog off my blankie and it took a while before it was established in their brains that they were to stay away from it. Leave! Mom's blankie! The dog may need extra lessons though.

During the winter I slept with it every night and cuddled under it while watching TV. It sat on my lap as I worked at the computer. I have become a real Linus, from Peanuts, dragging the thing behind me wherever I go. I even contemplated taking it with on the last weekend I spent with friends. It was sorely missed.

Last night, it was too hot to sleep under the blue blankie anymore, so I cuddled with a corner of it as I fell asleep. I made myself a little sad thinking that Roger was cuddling up to something a little more lively and here I was pathetically cuddling up to a blue blankie. Still Fluff can't be THIS soft and my blankie doesn't snore, kick or talk in it's sleep.

Besides it's not like I sleep alone. The night is filled with little feet that patter down the passage, burst into the room with "I'm scared" and things can get a little crowded in there. Come to think of it it's just as well it's just the blue blankie and I in the bed for the time being. I can give it up whenever I want, I swear! Is there a 12 step-pro gramme for blankie users?

Hi I'm Scorn and it's been 3 nights since I last used my blankie...

Comfort can be found in the strangest of places, even an old blue blankie.

Let's Talk About Her!

2009-11-22T11:29:00.000-08:00

I had a wonderful potluck Sunday dinner with friends this afternoon. Great food , great company. I was the only single there excluding kids of course. There was the common old garden variety of married couple banter, the stock stories usually swapped at these sorts of do's. Each couple has their repertoire and with practice it becomes a slick routine. This is usually interspersed with the wife jokes and gentle gender bashing that seems to flavour these gatherings.Without a partner I couldn't exactly take part in the well oiled sport, and man were we good at it. We sounded like such a happy couple when we were in full swing. It was strange to be navigating this sort of social gathering with a mute and invisible partner, but mercifully I wasn't heartbroken or tearing up. I was in a good place.

One of the couples were two years into their second marriage. The topic of the other woman came up. While I remained resolutely quiet on the topic, which of the many do I talk about? The range of their emotions varied from murderous to pity. Since my ex, was a serial adulterer, my own feelings have been all over the board. You could say I had the good fortune to try out a whole range of different responses and see which of them suited me best.

Initially I was compelled to confront the other woman. In some huge dance of self denial, she was the vixen who calculatingly spun a web around my poor defenseless little fly and carefully reeled him in slowly and against his wishes, till he finally succumbed to her poison ,slowly working it's way into his reason. She came to my house at my bidding, I was going to teach this little spider a lesson, I was going to remind her that she was singlehandedly destroying a perfectly sound marriage and worst of all hurting several innocent children. I'd show her photo's of the children, she would feel so remorseful and terrible.

Into my door, walked a little mouse, I noted to my chagrin, that she was slightly more slender than me. She wore her nurses uniform and she was indeed fully repentant. She had dented her own fragile marriage and whilst her motives were to make herself feel better about the whole incident, she cried big tears on my leather couch and apologized for hurting me. I was clearly disappointed, how can you do battle with a slightly damp rather sweet if not entirely selfish mouse, sniveling and apologizing on my couch? Impossible! After a bit, she was politely shown the door. Entirely unsatisfactory. Of course she would be sweet, he chose me too. Still not really ready to admit the truth of it all, that it was never about her, mostly about him, I shoved most of the unfinished buisiness under the carpet and began my career as a detective, scanning the look on his face when he came in the door, popping by at work at odd hours and scanning cell phone records etc. I'd catch him at it next time.

The next few, got phone calls from me. I know what you have been doing with my husband, do you realize there are children involved? Some apologies, one said if she had met me first, she would rather have been my friend, since I was so nice, instead of carrying on with my husband. What do you make of that? Is that self preservation talking swiftly or what.? Some were rude, one hung up. One said she was merely playing head games with him, when he took her literally, she didn't know what to do and just went along. One classic story was given by the secretary. She maintained that she was just his friend, and as a friend she was just helping him deal with his pent up frustrations. What was I looking for? Let's face it to have an affair with a married man, you have to be entirely selfish. In truth, I would learn that confronting the other woman is never really satisfying. Calling her names and Jerry Springering it, only serves to make us feel bad, and confirms to her she was justified in her behaviour, he doesn't deserve to be married to such a cow.

What has worked for me is to act graciously. He has made his decision. Nothing you have or haven't done justifies this kind of behaviour. Vixen, spider or mouse, I say leave her to her just reward, him! She now is with a man who cheats on his wife and walks out on his family. Justice happens, only the wheel turns ever so slowly for our impatient human hearts.

Gambex , Steed and Turdy

2009-11-21T05:19:00.000-08:00

I remember when television first came out in South Africa. Dad came home with a Sony COLOUR TV. The next door neighbours a thrifty lot, had black and white. We'd sit in front of that box staring longingly at the test pattern ( the neighbours kids and me) willing the 2 or so hours of programming to come on. One of my favourite shows was an espionage drama, called the New Avengers. Its heroes were Gambit, Steed and Purdy. Purdy, was played by Joanna Lumley. She created a hair sensation, not unlike Jen in Friends, which had everyone opting for a paige boy style crop.These Avengers fought evil on all fronts, oh and how I loved them.

Imagion my surprise when the New Avengers - Gambex, Steed and Turdy came for a surprise stopover this weekend.First Turdy arrived! It's the end of the month and I can't afford a plumber, well not now anyhow. Of course the toilet waited for my bank balance to drop below a certain level and then thoughtfully got blocked. I have been nursing the loo for a few days now and told the kids to use their own bathroom only. If I could only get through the month and then have to call a plumber.

Someone.Didn't. Listen.! Imagion my surprise when I went to the bathroom and found Turdy floating at the top of a full to overflowing bowl... Determined not to call the plumber I battled it out with Turdy and her friends till I had won. Put those yellow pages away for another day.

Steed paid his visit, on Saturday morning, bright and breezy. N greeted me in the morning with :"Gran wants to know if you are planning on going anywhere today as you have a flat tyre."- GGCB... Good grief Charlie Brown, what next?.

If you are following the story, you know that by process of elimination, it has to be Gambex. Haircuts topped the list of things to do this weekend, as the kids were becoming skoobedoo-esk - and having their own 60's revival . Sergeant Salt and Pepper and Aromat were dispatched off the the hairdresser with gran, as I battled it out with the silver steed and it's gammy leg.

A short while later , gran phoned .... The hairdresser has rejected the kid's as clients as they have LICE! Mercy! Oh no! AND How embaressing, right now I'm loving it that the silver steed did me a favour and got a gammy leg! So ... a rather subdued lot came back from the hairdresser,accompanied by a red- faced granny and I got to work, buzzing the boy's hair, and washing everyones hair with Gambex ( four minutes only, or something may happen..) Washing bedding airing mattresses, and nitpicking with a fine tooth comb.

I like the phrase , the vicissitudes of life. It's got a ring to it, you have to admit. It's good cause like raisins and currants in a fruit cake, my life is full of them. So I got to thinking, which doesn't always work cause my thinking is a bit like Pooh Bear, it's kind of circular and almost always ends up being about honey, or in my case food, especially chocolate....

The unsinkable Molly Brown

2009-11-20T22:06:00.000-08:00

I was talking to a friend of mine yesterday about being the girl left behind. She had been dealt the same life card as me. Her husband, like mine, had "moved on" to greener pastures and was suggesting that she do the same. I must say I do obsess about Rodger with Fluffy. I see them in my minds eye. They are Hallmark card happy. He's romantic and thoughtful,in a way he never was with me, She makes him smile, and his heart melt. Could there be anyone more perfect for him?

And me? Well I am the villain in this fairy story, the troll, the wolf and cackling witch with venomous fruit and veg corner store, all rolled into one. The, one size fits all, toxic bundle.I stare into the mirror and ask:"Who is the fairest in the land?" I see his parents. They never liked me anyhow. Their beady little eyes twinkle with unabridged hearty snobbery. Why it's Fluff , of course, their admiration for Fluff is clear and boundless.Ask us something a little more challenging, please!". So " The Fairest in the Land, is ahead in the popularity poles.....whilst Scrooge- like I begrudge him this happiness and quietly brew my cyanide souffle! Why should this matter? It just does.A lot.

And then, I got cross. Hey wait a minute .... what kind of sick thinking is this? Why should I buy this ?
Prosecution: Accused state your full name please.
Roger: errrrr Roger the artful dodger.

It's not quite simple as that is it.

But still....do I really deserve this? Am I really all that warty on the nose like? And ....is this really the end of the road for me? Yes, I'm Horton, up the tree, with 5 white and red speckled eggs, and Rodger, playing the part of Maizie flits here and there, with Fluff, of course. Is it time to give up? No...this is a world where existing looks fantastic, this is the dark underworld of broken souls, frozen, inactive and I'm gonna brew me up a good batch of fury and say ENOUGH!
Flee this place, and move on girl. Stay away from the marshes, don't look at their faces - don't let them sink you.
Why, I'll be the unsinkable Molly Brown in Lifeboat 6 - Damn them all , Roger,Fluff, and the snooty,ex in-laws....
I can do hard things, I can do hard things with a smile, It's sink or swim, and by golly, I'm gonna swim!

Chinooks

2009-11-18T07:18:00.000-08:00

The rain is relentless today, it's chilly-down-to-your-bones and has one begging the answer to the obvious question, yo! What have you weather guys done with summer? I could do with summer right now.
I remember winters in Southern Alberta, now that was cold! In January and February the thermometer would do a death spiral down to -45 degrees, something an African like me should never have to negotiate.
The glorious thing about being so far South is from time to time, the Chinook winds would blast down the mountainside, warming up the frigid landscape, the snow would melt and for a few days it would feel like Spring. A ceasefire from the otherwise brutal onslaught of mother nature.
Last night a Chinook from goodness-knows-which mountain blew some happy gusts into my kitchen. I was making supper tra-la-la, listening to the radio, kids were milling about snitching their favourite treasures from the salad I had just completed, when my 11 year old grabbed me by the arm and started dancing with me. I noted he hadn't a clue what to do, another thing I hadn't taught him! Instantly the kitchen floor became a dance studio and M was learning the ropes of leading out confidently. When he first leads a girl onto the dance floor I won't have him shuffling more or less in one spot, if he could lead a buxom 42 year old like me around the kitchen floor - he'll sweep that girl off his feet! I taught him to lead ( well sortof, it was more of a theory lesson...) Two more of my kids joined the weaving and swaying mass of happy hearts and out of step feet, when the dog, leaped up and joined the human dance bundle.Laughter, music, happy hearts intertwined ,the silver lining of parenthood .A fleeting Chinook, a moment suspended , a lifeline to hold onto when sunny moments leave and must predictably give way to the bitter.
Theres a season for everything and right now I'm mourning the way things were, a process of letting go of how I wanted things to be, rolling up the plans of how I thought my life would be and staring into the blizzard of the future. Even in Southern Alberta, winter eventually gives way to summer. As they are inclined to say over there, "Summer is the best day of the year!" There's a whole lot of winter livin'to be done till summer rolls round , but for the time being, I'll be grateful for the Chinooks that come unannounced and for but a brief moment ,banish the chill.

Domestic Bliss

2009-11-15T09:33:00.000-08:00

Just spend the weekend pottering around in my kitchen, deep cleaning the fridge. I even used a toothbrush to clean all the hard to reach spots. My fridge is a gleaming monument to all my frenzied industry. No strange smells or experiments in the name of science to be found in it's hallowed shelves. All the produce is neatly arranged. I know cause I open the fridge door to admire every 5 minutes!

I spent Saturday morning going to my favourite fruit and veggie shop, and thriftily went about the supermarket, getting the weeks supplies. No extra luxuries found their way into my trolley. I swear the "Chocolate Logs" jumped in when I wasn't looking.

At home, I repackaged the meat into tiny freezer bags, just enough for each meal. The dog benefited from my sudden domesticated whim as I boiled bones from the butcher on the stove top for her.

Today found me cooking a delectable Sunday dinner and making desserts from scratch all the while scrubbing and organizing my space as I went along. The children lounged about like lizards on a hot rock, every now and then asking when dinner would be ready, ( I was a little concerned, I thought I was raising humans not lizards - note to self must get them to help around a bit more ) Finally, dinner was ready and the moans of pleasure from the table, grandparents included and the second and third helpings and genuine compliments were deeply satisfying in a soul happy kind of way.

I felt content, the corners of my mouth curling up and my insides purring like a fat tabby. My own belly was a little extended, ok so a lot extended but lets not split hairs. I found to my delight that while quite exhausting all this domestic goddess stuff really is quite enjoyable. I had several fantasies of being a stay at home mom, pottering merrily at home, baking my own bread, knitting socks, fresh flowers in vases, it was all quite heavenly, .like I had slipped into some 70's family show programme on television.

The inspiration for all this, comes out of my having to deal with living on a shoestring. Money is tight, heck everything is tight, especially my clothes! It was getting me down, so I needed to change tack.
Here is a list of 10 things that you don't have to be rich to have....
1) Poor people can be just as skinny as rich folk.... It doesn't cost any more money to eat less. In fact less chocolate may positively effect the health of my bank balance.
2) Poor people can be clean, neat and organized.
3) Poor people can give their kids the love they need, hugs, kisses, I love you's and tuck in's at night.
4) Poor people can have a sense of humour and laugh, cheerfulness is free too!
5) Poor people can live a life of gratitude
6) Poor people can go for walks on the beach at sunset, look at magnificent purple mountains and enjoy the splendour of mother natures magnificence all for free. Rich folk gotta get into planes and see other peoples beautiful backyards, to feel happy!
7) Poor people can embrace their spirit, and feed their soul with prayer and quiet meditation.
8) Poor people can cherish friends
9) Poor people can have hope, a lively imagination and dreams with wings.
10) Poor people can be gracious, respectful and possess impeccable manners

All in all, we poor folk can have as glorious a life as any of those rich folk, and whilst we may have to turn over our pennies several times before buying anything, it would seem that most of the ingredients of a wonderful, satisfying and gloriously happy life are still right at our fingertips and entirely for free. howz about that????

Out damn pity!

2009-11-09T11:59:00.000-08:00

Well my friend self pity has made a nice cosy little spot for herself in my life. She spends her days by the fire, knitting some pity pantoffels.( slippers) She keeps me company, prattling on about how hard things are for me. She reminds me that Roger still looks good, and has a lovely apartment by the sea with his 28 year old girlfriend ( he's probably happier now than he has ever been ) He is a qualified doctor and does his groceries a Woolies. She's quick to point out that I'm not 28 anymore, the extra pounds Ive put on since he bid his final adieu have not passed her by and my bank balance on this the 7th of the month ( with 5 growing kids to feed) has even had her conversing animatedly with her cousin, Panic.He may swing by at the end of the month for a visit. (or perhaps even sooner)

Panic and self pity were right there when the kids spotted a whole lot of grey hairs sprouting on my head, wish my eyesight was good enough to see properly....For all intents and purposes it feels like the end of a pacman game with the flashing lights saying "GAME OVER"

Yes, under similar circumstances many others would have given up their spare beds for "tannie Pity" too, as I have done. Circumstance reports predict that things are not about to change for a while, It will take more than a year of brutal self denial and self flagellation at the gym to remove the extra ponds denting my self-esteem and as for the financials ....

Iv'e noticed since Pity's been pottering around that Joy, and Hope and Gratitude seldom pop by. Peace has gone on some extended holiday and Bitterness has moved next door. Perhaps Iv'e been foolish letting what appears to be a harmless old duck in my life, I should really choose my friends more wisely.What good can come out of this relationship? Her relatives lethargy, hopelessness, impotence and self-loathing are really a self defeating bunch.Do I really need them in my life?

Iv'e given that old Self - Pity her eviction notice. I need the space in my soul for growth and healing and a host of other positively powerful visitors that will encourage me and give me healing in my wings. I think I'll give Faith a call and see if she has time for a visit.....

A Bottle of Surrender

2009-11-03T12:32:00.000-08:00

I found an old fashioned pop bottle today, it's made of glass and has the quaintest wire and cork stopper. I'm sure it's had some good old ginger beer brewed in it, or some peach brandy. Its the perfect bottle for what Ive called my " Ek kan nie meer nie Heer bottle" which is Afrikaans for " I can't do it anymore Lord".

Iv'e had the world on my shoulders trying to deal with problems big and small, my fists clenched too tightly around worries, fears and vexations that I can't seem to resolve. I have a little faith that what I can't do God can, but for some reason haven't been willing to surrender the problems to him.

The time has come now to hand them over to my Father and let go a little, I'm making myself sick and tired holding on to them. So one by one I've written each on a piece of paper and dropped it off into my bottle to see what God can make of them.

It's a nice feeling letting go, deeply satisfying and carries with it a measure of peace, more peace than I have felt in a while. One day, I may go for a little walk and read these quietly to myself - and throw away into the wind the ones God and I have solved together.

Perhaps this bottle and I can brew some good old fashioned peace of mind, whilst I buy my ginger beer from the store. It's worth a try.