uh-pree-shee-ye-shuhn

Would I sound whiny if I said I've been feeling a little unloved at the moment? Hope not. Don't even want to go into all the reasons why but I've even considered pressing ctrl - alt - delete and disappearing into cyber space.

We all need a bit of love and wink that tells us we're okay and today I got it. From the beautiful, brave, strong and funny Miss Preggy via Celeste over at The Reluctant Mom Blog via mom305

Celeste, an extremely funny, very talented writer and recent winner of the Kidzworld Mommy Bloggers Competition, decided to spread the love and a little got tinkled on me...

So here goes, SEVEN random things you didn't know about me. Might struggle a little as there's not much I don't tell everyone but we'll give it a bash, shall we?

1. I am a CORPOROPHOBE. I am petrified of strange toilets. and even ones I have met before. I cannot,   will not never ever make a number two in a toilet that's not mine. Think of me as a Never-Poo. 

2. I am going grey. I'm okay with ageing but as if that's not enough the grey hairs sprouting out of my head look like pubes and I'm NOT okay with that.


3. I have incredibly long fingers, feet and odd shaped toes. Abnormally so. My husband, who thinks the sun shines out of my butt (most times) screeches in terror if my toes get anywhere near him. He tells me they look like weird sea anemone things.


4. My singing is not even accepted in a shower near you. In primary school my best friend in the whole wide world had the voice of an angel. She would sing and the birds would literally stop. 'It's like a choir of angels singing' I remember my mom saying once. 'You, on the other hand Melinda, sound like a demon being exorcised from a body!'. Once a year we would have to audition for the choir, My friend didn't need to. She got in every time. And neither did I. I was turned down every time.


5.I'm a little bit bi-polar. Okay a lot. My highs are high and I think I can take on the world, write a book, run a nursery school and a business. My lows are sooooooooooooooo low, where rolling over in bed is an effort.


6. I smoke. A lot. I started smoking at the age of 30. 30! It was an attempt to piss off my ex. It worked. Ten years on he's remarried with two children and I'm killing myself slowly, one puff at a time.


7.I'm a people pleaser. Always have been. Always will be. If that's okay with you?


 So now I have to nominate 5-10 other bloggers. I am passing this award on to bloggers who have made a difference in my life, who have taught me what bravery and courage truly means and who make me keep coming back for more...

SpiritedMama1 - you truly live up to your name 


Acidice - a woman who has no idea of just how strong she is 


Jou Ma Se Blerrie Blog - probably up to her eyeballs in adoration and accolades, I am one of her biggest fans


MomAgain@40 - powerwoman extraordinaire!


Mommaliciousmom - beauty and brains...what more can I say


There are loads of other bloggers I'd love to pass this award onto, but either they've already received it (or it's on its way) but to Miss Preggy who sent this award my way, I am in awe of what you achieve as a single working mom to a little boy. You truly are an inspiration x

Our stories

I want to thank each and every one of the women who chose to tell me their story of abuse.

Of course we're a little broken but we're still here and piece by piece we're putting ourselves back together by telling our stories. Like a beautiful mosaic x

a quick update on Emma

Emma's principal is absolutely amazing and so are her teachers. They are aware of everything going on in the kiddies' lives and make sure to bring any concerns to the parents attention. Like when they picked up Emma wasn't hearing certain sounds. They chatted to me, without raising major alarm, stating the facts, giving the possible scenarios and also giving suggested solutions.

And once again they have gone way beyond the call of duty with my recent concern. Giving me daily updates on Emma's behaviour at school, I know that my little girl is loved and taken care of. At school she is happy and fun loving. She has all her friends and she adores her teachers.

Having just put the phone down after another chat with Teacher H, she has put my mind at rest. I'm still taking Emma to the paed, because I'd rather be safe than sorry BUT I think there's a very good chance Emma has worms.

According to Your Parenting,  symptoms include loss of appetite, swollen and painful abdomen, coughing, fever, vomiting, diarrhoea, paleness, tiredness, disturbed sleep (insomnia), itchy anus, mucus or blood in stool, skin rash, swelling around the eyes and generally feeling unwell. Some mothers have also noticed that their children seem to pick their noses (a lot more than usual) and also scratch their front bits (a lot more than usual). There's a strong possibility that toddlers will be more emotional than normal, more irritable and generally 'out of sorts'.

A doctor can advise you on an appropriate and effective anti-parasitic medication to kill off the worms. To prevent reinfection, this treatment should be repeated once a year or every six months depending on the severity of the problem. Pets should also be treated.

Thank you Teacher H for always taking the time to chat with me, patiently listen to me and advise me on the best routes to take.

Next up, we're tackling Ben's sleep (or lack thereof) issues, together.

My prayer for you is that you find your voice...

Yesterday I posted about my fear for Emma and the response I got was overwhelming. So many of you have been through this and some of you are still finding your voice.

This post was originally done on the 12th August 2011 but I reckon it's time to repost it. This is dedicated to all of you beautiful, brave, courageous survivors who get through every day.


The scars I carry are invisible to most but if you take the time to look a little bit closer you'll see them quite clearly. The scars on my wrists I wear like bracelets, the eating disorder keeps me clothed and the the depression and sadness I wear around my neck like valued trinkets. These are my scars that I carry.

On Women's Day I tweeted "today I celebrate me because I am a survivor. I have been abused, molested and raped but still I stand". I have come through the worst and I am still here. No-one can take that away from me. Sadly no one can take the pain away either. 

From very early on I was abused. I think I was about seven or so. It went on for another ten years. Later on I found myself in situations where I was molested (or fiddled with, as some like to call it) and as an adult I was attacked and raped.

The guilt and the shame I walk with everyday have become companions and a few well-meaning therapists have confirmed that the blame is all mine. One of them kindly told me that I must have enjoyed it if I allowed it to go on for so long. Another explained that because the age difference was not a big one, it made the events consensual. She also asked me if I had looked inward to see how my behaviour attracts these kinds of situations. So there I was, already convinced it was my doing and now being told by professionals that yes, it indeed was.

My ways of coping have included gaining as much weight as possible, in attempt to make myself less attractive. I have also lost weight in order to lose the curves and shapes that are a woman's right.

I have cried out for help. I have silently pleaded for anyone to take notice. I have tried to numb the pain with sleeping tablets. I have told myself it's all in my head and that what happened wasn't that bad.

I have looked for love in all the wrong places, because love isn't supposed to feel right, right? I have sabotaged loving relationships for not so loving ones, because I don't deserve it. My relationships with men are complicated, but nowhere near as complicated as my relationship with food.

When everything else falls apart around me I can control what goes into my body (or doesn't) and at it's most basic level I don't feel as though I deserve the nourishment and nurturing that a meal gives. I hate my body. My body has deceived me too many times. My body does not belong to me. This body belongs to a seven year old girl who cannot bear children. It's the body of someone else. Too young to understand or to make sense of it all. To this day I have no boundaries. I self sabotage all the time and I constantly wonder about the little girl lost - what would she be today, what could she have achieved, what could she have been?

For years I felt as though I had dealt with a lot of my issues. I told myself that I had made my experiences a part of me and they have resulted in the person I am today. Kind, caring, empathetic and strong. But at almost forty I still haven't found my voice or my place in the world.

I like to think of myself as a survivor but a survivor is someone who has lived through an experience and comes out the other side. I live my experience everyday so for now I am a perseverer.

My prayer for you is that you find your voice...

My greatest fear

At seven my life changed forever. I was sexually abused. I could have told someone but I chose not to. I chose to protect my mom, my dad, my family.

I think I prayed that someone would pick up on any signs but way back then it wasn't discussed too much and people weren't aware.

I'm still not brave enough to go into too much detail of the how, the when, the what and the who but I can tell you it lasted for ten years and it happened regularly, at least three to four times a week. I can also tell you it forever changed the person I am. I often wonder who the Melinda would be if it hadn't happened. But it did and this is me.

In my years of therapy I've had mixed responses. I've gotten sympathy and empathy but I've also been 'accused' of liking it. After all I let it go on for so long.

It goes without saying that I am over sensitive and aware of the ever present danger of it happening to Emma. To the extent of being paranoid. I am over aware of how I give Emma a bath and when it comes to cleaning her little girl bits I invariably let her do it. After all an abused person becomes an abuser, don't they?

And so recently when she started complaining about her 'front bum' being sore my mind went into over drive. I did consider thrush, chafing or an infection and I even asked a fellow mom and friend about the possible causes of a sore 'front bum'. Her and Mark's explanation of what could possibly be wrong put my mind at ease. For a short while.

Until her principal mentioned changes in Emma's behaviour at school. From an always easy going child she has become aggressive, hitting out at friends and teachers, throwing temper tantrums and being very emotional. She (the principal) suggested that maybe Emma's not getting enough 'mommy time' or that Ben is possibly getting a lot more of our attention. I'm not sure about this. Mark and I have been very aware of making sure Emma doesn't feel left out. We smother her with love and kisses and the day ends with cuddle time in our bed.

I've decided to take Emma to our paed. I'm imagining the worst and praying that I'm over reacting.

Am I over reacting?

An invitation to die for...

I love parties. And I love looking for ideas for parties.

This morning, cleaning Emma's school bag, I found this invitation. It is absolutely BEAUTIFUL and CLEVER and SWEET and I'm jealous that I didn't think of it

The three little crayons included on the invitation are for the colouring in pictures INSIDE!

Yes, I'm THAT mother...

I'm not quite sure if there's degrees of parenting. Can there be a good, better and best mom? Are there bad, badder and baddest parents walking around?

What makes a good parent different from a bad one? Shouting, screaming, spanking, locking up in bathrooms vs. playing, hugs and cuddles, smooches, sharing bath time, story time and spending every free moment of time together?

Surely those are extremes? What if there's a middle ground where a parent disciplines a child with the thinking chair but still plays games. Where a naughty toddler is ignored for a few minutes while they throw a temper tantrum but bath time is still fun time. I'm that parent. But what maybe tilts the scales a little more towards bad parent is how disorganised I am.

I am THAT parent that drops Emma off at school on a holiday. I'm THAT parent that forgets to send my little to school with a thingymajig for 'show and tell'. Though on one occasion I remembered and found a replacement thingymajig because Emma wanted to take Ben. I'm THAT parent that needs a reminder email about sending money with Emma for their school outing.

Yes, I'm THAT parent that forgets to RSVP for parties and if I do I invariably forget about the party on the day. I forget to pack Emma's painting t-shirt in her bag (more effective than an apron), or fill her water bottle in the mornings. I try and squeeze her into broekies and a swimming costume that no longer fit because I've forgotten that I bought new ones. I forgot to give Emma fruit or food for Nelson Mandela's birthday (in fact I forgot it was his birthday) and I keep forgetting to keep veggie cuttings for the residential rabbits at her school.

And today I realised just how bad I am. On Emma's school's Facebook page a mommy posted saying that she was still awaiting a few RSVP's from the toddler class for her little boy's party. Oh crap! I thought I don't remember seeing an invitation. Oh bigger CRAP! I don't know whether Emma's in the toddler class or not!

Thank you Emma and Ben

I don't know if time goes quicker as we get older. It definitely feels that way. It could be because our days are so dictated by meetings and appointments and deadlines that time flies.

Growing up I remember a day lasting weeks. A minute was an hour and a week was a lifetime. Waiting for a birthday took forever and it felt as though Santa Clause had literally traversed the globe to deliver his gifts.

But now. Now time flies. Emma is going to be four soon. Ben is almost six months. I'm another year closer to fifty, an age that seemed ancient when I was ten. I'm one more summer, spring, winter and autumn closer to losing a parent.

I look over my shoulder and there in the past, I see a few regrets and sadness. There's those 'shoulda woulda coulda' moments and the what if's and the if only's. I think about decisions made and opportunities not taken. I stand on my tiptoes to peek into the future and have an idea of what's to come. The  uncertainty, the hopes and dreams.

But I can't dwell on time gone by or what's still to come because Emma and Ben keep me in the now. That's what our children give us, besides the squishy kisses and the impromptu hugs. Other than the hilarious comments and stories, the crazy dances and sweet smells. That smile or a giggle or a gurgle of delight and a sigh of contentment from a child. Our children have a way of keeping us in the moment.

We give them the gift of life but they give us so much more. They give us this moment. With Ben and Emma I can forget my past and not worry about my future. Because of them I get to live in the moment, enjoying it for all that it's worth

Coffee with Madiba

I love me my Jacobs coffee. Love it even more now!

The Jungle One Hour Project winners are...

EMY and KAREN

Congratulations ladies!

please send me a mail at melinda.connor@gmail.com so we can get your prize to you both

THANKS to everyone who took the time to enter xxx

No Nanny McFee's

I never abuse this platform. I'm self deprecating, sarcastic, occasionally depressed, sometimes humorous but never moany! Or at least I don't think so.

But today this is my soapbox. Mark's away in the UK for his dad's 70th birthday. And while he's celebrating the aged, I'm ageing. Emma and Ben with a husband are great. Emma or Ben and me. That's great too. Emma, Ben, me and no husband. Not good at all. So I'm stressed out attempting to run a household, ensure neurotic dogs get their various medication, make sure I take mine and make extra-double-triple sure the two don't get mixed up. To say I feel a little out of control is an understatement and this weekend's cold spell threw me even more.

The usual fave weekend hot spots are not that hot when it's minus freezing temperatures. For me. Emma doesn't feel the cold. At all. I, on the other hand, do. I can feel every gusty breath of wind blowing right through my calcified bones. My hands and feet are never warm and I run the risk of breaking in half like a stalactite.

So on Saturday morning when I asked Emma what she wanted to do and she mentioned going to see Thabani, i thought that's okay. There's an inside area for crappy weather days. Except this Saturday. They were setting up for some poor sod's birthday...inside...because it was so cold.

After 20 grueling minutes outdoors, we called it quits. My boogers were frozen. My phalanges were about to fall off and my mom-eter was at an all time low. So off we went to the next spot. The Spur at Peter Place. I'm not sure if they advertise themselves as being child friendly but there's a slide, a climb uppy thing and a child minder, which to me means child friendly (enough).

That's if you don't have a pram. Because there's two stairs that you have to go up to get to the door. The door doesn't stay open on its own so you have to find a way to hold it open with one foot while you pull the pram close enough to use that as a door stop. No small feat with a toddler in tow. Once you're inside there's more stairs. Three and then another three. Really? Really! There's no space for prams or push chairs. In fact, even Ben's nappy bag was feeling claustrophobic.

The nappy changing areas for babies is a single piece of foam, in the ladies', right next to the basin. Not sure about you but I tremble at the thought of the germs lurking on door handles, let alone what's wafting out some tot's crappy nappy. Personally I didn't go into the Gents but I'm assuming, from what they had available in the women's toilet, there's no facilities in the men's. Just a thought here Spur. How about a unisex changing area for moms and single dads or dads having an outing with the kids or a one of kind kinda dad who happily changes dirty diapers?

Me asking for a jug of hot water to warm a bottle had the staff dazed and confused. One waitress brought a glass of boiling hot water which ended up overflowing, spilling and burning me. She then called our waiter to interpret what I was asking. "A jug so I can warm a baby bottle..." You would have sworn I had asked him to show me his genitalia. When he turned up with an ice bucket filled to the brim with hot water the look on my face was as if he HAD JUST SHOWN ME his genitalia.

Now I know I'm really nit-picking, but if you're going to provide kids with balloons, please make sure they don't EXPLODE at the slightest of touches. Blow up condoms for s***'s sake!

Maybe I'm being harsh. It is the Spur after all, and not Nanny McFee's day care, but surely if you know your restaurant is considered child friendly, even by default, then there's a few things that aren't optional. They're necessities.

Why Can't I Get Just One F***?

Chances are if you were born in the 70's, schooled in the eighties and getting out and about in the nineties, you would have danced along to the Violent Femmes, drunk on Bacardi Spritsers or Savanna's, shouting at the top of your voice "Why can't I get just one f***?"

My needs back then were simple. I needed petrol money for the 1975 hand me down beetle I used to zip around town in. I needed going out money to get into Late Night Al's at Bruma  or clothes money to get that got-to-have-will-die-without-it blouse from Smiley Blue to go with the every-boys-gonna-wanna-get-in-these-pants pants from the Oriental Plaza.

Of course money was needed for a visit to Moolah's in Smal Street Mall - there were 12 inch vinyls to be bought and Spice Girls shoes to be had.

Back then I was easy to please. If you bought me a drink I was yours, if you bought me three I was anybody's. All I needed was my perm (every 6-8 weeks), the morning after pill (after the morning after) and my therapy sessions (once a week).

Now as a mom to two children I find myself asking, needing, wanting, praying for the most simple of things. 

 

Like a bath on my own. Instead of sharing a space with mermaids with pointy sharp tails, cars, trucks, building blocks, cups, a swimming Dora, a sinking ball, bubble gummy smelling bubbles all around me and a toddler insisting on washing my hair with soap

A full night's sleep. No, not even a full night. Just four or five uninterrupted hours will do me fine

My own bed. What bliss a bed to myself would be. A pillow I can call my own, a night without a tug of war over the blanket, no kicks to the kidneys or slaps to the spleen, no toe up my nostril or foot in my mouth

How I would love to eat a food item that hasn't been sucked, chewed, swallowed, regurgitated and then forced into my mouth. Recycling is one thing, but this leaves me green 

I miss my spot on the couch where I would sit in a vegetatively stupid state staring at a TV screen that didn't have Dis-neeee Joooo-nia on! To watch a show where there's blood, guts and gore instead of watching a mouse in clothes, a duck in clothes, a dog on two legs in clothes and another dog without clothes on all four singing and dancing

What it would be like to be BORED on a weekend. As a childless person 'doing nothing' meant doing nothing. Now 'doing nothing' means 'I did nothing...you'd be interested in hearing about'

 

To drink a cup of coffee while it's still hot. To savour a piece of cake or chocolate without having to share it or gulp it down. To be able to get a square bum from sitting down for too long

 

Some quiet time. Not to reach some higher level of spirituality, not to get in touch with myself. Just. To. Remain. Sane.

A plate of food that I don't have to turn into a face, with a tomato smile, a carrot nose and cauliflower hair

A moment in the bathroom where I don't have to explain what's come out my bum, why my pee's yellow, why I wipe my front bum and not my back bum, why I have hair 'there' or why my boobs are on my knees when I sit in the bath

A 'sexy' moment with my husband that isn't interrupted by a wail for more milk, a cry for a clean nappy, a screech' cos there's "a bee in the room" or a lowly little plea for a hug

Yes, twenty years on and I'm still asking why I can't get just one f***!

Walking on air - win a spa treatment to the value of R500

Tracey, from Pure Hair in Craighall Park, gave five of the JHB Mommy Blogger finalists in the Kidzworld Mommy Blogger Competition a spa treatment.

Feedback from Stacey and Sharon was that their treatments were amazing, almost heavenly. Sharon said she was walking on air afterwards...

So Tracey is offering 5 readers a voucher valued at R500. Sadly it's for JHB moms only...

Treatments available include:
Indian Head Massage
Shirodhara
Shirodhara and back massage
Aromatherapy massage
Lava shell massage
Reiki

and for all the deserving moms out there the ANGELIC MASSAGE

All you need to do to stand a chance of winning is like Diaries of a White Mom Raising a Black Baby Facebook page! Couldn't be easier, could it?

PS if you can't wait contact Tracey on (011) 447 4847 to book your appointment now!

Moms I need your help

Would you buy products from me via my blog or would you feel more comfortable with a website?

And what kind of products would you be most interested in?
 gift sets
bath toys
fashion
health & care

Harry Pitts? The worst baby names of all time

My ex husband was Thane. So when he introduced himself people would say "Hi Shane", almost always assuming he had a lisp. "No" he would say "Thane, like Thane of Condor!" Of course this set off a whole different load of bwhahahahahaaaaaaaaa's - "Well, Thane Condom it's very nice to meet you!" 

 

What would compel a parent to bestow a newborn with a name like “Cholera Peace” or “Pomegranate Purple”? Or an amusing choice like “Wanna Towell"? It’s not just Hollywood’s elite opting for unique, embarrassing names—throughout history, normal people separated their offspring from the masses with truly terrible names.

 

Forget Suri or Shiloh – celebrities have given their children far stranger names! Discover the stars' oddest, most bizarre baby names.

 

Celebrities are best known for bestowing strange names on their children. It would seem that if the kid isn't going to be famous for something incredible, then at least they'll be known for their name:

 

Sparrow James Midnight Madden (Nicole Richie and Joel Madden) 

Nakoa-Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha Momoa (Lisa Bonet and Jason Momoa) 

Seraphina Rose Elizabeth (Jennifer Garner and Ben Affleck) 

Bronx Mowgli (Ashlee Simpson-Wentz and Pete Wentz) 

Zuma (Gwen Stefani and Gavin Rossdale) 

Clementine Jane (Ethan Hawke and Ryan Shawhughes) 

Knox Leon (Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt) 

Sunday Rose (Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban) 

Apple (Chris Martin and Gwyneth Paltrow) 

Moxie CrimeFighter (Magician Penn Jillette) 

Hopper (Sean Penn and Robin Wright) 

Pilot Inspektor (Jason Lee and Beth Riesgraf) 

Sosie (Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgwick) 

Destry (Steven Spielberg and Kate Capshaw) 

Aurelius Cy (Elle Macpherson) 

Kal-El Coppola (Nicolas Cage) 

Bluebell Madonna (Spice Girl Geri Halliwell) 

Audio Science (Actress Shannyn Sossamon)

Kyd (David Duchovny and Tea Leon) 

Fifi Trixibell (Bob Geldof and Paula Yates) 

Calico (Alice Cooper) 

Denim and Diezel Ky (Toni Braxton) 

Seargeoh and Sage Moonblood (Sylvester Stallone) 

Jermajesty (Jermaine Jackson) 

Hud and Spec Wildhorse (John Cougar Mellencamp and Elaine Irwin) 

Rebel, Racer and Rogue (Robert Rodriguez) 

Free (Barbara Hershey and David Carradine) 

Reignbeau (Ving Rhames) 

Draco Verta (Danica McKellar) 

Buddy Bear Maurice (Jamie Oliver) 

 

 

Diseases! Yes there are kids named after diseases!

Fever Bender (born 1856)

Leper Priest (born 1929) 

Cholera Priest (born 1830 during the second cholera pandemic) 

Rubella Graves (born 1814) 

Typhus Black (born 1897) 

Hysteria Johnson (born 1881) 

Emma Royd (born 1850) 

Kathryn E. Coli (born 1894) 

Mumps Sykes (born 1891) 

 

 

If your name's "Mayor Bland" it would seem your parents have high hopes for you (or maybe not!)

Cook Cook 

Governor Bush 

Lawyer Low

Doctor Love 

Teacher Blackbear

Judge Savage 

Editor Honeycutt 

Mayor Bland 

Sales O. Justice 

Gamble MooreSins 

 

 

Did you know there are 149 records for people named Lust, 70 for Greed, 12 for Sloth, and 830 for Pride. Which of the 7 deadly sins was missing? Only gluttony (and that could be a nickname I'm sure)

Lust Garten 

Greed Sister Mancini 

Avarice Sullivan 

Sloth Washton (having said that, my mom always said an ex boyfriend of mine looked like a sloth)

Wrath Gordon 

Envy Burger 

Pride Saint 

Greed McGrew 

Pride Saint

Lust T. Castle 

 

 

Love your kid as much as your favourite food or snack? Well then, why not name them after it

Lunch Magee 

Dinner Ware 

Bread White 

Hero Brat 

Mayo Head 

Mustard M. Mustard 

Pickle Parker 

Plum Sellers 

Banana Bowdy 

Cherry Grant 

 

 

And then of course there's Moe's Tavern, the local hangout that Bart likes to prank on a regular basis. Sadly there are a few people IRL actually walking around with these goofy names

The following Bart creations all exist within the Ancestry.com databases:

Al Caholic 

Oliver Clothesoff 

I.P. Freely 

Seymour Butz 

Mike Rotch 

Hugh Jass 

Amanda Hugginkiss

Ivana Tinkle 

Anita Bath 

Maya Buttreeks

 

 

Any names cracked you up recently?

Win a R500 gift voucher for a relaxation session

In a little corner of the world, in Craighall Park, is a little piece of heaven. And it's called Pure Hair. Owned and run by the very talented Michael, it's a one stop beauty shop.

And tucked away, in a little corner in the salon, is a little room where magic happens. Tracey Dirsuwei is a wellness therapist, has been practising and perfecting her treatments for the last ten years. Her approach is  to bring the body back into balance by healing with holistic therapy. 

Recently Tracey treated a few of the Kidzworld Mommy Blogger finalists to a R500 session and the feedback has been amazing. One mommy blogger, stressed and bogged down with the usual day to day irritations said she felt like she was floating on air after her treatment.

So I figured I needed to spread the love and Tracey is offering 5 readers a voucher valued at R500. Sadly it's for JHB moms only...

Treatments available include:
Indian Head Massage
Shirodhara
Shirodhara and back massage
Aromatherapy massage
Lava shell massage
Reiki

and for all the deserving moms out there the ANGELIC MASSAGE

All you need to do to stand a chance of winning is like Diaries of a White Mom Raising a Black Baby Facebook page! Couldn't be easier, could it?

PS if you can't wait contact Tracey on (011) 447 4847 to book your appointment now!

The Honest Toddler

I've been following The Honest Toddler on Twitter. I look forward to the wise and witty observations of a toddler in a toddler world and today Robyn Addinall brightened up my entire day on  Parent24.

Like Robyn says, he's hardcore, he's hilarious and as his Twitter bio says, he's "Not potty trained. Not trying." He's not afraid to tell it like it is and everything from Pinterest to Instagram gets slammed.Below are just a few of The Honest Toddler's tweets

1. Lady at the park is telling everyone she has a baby in her tummy. Like eating children is something to be proud of.

2. Daddy needs to understand that what mommy and I have is special. You had some kind of ceremony? Cute. We're blood related. #BOOM

3. Aw this kid at the park wants a piece of my muffin. Maybe mama can cut it in half so I can EAT BOTH PORTIONS THIS AIN'T NO SOUP KITCHEN

4. "Oh well. Failed again at going to bed at a reasonable time. May as well FB/Tweet/Pin until 1AM. There's always coffee." -All the parents

5. Dear Toddler Clothing Manufacturers, WE HAVE BIG HEADS.

6. Mama just complained about her tummy. Dada suggested exercise. It was nice knowing him.

7. Sitting on the couch with no pants on, sippin' on apple juice. Laaaaaid baaaack. With my mind on my Elmo and my Elmo on my mind.

8. You want to stay up until past midnight? That's your choice. See you at dawn. - Every Toddler

9. When their words say "goodnight" but their tone says "Don't call me in here again. I'm done parenting for the day." #toddlerproblems

10. Learned from my parents that if you exercise, you must immediately tell Facebook. It's the law.




Do yourselves a favour and follow this little guy. He'll brighten up your day! Pinky swear!

String. Poo. Bath. Tail. F****. Microphone. Batteries and other random things

String. Poo. Bath. Tail. F****. Microphone. Batteries. All random words. Until they're put into sentences, either by a toddler or by you, an adult, in reaction to the toddler.

Emma has a good vocabulary for her age. It could be because I have always chatted with her. Having read articles on the importance of talking to your baby all the time in order to develop their words and understanding of the world around them, it's what I've always done.

It was wonderful. A chance for me to talk and talk and talk without interruption, without having to repeat myself or worry about whether the person was taking notice. It beat talking to myself or the voices in my head. I now had a valid reason for it and people could stop calling me crazy.

But recently I've discovered that a good vocabulary on a child with no filters or the wherewithal to understand what's appropriate and what's not can, and will backfire. On you. The well meaning parent.

Words I never thought I'd hear or utter, let alone use in sentences, are becoming more frequent and the rule rather than the exception.

Emma's been coming up with some pearlers lately, leaving me speechless and somewhat flustered.

"No Emma you can't tell Jagger (our rather sensitive dog) to get out the way f*****. What's the problem with that? The problem is using the word f*****!"

"No daddy can't hit Basco on the head with his willy. Because I said so..."

"No Emma I don't want to smell your finger. Especially because you put it 'in' Binah's (our other dog) bum!"

Privacy is something I no longer enjoy. I now have an audience while I'm in the bath, on the toilet or getting dressed. This of course leads to questions and observations from Emma like:

"Eeeeuw, you got poo in your nappy!" in reference to me, a monthly cycle and a sanitary towel

"Mama why have you got a tail?" on seeing a string from a you-know-what hanging out of my you-know-where

"Mama why are your boobs on your leg?" during bath time

"Mama I'm swimming with a poo!" on, well, swimming with a poo

"Mama touch my poo!" on me removing a soiled nappy

"Look mama it's a wiggly worm!" on seeing Ben's willy 

"Emma those aren't chocolates. It's mouse poo. No, the mouse isn't made of chocolate either!"

 "Mama I wee'd in Chloe's (our other dog) water!" on weeing in the dog's drinking bowl

"You look like a raccoon!" on me and my smudgy mascara

"Mommy dad made a burp out of his bum!" on Mark and his flatulence

 Actions speak louder than words. In fact some actions leave you wordless.

Like recently. Emma loves singing. She uses uses everyday items around the house as a microphone. Spoons. Hair brushes. Her bottle. My cellphone. But Emma's improvisational skills reached an all time high (or low) one Saturday afternoon.

I was in the bathroom and she was in our bedroom. She was singing a song she had made up. And then I had heard an all too familiar sound. I walked into the bedroom and there she was, singing away with a vibrating v******* as her mic. "Emma please give that to me and take it away from your mouth!"

"No it's my purple microphone" she said, into the vibrator, as if announcing the winner at an awards ceremony.

"Emma, please give it to me!"

"Thank you, thank you very much!" says Emma into her microphone

"Emma it's not a toy. Please give it to mom. NOW!"

Looking at me and then at the thing, still vibrating, and then at me again she replied "It is a toy. It's got batteries!"

I figured the less said the better, turned around and walked back into the bathroom....

I have since found a new hiding place for the 'microphone' sans batteries.

Biscuit Schmiscuit or A Snack By Any Other Name

I'm always looking for snacky things to put in Emma's lunchbox for variety, to liven it up a bit. There's nothing worse than getting a polony sandwich for an entire term or while stocks last. So on the weekend I found a pack of animal shaped biscuits from Cadbury. They're individual packets, the perfect size for a lunch box and quite moreish...

Exhibit A

Last night, or rather early hours of the morning, Ben had me up for two solid hours. Eventually he fell back to sleep but I was wide awake and in need of a cup of tea and a snack. Off I went to the kitchen, made myself a cuppa relaxation and grabbed four animal shaped biscuits off the counter. There I sat, in the dark, munching on my treats and sipping my tea. The biscuits tasted different to what I had expected, but I reasoned, they're for kiddies so they're going to taste a bit different. Right?

Cue to this morning when everyone was up and about. I heard Mark asking our Manager of Home Affairs if she had seen the biscuits on the counter. "No!" was the reply. Mark had a rather puzzled look on his face. "Would a rat climb up and eat all four biscuits? Not leaving even a crumb behind?" he mused. "I mean there's no way the dogs would have jumped onto the counter to get them..."


"Angel!" he called to me, "Did you see the biscuits on the counter? Did you give them to the dogs?"


"Love, why would I give them to the dogs?"


"Um, because they're dog biscuits!"


Doh!

Exhibit B

Win R1000 for your Jungle One Hour Project

 

 

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Imagine, if you will, that each South African had an extra hour in a day. That’s a potential 52 million extra hours in one day. Imagine the difference and positive change we could all make in our lives, the lives of others and our communities. That’s why Jungle Oats created the  Jungle One Hour Project. 

The thinking's simple. What's the point of having energy when you’re not going to use it to do something inspiring and extraordinary with it? Register on the  One Hour Project website with your Facebook account details, load your One Hour Project, earn points, and the higher you climb up the leader board, the more chance you stand of winning exciting monthly Jungle product hampers and the Grand prize of R20 000.

Two readers of Diaries of a White Mom Raising a Black Baby can each win R1000 to get their project off the ground. It's easy. Tell us what your hour would be used for and you could win...as easy as that

PS - Congratulations to Soweto Hair and Beauty who have won a Jungle product hamper just for participating in the Jungle One Hour Project. They want to use their Jungle One Hour to start an art gallery- first of its kind in Soweto. This will be a tourist attraction, and they would like to draw art of inspiring people of mzansi, past, present and future.

Melinda

Dry humping...a past time best left in the 80's

The other night Mark thought he'd relive one of the highlights from his youth. He made himself a Bovril drink. As he was mixing it up he regaled stories of drinking hot Bovril on cold Winter mornings with thick slices of freshly baked bread.

He took a huge glug of nostalgia and then spat the nostalgia across the kitchen! "Geez it tasted so much better back then!" he said.

Yup, some things are best left in our youth. Trying to relive them literally leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

Growing up in the 80's I have so many memories, most accompanied by a brilliant 80's track. Like the first time I got drunk. 'Blister in the Sun' was in full blast. The first time I made out with a 'serious' boyfriend Boyz II Men crooning in the background. My 'just dumped and I'll never love again' song was Wham's 'Last Christmas'.

I, I mean my friend, took her first illegal substance while Siouxsie and her banshees filled the air at The Doors nightclub and some high energy dance track made my ears bleed on my one and only visit to Caesar's in Braamfontein.

I got angsty with The Smiths, dark with Robert Smith and turned goth with The Damned' and Wayne Hussey from The Mission. I argued with my dad that there was no way Pete Burns from Dead or Alive was gay and Talking Heads got me through long nights of studying on my Walkman.

Even now if I hear a song from way back when I'm immediately transported to a time that seemed so perfect..and then I remember the ugly side of the 80's. Things best left on paper, in a photograph, in a time capsule, never to be uncovered by anyone. Ever!

Like my Robert Smith hairdo. Which I used sugar water to keep upright. I couldn't understand why my hair was grey or why bees didn't leave me alone.

My enormous boobs, the bane (and occasional blessing) of my life. They got me loads of attention, sometimes wanted, other times not. Most of my fashion faux pas' were because I was trying to hide my cups which were running over.

Dry humping. Definitely best left on a couch in my mom's house. There is nothing attractive or satisfying about the act. And those darn zippers from those Ronald Sassoon jeans left scars that have stayed with me well into my adult years.

Practicing kissing on a mirror. Oh yes, we all did it.

Boobs nightclub. Remember it? I think I went once and after being asked if I was their mascot (abundant bosoms) I never went back again.

Bubble skirts. Then, like now, I look like a mushroom in a bubble skirt.

Thinz. Used to lose weight and dance the night away.

Love letters from weird and wonderful relationships that lasted an hour, a day, maybe a week. Mainly from boys in the army. One arrived that had my dad wanting to get me to a nunnery. On the front of the envelope, my address, on the back, instead of 'SWAK', was 'pink panties turn me on...do you?'

I still have flash backs of flashers who
made my days of catching busses a interesting experience, to say the least. There was the guy who sat at the bus stop in his short post man issued shorts with a newspaper strategically placed on his lap. He'd flap the page to get your attention and when you looked, there peeking from under his shorts was his throbbing member, a la 50 Shades of Grey (or black and white).

Diane. Not the princess. The contraceptive. I clearly didn't need it then and don't need it now.

Anything leather or suede with tassles. Anywhere! Madonna 'hook' skirts, break dance pants, cut off tees, headbands and Xanadu.

Using a hair brush, hot brush or hair dryer as a microphone while singing aforementioned break up song into full length mirror.

Sandwich spread, monster munch crisps and fish paste.

Yup, some things are better left in the past, on the dark corners of the grubby night clubs at the dinner table of ye olde matric dance or on the couch of dry humping!

Melinda

'Dickless'

Emma keeps us on our toes. She has, by all accounts, got a great vocabulary, and like Mark and I she's quite expressive with her emotions (more Mark than me) and her expressions (probably more me).

We end up laughing most days when she comes up with a new word or throws her own little saying into a conversation but recently Mark and I were left rather speechless. It was a Sunday. Emma, Ben and I had been out most of the day and I knew I had messed with her routine BIG TIME. She fell asleep at 5pm or thereabouts and slept until 7pm. Because Monday was a holiday I wasn't too concerned about her sleeping in (she does most days, let me add, she has the sleeping habits of a teenager) and so we let sleeping beauty snore away...

By 11:30pm that night we were still battling to get her to bed. Every time we mentioned the idea Emma 'really needed' to do something. Go to the toilet. Read a book. Check on Ben. Cuddle with me. Watch 'just 2 minutes' of TV. The list was endless, our patience not so much.

Eventually Mark said to her "Emma, this is ridiculous! It's almost midnight and you're still up!"

Emma looked at him, arms to the side, palms facing the heavens, and replied "Dad you're killing me! This is 'dickless'!"

I tried very hard to keep the stern mommy face but the booger that shot out my nose as I snorted was a dead give away!

 Melinda

The lies we tell the babysitter

We don't have a live-in helper. Mark says there's no space in the house and we don't have what estate agents refer to as SQ's. I've suggested she live in our garden shed but Mark's mentioned human rights issues or something. So when we go out we have to get to someone to come in.

We usually use the services of the same lady but she wasn't available on Saturday night so we got one of the teaching assistant's at Emma's school to help out. She's 19 years old  and trying to pay her way through a Montessori teaching course, which I'm more than happy to contribute towards.

When she arrived Mark showed her around, explaining where the tea, coffee, sugar, food, nappies, etc are. He also took her through the workings of the essentials, like the various TV remotes. He also showed her the special hiding places to look in case any on of the aforementioned TV remotes went missing.

Once Mark was done I started with the how, what, when and where of Emma and Ben. Like their bed times, their bath times, Emma's dinner, Ben's milk, bedtime stories and the rest and as I was going through the list I realized I was telling a few pearlers. Little white lies you might say. Like "I'm so sorry, the house never looks like this! It was spotless up until a few minutes ago and then outta nowhere a little tornado swept through the lounge and the kitchen! Yes, unbelievably, just the lounge and the kitchen!"

And then there's a few more...

Emma NEVER goes to sleep late. I'd never allow it.

What! She didn't want her vegetables! Shut the front door! She ALWAYS eats her veggies!

You are kidding me? She used the remote and found Nickelodeon and Disney Jnr all on her own. Are you sure? Maybe it was just a fluke.

I don't even know how she knows what a TV does. We never have it on.

The bathroom isn't normally this messy. You know that tornado I mentioned earlier? Well I remember now...it hit the lounge, kitchen and bathroom.

Ben will be no hassle at all. He'll probably sleep the entire time.

We won't be late!

What? Emma sat on the coffee table watching Madagascar Penguins? Get outta here!  She knew the DVD word for word? She referred to your butt as a 'keester'? I'm shocked! She's never done any of that with us. Ever!

Emma will go to bed with no problems at all.

Did I say we won't be late?

 Melinda