This evening Mark went off to play hockey, which he does at least once a week. When he came home a little while ago, this is how the conversation with him and Emma went:
Emma: dad how was hockey?
Dad: it was good thanks but I got hit with the ball
Emma: oh! Where?
Dad: on my foot
Emma: ouchy. I'm sure it was sore dad. Can I see it?
Mark: sure. Look here (pointing to the already blue and swelling foot). It hurts a lot
Emma: dad can I rub some cream on it for you? Do you need a plaster? Can I take you to the doctor in the morning?
A very arbitrary conversation for an outsider, but one that made my heart glow. Our little girl is getting big enough to have full blown conversations. She shows an interest in others and she has a kind, caring side...when she's not spitting at us or threatening that we're not allowed to come to her birthday party.
Wednesday, 29 August 2012
Just Ask Ben
In a short space of time Just Ask Ben has somewhat of a cult following, responding to your babies and toddlers' questions with wisdo and sensitivity.
He's already covered things like saving mom from dad, the difference between smelling butt and kissing it, the power of suppositories, co-sleeping and wrapping a parent around a finger.
Make sure you follow this little sage who pees and poops in his nappy xxx
He's already covered things like saving mom from dad, the difference between smelling butt and kissing it, the power of suppositories, co-sleeping and wrapping a parent around a finger.
Make sure you follow this little sage who pees and poops in his nappy xxx
Sunday, 26 August 2012
Am I a bad mother?
I love my children. I love them more than life itself. An over used phrase, I know, a cliche that's lost its meaning. But I do and even with this intense, all consuming love, there are times when I think how nice it would be to just be me. Not a mom, not a parent. Just me.
I don't miss the BIG things not having kids allows, like two or three overseas trips a year, romantic unplanned getaways where you sleep in, order room service and sleep a little more. I don't miss my super cool Mini Cooper and I definitely don't miss the speeding fines I collected every month. Those things I can do without, do do without.
But what I yearn for is a long hot bath. The chance to immerse myself in my own dead cells and not someone else's. I would give my dried up ovary to pee in peace and not give a running commentary on how far I am, whether I've finished, whether I'm going to wipe or not and if I'm going to flush. Never mind the silent 'k' or 'w', I want a silent pee.
I can't remember when last I ate using a knife AND a fork and both hands. Long ago is the time Mark hasn't cut up my meal into chewable bites so that I can get some sustenance while rocking a baby on one knee and playing 'chook a chook a choo' feeding a hungry toddler. The small pleasure of eating a hot meal is a thing of the past, replaced by re-re-warmed cold congealed gravy, rubbery meat and powdery potatoes. Out of habit now, in meetings or at coffee shops, I let my tea or coffee cool down until it's ice cold because I assume that's how it's supposed to be.
To not have to share my cell phone, my laptop, my lipstick, nail polish, bed, space, sunglasses, my time. To not have to sit for 20 minutes guessing what a blob of paint on a page is, attending events hoping that the dress code "snot and vom'. I miss watching movies with a rating of 12, 14, 16 18. I miss NOT knowing the words to every show on the Disney channel.
To have a conversation that isn't about peeing, pooing or potty training and to not have to self censor my conversations with inverted commas and bleeps. I mean what the bleep is with that bleeping thing anyway. To have wild passionate unbridled sex without worrying about the permanent damage it will do to a child who overhears it or walks in on it. For the bed springs to be creaking and groaning because of the wild unadulterated sex and not because I'm bouncing a baby to sleep.
To not worry about running into a parent in the school when I'm drinking wine at 10am in the morning or smoking or wearing a skirt that's too short and and a boob tube or even worse drinking while smoking while wearing the boob tube and short skirt.
I miss doing NOTHING all day because I can and my afternoon naps that end when I want them to. I miss just 'popping' out the house and I miss spontaneous dinners with friends. I miss sitting in a quiet spot reading a book for hours on end. In fact I miss my quiet spot.
I'm not sure if sometimes missing these things makes me a bad mom or just an honest one...
I don't miss the BIG things not having kids allows, like two or three overseas trips a year, romantic unplanned getaways where you sleep in, order room service and sleep a little more. I don't miss my super cool Mini Cooper and I definitely don't miss the speeding fines I collected every month. Those things I can do without, do do without.
But what I yearn for is a long hot bath. The chance to immerse myself in my own dead cells and not someone else's. I would give my dried up ovary to pee in peace and not give a running commentary on how far I am, whether I've finished, whether I'm going to wipe or not and if I'm going to flush. Never mind the silent 'k' or 'w', I want a silent pee.
I can't remember when last I ate using a knife AND a fork and both hands. Long ago is the time Mark hasn't cut up my meal into chewable bites so that I can get some sustenance while rocking a baby on one knee and playing 'chook a chook a choo' feeding a hungry toddler. The small pleasure of eating a hot meal is a thing of the past, replaced by re-re-warmed cold congealed gravy, rubbery meat and powdery potatoes. Out of habit now, in meetings or at coffee shops, I let my tea or coffee cool down until it's ice cold because I assume that's how it's supposed to be.
To not have to share my cell phone, my laptop, my lipstick, nail polish, bed, space, sunglasses, my time. To not have to sit for 20 minutes guessing what a blob of paint on a page is, attending events hoping that the dress code "snot and vom'. I miss watching movies with a rating of 12, 14, 16 18. I miss NOT knowing the words to every show on the Disney channel.
To have a conversation that isn't about peeing, pooing or potty training and to not have to self censor my conversations with inverted commas and bleeps. I mean what the bleep is with that bleeping thing anyway. To have wild passionate unbridled sex without worrying about the permanent damage it will do to a child who overhears it or walks in on it. For the bed springs to be creaking and groaning because of the wild unadulterated sex and not because I'm bouncing a baby to sleep.
To not worry about running into a parent in the school when I'm drinking wine at 10am in the morning or smoking or wearing a skirt that's too short and and a boob tube or even worse drinking while smoking while wearing the boob tube and short skirt.
I miss doing NOTHING all day because I can and my afternoon naps that end when I want them to. I miss just 'popping' out the house and I miss spontaneous dinners with friends. I miss sitting in a quiet spot reading a book for hours on end. In fact I miss my quiet spot.
I'm not sure if sometimes missing these things makes me a bad mom or just an honest one...
Friday, 24 August 2012
Ask Ben
He's bald and he's smart. He's the baby Dr Phil. Pop on over to
http://cleverlittlebaby.wordpress.com/ and find out more
http://cleverlittlebaby.wordpress.com/ and find out more
Thursday, 23 August 2012
If there's a heaven, this is it!
Moms, dads, kids, toddlers and tots don't hate me but this morning I spent an hour or two in Toy Heaven, otherwise known as Prima Toys HQ.
What an awesome place to be, surrounded by some of Prima's most loved and best selling brands like Ben 10, My Little Pony, Bratz, LeapPad, Crayola, Spiderman, Baby Born, Transformers and a whole lot more.
It was AWESOME and nothing short of a sensory overload. I now have an inkling of an idea of what a kid feels like in a toy store.
I swooned at the Lalaloopsy dolls, especially the one sitting atop a remote controlled scooter and the springy haired doll. There's also a prince and princess pair!
Moms will be thrilled to know that Cabbage Kids are making a comeback and will be available in our stores soon!
The Minnie Bowtique range of toys had me doing a little happy dance - you should the Minnie dresses for kids! And the Minnie camera! Yes I'm exclaiming a lot but it was a morning worth loads of exclamation marks.
For moms and dads who like to encourage creativity there's the PlayDoh range of trucks as well as an awesome candy making PlayDoh set for girls. As for the Crayola range, there's 3D sidewalk chalk and spinning tops that draw on their own!
For Christmas you'll be thrilled to know that there's a LeapPad2 coming out as well as the LeapsterGS, a revolutionary new learning video game. In the LeapPad range there's a large selection of educational toys for babies, aged 6 to 36 months old.
I'm still feeling sunny and bouncy and happy inside after a morning amongst all these magical toys and I'm battling to get the Lalaloopsy dolls out of my head.
If Santa works smart this year, he'll do all his shopping here.
By the way, If you want to attend exclusive launches, be the first to hear about new products and have your kiddies review age appropriate toys, drop me a mail or leave your deets here. Cape Town and Durban moms and dads, this means you too.
What an awesome place to be, surrounded by some of Prima's most loved and best selling brands like Ben 10, My Little Pony, Bratz, LeapPad, Crayola, Spiderman, Baby Born, Transformers and a whole lot more.
It was AWESOME and nothing short of a sensory overload. I now have an inkling of an idea of what a kid feels like in a toy store.
I swooned at the Lalaloopsy dolls, especially the one sitting atop a remote controlled scooter and the springy haired doll. There's also a prince and princess pair!
Moms will be thrilled to know that Cabbage Kids are making a comeback and will be available in our stores soon!
The Minnie Bowtique range of toys had me doing a little happy dance - you should the Minnie dresses for kids! And the Minnie camera! Yes I'm exclaiming a lot but it was a morning worth loads of exclamation marks.
For moms and dads who like to encourage creativity there's the PlayDoh range of trucks as well as an awesome candy making PlayDoh set for girls. As for the Crayola range, there's 3D sidewalk chalk and spinning tops that draw on their own!
For Christmas you'll be thrilled to know that there's a LeapPad2 coming out as well as the LeapsterGS, a revolutionary new learning video game. In the LeapPad range there's a large selection of educational toys for babies, aged 6 to 36 months old.
I'm still feeling sunny and bouncy and happy inside after a morning amongst all these magical toys and I'm battling to get the Lalaloopsy dolls out of my head.
If Santa works smart this year, he'll do all his shopping here.
By the way, If you want to attend exclusive launches, be the first to hear about new products and have your kiddies review age appropriate toys, drop me a mail or leave your deets here. Cape Town and Durban moms and dads, this means you too.
My name's Melinda and I think I'm addicted
To Naartjie! Which I suppose isn't such a bad thing. There's loads of other addictions I could be fighting right now, right?
On my way to a meeting this morning I found myself at the Naartjie store at Epsom Downs. Miraculously my car had driven itself there. I swear!
And my car, and I, weren't disappointed. Bright colours gave me a spring in my step (yes, let's not even go there). Cute little board shorts and t-shirts for boys means I have Ben's holiday wardrobe sorted too.
Emma's going to be in fairy heaven cos she got a Jie Jie outfit - leggings, a tulle skirt and a t-shirt PLUS a wand!!!
The baby girl stuff still makes me want a newborn baba, but that will pass later on, when I'm sitting up, wide awake with a not so sleeping Ben at 3am.
Saturday's National Jie Jie day at Naartjie stores across SA and Emma, Ben and I will definitely be there to celebrate with balloons and sweets.
On my way to a meeting this morning I found myself at the Naartjie store at Epsom Downs. Miraculously my car had driven itself there. I swear!
And my car, and I, weren't disappointed. Bright colours gave me a spring in my step (yes, let's not even go there). Cute little board shorts and t-shirts for boys means I have Ben's holiday wardrobe sorted too.
Emma's going to be in fairy heaven cos she got a Jie Jie outfit - leggings, a tulle skirt and a t-shirt PLUS a wand!!!
The baby girl stuff still makes me want a newborn baba, but that will pass later on, when I'm sitting up, wide awake with a not so sleeping Ben at 3am.
Saturday's National Jie Jie day at Naartjie stores across SA and Emma, Ben and I will definitely be there to celebrate with balloons and sweets.
Wednesday, 22 August 2012
Spring has sprung at Naartjie
Pre-Ben days when Mark and I were discussing adding to our little family, his heart was set on a boy, mine on the fairer sex. "Why do you want another girl?" Mark asked. "Have you not seen the clothes for baby girls at Naartjie?" I answered.
Mark felt basing our family demographics on the clothing line at my favourite store was a little extreme, so he won with a baby boy. But I still won, because the little boys range at Naartjie is just as cool!
And so you can imagine my absolute joy at finding out that Naartjie Kids launches its brand new range tomorrow. Wohooooo! Think vintage flair with designer detail evident in touches of tulle, pretty bows and floral accents for girls.
Boys get to be boys and will revel in a playful take on custom motorbikes, a fabulous “Marrakesh print” woven shirt, highly covetable board shorts, and brand new updated short pants designs that are both trendsetting and comfortable. My heart is melting at the thought of Ben in his new threads.
Naartjie Kids resident little fairy, the curly haired, big hearted Jie Jie, has waved her magic wand to bring out the latest "must-have" fairy outfit complete with a new look multi-layered fluffy tulle skirt, matching stripy leggings and a sparkly spotty t-shirt. A free, custom made pin cushion wand and a R100 voucher goes to all aspiring fairies who are lucky enough to get the entire three piece outfit.
I can't wait to get my 'shop' on tomorrow. Look out Naartjie here I come.
*** ps for those of you who can't pop out the office, don't forget you can shop online ***
Tuesday, 21 August 2012
The Survival Guide for Babies...by a Baby
Ben might not have teeth or coordination but he has nappy loads of wisdom which he’s happy to share with tots and toddlers alike.
Sometimes serious, most often funny, Ben will help you with any questions you have about parents, adults, oumies, grandpaws, aunts and uncles. From diet and lifestyle, to sleeping habits (or lack thereof) and playtime, this clever little baby will give it to you straight.
Follow the Survival Guide for Babies...by a Baby
Sometimes serious, most often funny, Ben will help you with any questions you have about parents, adults, oumies, grandpaws, aunts and uncles. From diet and lifestyle, to sleeping habits (or lack thereof) and playtime, this clever little baby will give it to you straight.
Follow the Survival Guide for Babies...by a Baby
Monday, 20 August 2012
A conversation with Emma about the naughty corner
So today Emma put me in the naughty corner. A rather big one cos it was the back garden.
She took me by the hand, told me I had been naughty and that was where I had to stay...for two days!
She then closed the back door on me.
And then the conversation went like this.
Emma: mom are you going to listen to me?
Me: I'm still not sure what I did
Emma: it's because you've been naughty
Me: but I haven't done anything
Emma: think about it
Me: how long do I have stay outside?
Emma: for two days
Me: okay. I'll stay here for two days (delighted at the idea of been exiled on my own for two whole days)
Emma: are you thinking about what you've done?
Me: yes
Emma: okay. Stay there until I say you can come in
Me: okay
(maybe a minute later)
Emma: mom you can come back in
Mom: what happened to my two days of peace and quiet
Emma: I want NikNaks
She took me by the hand, told me I had been naughty and that was where I had to stay...for two days!
She then closed the back door on me.
And then the conversation went like this.
Emma: mom are you going to listen to me?
Me: I'm still not sure what I did
Emma: it's because you've been naughty
Me: but I haven't done anything
Emma: think about it
Me: how long do I have stay outside?
Emma: for two days
Me: okay. I'll stay here for two days (delighted at the idea of been exiled on my own for two whole days)
Emma: are you thinking about what you've done?
Me: yes
Emma: okay. Stay there until I say you can come in
Me: okay
(maybe a minute later)
Emma: mom you can come back in
Mom: what happened to my two days of peace and quiet
Emma: I want NikNaks
The things I love about Emma. In alphabetical order
A is for attitude...you have bucket loads of it my little girl and I can only hope that as life gives you the good, the bad and the ugly you hang onto it
B is for bucket loads...see A. You have bucket loads of everything and my wish for you is that your bucket always overflow
C is for compliments...you are BIG on compliments. "I love your haircut mama" or "dad, I like your shirt. It's very grey!" It's something that's incredibly special about you cos you always try and make people feel good.
D is for dancing...I have never seen anyone love to dance as much as you do. You'll take my iPhone, put on the Angry Birds game and then...dance to the theme music
E is Ear...you've had this habit since a baby that as you fall asleep you lie tickling your ear. You still do it and it's something I love about you
F is for fairies...those magical little creatures that keep you safe. I hope you always believe in them
G is for girlie...even with an un-girlie mom you love girlie things, from tiaras and tutus to nail polish and eye shadow. Thank goodness we don't live along the bible belt cos I fear we'd be partaking in Toddlers and Tiaras
H is for hair...I love your hair and dread the day I have to cut it short. You, you hate us combing it no matter how hard we try and most (black) mommies give me advice on what to do with it
I is for (good) idea...if I suggest something that Emma likes she exclaims "that's a good idea mama"
J is for jelly sweets...you love jelly beans, jelly worms, jelly gums. Oddly enough you don't like good ol' jelly in a bowl. You also love mommy's arms and tummy that jiggle like jelly and of course you love Jie Jie, Naartjie's orange haired fairy that spreads love and goodness
K is kisses...you give the best kisses and kuddles (I know kuddles doesn't start with a k but it works here) and they come right out of the blue
L is for love...a deep, all-consuming from the bottom of my wriggly toes right up to squishy scrunchy nose. I love you Emma Ruth
M is for manners...your manners, most of the time, are impeccable. They should be. We've drummed them into you since you were a teeny tiny tot. You say 'please', 'thank you', 'you're welcome' and 'excuse me'. Should daddy let rip with a fart you demand an 'excuse me' outta him straight away
N is for nicknames...Monkey, Bumbles, Emmy Demmy, Em, Noo, Noodle, Nonko, Boo, Moo...you're a nickname kinda girl
O is overflowing...my cup has been overflowing since you came into my life. It's so full I have to sip from the saucer
P is for party...you love parties. Yours, friends, non-friends. You've even been known to gate-crash a few. When I'm in your good books I'm allowed to "come to your party". When I'm not your favourite person then I'm banned from it
Q is for quiet...something you're not! You're loud and like me, you could get a job on the ships as a foghorn
R is for Ruth...your name given to you at the shelter. Your second name that we have kept. You're also a Tshegofatso should you ever want to be
S is for (big) sister...you're the best little big sister I know and Ben is very very lucky. You love your baby brother and there's not a day that goes by without you hugging, loving or trying to carry the 'little fella' (though this could also be 'little f*cker)
T is for tantrums...you're good at these. Especially with dad. I know it's all a part of you growing up but they're quite something to watch (in a scary kinda way)
U is for unique...there's no one quite like you Noodle. Your funny and caring, feisty and gentle. You're no walk over but you're a real softie. All these things make you U
V is for vagina...I've been trying to teach you the anatomically correct terms for all your body parts but somehow 'vagina' became 'bagina' and it's now simply your 'front bum'
W is for wonderful, whacky, whimsical...you!
X is for x factor...you've got it. Whatever that x-factor is you have it in abundance. Where ever you go you leave having made friends. We walk into shops and sales assistants greet you by name. You're gonna be a star
Y is for youth...it's wasted on some but not on you. You love being a kid and you bring out the kid in me
Z is for zodiac...you're a Taurean. I'm a Taurean too. It's going to make for very interesting times ahead
Saturday, 18 August 2012
avOHcado!
At the moment I'm using the Moroccan Oil range on Emma's hair. As excellent as the product is, it's a little pricey for a toddler.
Last week I saw a mommy with a little boy, sporting the softest black hair I've ever seen. Still struggling with Emma's, I asked what she uses, expecting a salon product that I either couldn't afford or get. I was a little surprised that it was avocado oil but relieved that I'd be able but it anywhere AND make my own treatments at home, for hair and skin. After some googling I found a few ways to use avocado oil for hair and skin
If you have it, you can add a few drops of rosemary essential oil and mix it in. Other essential oils like lavender or sandalwood can also be used, but rosemary oil is known to be especially good for the hair and scalp.
Apply the oil to freshly washed hair and gently massage it in. Cover with a shower cap (or a plastic bag if you don’t have one and no one else is around to laugh) and then ideally wrap it in a very warm towel and leave for fifteen to twenty minutes.
Wash out well as normal, but you won’t need any conditioner after this hot oil treatment. Many people online say they’ve never felt their hair as soft or seen it so shining.
Smooth all over damp hair, cover with a shower cap and leave for 15 to 20 minutes. Wash out thoroughly, preferably with a chemical free shampoo, but as with the hot oil treatment, you’re unlikely to need any store bought conditioner after this treatment has done its work.
Keep one bottle of extra virgin avocado oil in the bathroom for hair and as a face moisturizer and one in the kitchen for healthy cooking and salad dressings. Regardless of where you keep it, avocado oil is best stored in a dark cupboard, away from the light for the longest shelf life.
One final important tip for your hair. As good as these treatments are at bringing some quick strength and shine, really healthy hair comes from great nutrition over time.
What if there was a natural oil moisturizer that many people are having more far more effective results with than the chemical-laden, brand name moisturizers? What if this very same moisturizer was also about the best cooking oil you could use in your kitchen, made an extremely healthy salad dressing and even an exceptional hair treatment?
Sounds too good to be true, but cold pressed avocado oil is all of these things. Not only is it extremely good at hydrating and softening our skin, many people are reporting that it is an effective treatment for acne and blackheads, psoriasis and eczema, and even useful for diminishing age spots and mild facial scaring.
Of course it’s important to remember that individual results usually vary greatly depending on your skin type and other factors like nutrition. That said, if your skin is at all sensitive or problematic, it’s got to be beneficial to have one simple, natural oil to use as a face moisturizer, rather than trying to work out which of two dozen different additives might be causing your skin problems.
In the worse case, if your results aren’t as good as many other people’s, you’ve still got avocado oil as a salad dressing.
.
Use it straight after showering in the evening. You don’t need that much, perhaps a small dab per cheek, forehead, etc. Avocado oil is concentrated monounsaturated fatty acids, phytosterols, vitamin E and other antioxidants. A little goes a long way.
While it is not absorbed as quickly as some moisturizers, it is usually barely noticeable in ten to fifteen minutes. If this bothers you, give it a few minutes to be absorbed, then gently wipe your face with a damp washcloth.
You could use it as a day moisturizer but because it’s so rich, it seems better as a nightly moisturizer applied before bed.
Some people recommend mixing half cold pressed avocado oil and half sweet almond oil, which is also very beneficial for the skin. Almond oil takes longer to absorb though, so you may want to keep this as an evening moisturizer and use a damp washcloth on your face before your head hits the pillow.
It is important to look for cold pressed avocado oil, and not the cheaper refined oils, if you’re interested in the potential skin restorative properties, rather than just the moisturizing effects. The minimal refinement of cold pressed avocado oil preserves more of the important plant sterols, vitamin E and other antioxidants.
Avocado oil may also be a useful treatment for skin problems like acne and blackheads and even more serious conditions such as psoriasis and eczema.
So there you go. Avocados not only taste good, they're good for skin and hair too!
Last week I saw a mommy with a little boy, sporting the softest black hair I've ever seen. Still struggling with Emma's, I asked what she uses, expecting a salon product that I either couldn't afford or get. I was a little surprised that it was avocado oil but relieved that I'd be able but it anywhere AND make my own treatments at home, for hair and skin. After some googling I found a few ways to use avocado oil for hair and skin
Hot Oil Treatment
Blend three to five tablespoons of avocado oil (depending on length of your hair) with three to five tablespoons of extra virgin coconut oil and heat them in a saucepan on a very low heat until warmed to a comfortable temperature.If you have it, you can add a few drops of rosemary essential oil and mix it in. Other essential oils like lavender or sandalwood can also be used, but rosemary oil is known to be especially good for the hair and scalp.
Apply the oil to freshly washed hair and gently massage it in. Cover with a shower cap (or a plastic bag if you don’t have one and no one else is around to laugh) and then ideally wrap it in a very warm towel and leave for fifteen to twenty minutes.
Wash out well as normal, but you won’t need any conditioner after this hot oil treatment. Many people online say they’ve never felt their hair as soft or seen it so shining.
Homemade Avocado Oil Conditioner
Whisk up two tablespoons of avocado oil, two tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil, 1 tablespoon of honey and 3 tablespoons of natural yogurt (the real yogurt, not the sugary ‘fruit’ stuff).Smooth all over damp hair, cover with a shower cap and leave for 15 to 20 minutes. Wash out thoroughly, preferably with a chemical free shampoo, but as with the hot oil treatment, you’re unlikely to need any store bought conditioner after this treatment has done its work.
Conditioner Enhancement
The easiest of all avocado oil hair treatments is to simply buy a basic, natural conditioner, with as little chemicals in it is possible, and add some of the oil to it while it’s in your palm. Mix it together in your hands before rubbing it in. You might need to do this a couple of times for longer hair. Not having hair long enough to really warrant the other treatments above that often, this is what I usually do myself.Keep one bottle of extra virgin avocado oil in the bathroom for hair and as a face moisturizer and one in the kitchen for healthy cooking and salad dressings. Regardless of where you keep it, avocado oil is best stored in a dark cupboard, away from the light for the longest shelf life.
One final important tip for your hair. As good as these treatments are at bringing some quick strength and shine, really healthy hair comes from great nutrition over time.
For the Face
What if there was a natural oil moisturizer that many people are having more far more effective results with than the chemical-laden, brand name moisturizers? What if this very same moisturizer was also about the best cooking oil you could use in your kitchen, made an extremely healthy salad dressing and even an exceptional hair treatment?
Sounds too good to be true, but cold pressed avocado oil is all of these things. Not only is it extremely good at hydrating and softening our skin, many people are reporting that it is an effective treatment for acne and blackheads, psoriasis and eczema, and even useful for diminishing age spots and mild facial scaring.
Of course it’s important to remember that individual results usually vary greatly depending on your skin type and other factors like nutrition. That said, if your skin is at all sensitive or problematic, it’s got to be beneficial to have one simple, natural oil to use as a face moisturizer, rather than trying to work out which of two dozen different additives might be causing your skin problems.
In the worse case, if your results aren’t as good as many other people’s, you’ve still got avocado oil as a salad dressing.
.
Applying Avocado Oil to Your Face
You can apply avocado oil to your face in the same way you would any other moisturizer – with a cotton wool pad or very clean fingers. Make sure your face is washed well and preferably still damp to spread the avocado oil easily.Use it straight after showering in the evening. You don’t need that much, perhaps a small dab per cheek, forehead, etc. Avocado oil is concentrated monounsaturated fatty acids, phytosterols, vitamin E and other antioxidants. A little goes a long way.
While it is not absorbed as quickly as some moisturizers, it is usually barely noticeable in ten to fifteen minutes. If this bothers you, give it a few minutes to be absorbed, then gently wipe your face with a damp washcloth.
You could use it as a day moisturizer but because it’s so rich, it seems better as a nightly moisturizer applied before bed.
Some people recommend mixing half cold pressed avocado oil and half sweet almond oil, which is also very beneficial for the skin. Almond oil takes longer to absorb though, so you may want to keep this as an evening moisturizer and use a damp washcloth on your face before your head hits the pillow.
It is important to look for cold pressed avocado oil, and not the cheaper refined oils, if you’re interested in the potential skin restorative properties, rather than just the moisturizing effects. The minimal refinement of cold pressed avocado oil preserves more of the important plant sterols, vitamin E and other antioxidants.
Avocado oil may also be a useful treatment for skin problems like acne and blackheads and even more serious conditions such as psoriasis and eczema.
So there you go. Avocados not only taste good, they're good for skin and hair too!
Friday, 17 August 2012
I'm afraid it's that time again...
I'm a little OTT at the best of times but when it comes to parties and celebrations of any kind I go completely OTFT!
SO, it's Ben's 1st birthday soon. I've left it a little late already, with only 5 months to plan a ONEderful party.
Mark has suggested (or rather insisted) that it'll be a small get together, as in him, me, Emma and Ben and a puny little cupcake...um, hello, sorry, have you met me? Do you not know me after almost 10 years of marital bliss?
Ben's 1st birthday is going to be a celebration worthy of a little boy as gorgeous and as wonderful as he. Most of the invitees will be older and so I'll be keeping that in mind when planning the event. There'll also be moms and dads, so sharing A cupcake between the guests isn't going to work.
I've toyed with one or two themes, including a sock monkey party and a Bee Happy theme but no matter how much I research (yes planning a party includes research) I still love the Mustache idea, so our little man will celebrate in style with mustaches and ties ...
SO, it's Ben's 1st birthday soon. I've left it a little late already, with only 5 months to plan a ONEderful party.
Mark has suggested (or rather insisted) that it'll be a small get together, as in him, me, Emma and Ben and a puny little cupcake...um, hello, sorry, have you met me? Do you not know me after almost 10 years of marital bliss?
Ben's 1st birthday is going to be a celebration worthy of a little boy as gorgeous and as wonderful as he. Most of the invitees will be older and so I'll be keeping that in mind when planning the event. There'll also be moms and dads, so sharing A cupcake between the guests isn't going to work.
I've toyed with one or two themes, including a sock monkey party and a Bee Happy theme but no matter how much I research (yes planning a party includes research) I still love the Mustache idea, so our little man will celebrate in style with mustaches and ties ...
Thursday, 16 August 2012
Momolympics!
These elite sportsmen, women and 'woah is that a man' (as in the shot put woman from Belarus) ate in peak physical condition BUT I wonder how they would manage as parents. Would they still be standing on the podium, medal around neck, bouquet of flowers in hand if they were moms and dads of babies, toddlers, tweens and teens? I think not!
It also got me thinking about the categories and awards that would be handed out at a mommy (and daddy) Olympics. As I sit, tapping my already one over-developed calf, bouncing baby to sleep, there's a few I can think of already.
Weightlifting - this is for all the moms carrying a toddler around that weighs as much as they do. Whereas in the world of sport there's a few seconds needed of holding the weights in order to win, moms are expected to carry aforementioned toddler through malls, zoos, up hills and mountains for hours on end.
Shot put - this could also be called 'sh*t put', the delicate skill of tossing a very sh*tty nappy into the bin from a distance. Getting it in means victory. Missing the target is disasterous.
Egg and spoon race - though not quite an Olympic sport, this 'kid's game' takes endurance, skill, dexterity, speed and accuracy. It can also be called 'broccoli and spoon race', 'mixed veg and spoon race' or 'cauliflower and spoon race'. The aim is to get content on spoon into mouth of running toddler. It involves hurdling over furniture items, running at a fair speed and teaching toddler without spilling what's on the spoon.
Athletics - this could be a single event or a variety of athletic skills rolled into one, depending on the age of the child and the situation. There's the hurdle should you need to get to a toddler about to fall off a table. There's the long jump which is necessary when trying to prevent toddler from climbing onto table. The sprint is required for quick spurts of speed to reach toddler in record time and there's the marathon which comes into play when trying to catch a toddler determined to get away from you. These can be duathlons, triathlons or pentathlons. In serious situations you might need a relay partner to reach your goal.
Gymnastics - flexibility, upper arm strength and balance are essential when grabbing toddler from falling down stairs, hills, tables, burglar bars, roofs or out of car windows. This also comes in handy at play parks when parents are
Synchronized swimming and diving - again two activities rolled into one as you stylishly dive into the pool to reach toddler who has fallen in. If the contestant is an amateur then it becomes the belly flop.
Though not expected to be medal winning athletes, moms and dads are required to be able to ride horses, play tennis, hockey, table tennis, basketball, netball, soccer, swim, do karate and any other activity toddler, tween or teen decide they want to do.
Lesser known but just as important are the bake offs, the complete school assignment in record time, the climbing up and down stairs to get toddler to bed, the dash out the house in pyjamas at midnight to pick up teen from a party, the stare down, the wrestle a tantrumming toddler, the juggling baby, bottle, pacifier and leg jiggle and the death defying mom-career woman- cook-teacher-negotiator-entertainer-toy finder-up all night-all rounder.
So moms and dads around the world, I consider you all gold medal winners. You set the standard of what a peak performing athlete should be. And where Olympians have rest days and teams of helpers, you do this 24/7, either alone of with a very small team.
You might also like
Medals for Moms - 10 olympic events just for us
Wednesday, 15 August 2012
When life throws you a curve ball...all you need is love
This week and a bit of last has been a bit of a mind f***. I've had this recurring abscess in my breast boob boobie breast and this time round it grew in record time to a size comparable to another breast. I had a boob on my boob.
Off I went to Carol Benn, where I've become a local, and again I was given a heavy dose of antibiotics to bring the swelling down, get rid of some of the infection so that I could have an 'aspiration' done. The aspiration (such an elegant word for a rather gruesome procedure) went well, bar a giant hole between my nipple and boob and an incredible amount of discomfort.
I had a follow up appointment on Tuesday anyway, but on Monday morning I got a call to tell me that I needed to come in as soon as possible because they had gotten the results back from the lab. As much as I try and tell myself (and you) that I'm a happy-go-lucky- kinda girl who always sees the glass as half full, I'm not. I'm a pessimistic old grinch who expects the absolute worst. The upside of this is that when the news is bad I've prepared myself.
So on Monday night, as I waited for Tuesday to arrive, I imagined all sorts of scenarios. Me with the 'BIG C', my family and how they would cope, would I fight it, would I quietly surrender to it? I'm not being flippant and I'm not being disrespectful to anyone who has gone through this or is going through it. This is where my mind went.
Years ago I wasn't well and again I thought I was on death's door. I remember telling Mark that he wasn't to find a wife as cute as me, as funny as me, as stylish as me or as wonderful as me. I told him he would have to get rid of all my things because if I saw her (the new wife) wearing anything of mine I would haunt him in the worst ways possible. That was a younger me, a more selfish me, a me that wasn't yet a mom.
This time round I sat worrying that I would be leaving Mark with two little children. I worried whether he would find someone JUST LIKE ME to love and take care of him, Emma and Ben in a way that only I could. I suddenly found myself wishing that he would find a perfect someone to fill my rather big shoes (literally BIG shoes). I thought about the people that I might have upset or hurt over the years with the things I had said or done and I thought about time not spent with those I hold dear to my heart.
The idea of dying or not being well has a funny way of putting things into perspective and you become aware of what's important in your life and what doesn't matter. In those few hours I didn't think about work or whether I had delivered a status report on time. I didn't think about people I dislike or that had hurt me. My thoughts immediately got all mushy and lovey dovey and I realised that love is all you need.
Off I went to Carol Benn, where I've become a local, and again I was given a heavy dose of antibiotics to bring the swelling down, get rid of some of the infection so that I could have an 'aspiration' done. The aspiration (such an elegant word for a rather gruesome procedure) went well, bar a giant hole between my nipple and boob and an incredible amount of discomfort.
I had a follow up appointment on Tuesday anyway, but on Monday morning I got a call to tell me that I needed to come in as soon as possible because they had gotten the results back from the lab. As much as I try and tell myself (and you) that I'm a happy-go-lucky- kinda girl who always sees the glass as half full, I'm not. I'm a pessimistic old grinch who expects the absolute worst. The upside of this is that when the news is bad I've prepared myself.
So on Monday night, as I waited for Tuesday to arrive, I imagined all sorts of scenarios. Me with the 'BIG C', my family and how they would cope, would I fight it, would I quietly surrender to it? I'm not being flippant and I'm not being disrespectful to anyone who has gone through this or is going through it. This is where my mind went.
Years ago I wasn't well and again I thought I was on death's door. I remember telling Mark that he wasn't to find a wife as cute as me, as funny as me, as stylish as me or as wonderful as me. I told him he would have to get rid of all my things because if I saw her (the new wife) wearing anything of mine I would haunt him in the worst ways possible. That was a younger me, a more selfish me, a me that wasn't yet a mom.
This time round I sat worrying that I would be leaving Mark with two little children. I worried whether he would find someone JUST LIKE ME to love and take care of him, Emma and Ben in a way that only I could. I suddenly found myself wishing that he would find a perfect someone to fill my rather big shoes (literally BIG shoes). I thought about the people that I might have upset or hurt over the years with the things I had said or done and I thought about time not spent with those I hold dear to my heart.
The idea of dying or not being well has a funny way of putting things into perspective and you become aware of what's important in your life and what doesn't matter. In those few hours I didn't think about work or whether I had delivered a status report on time. I didn't think about people I dislike or that had hurt me. My thoughts immediately got all mushy and lovey dovey and I realised that love is all you need.
“Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling you'll find that love actually is all around.”
Tuesday, 7 August 2012
Diaries of a white mother raising a black baby journal available soon
With loads of space for you to doodle, write and scribble! There's even a page for your very own F*** It list!
The journal includes unreleased posts as well as the infamous #giftsthatsuck Lasagne recipe.
It's the perfect gift #thatdoesn'tsuck!
Selling for R150 but if you pre-order now you save R30. Drop me a mail at melinda.connor@gmail.com
The journal includes unreleased posts as well as the infamous #giftsthatsuck Lasagne recipe.
It's the perfect gift #thatdoesn'tsuck!
Selling for R150 but if you pre-order now you save R30. Drop me a mail at melinda.connor@gmail.com
Harassed Mom is actually Super Mom
Forget Superman exiting a phone booth in his all super-hero finery. Bah to Batman in his too-tight vest and skinny tights. Cat Woman, Robin, The Joker, The Hulk and
Harassed Mom is taking over the world, one mommy blogger at a time, and I for one am super proud and super impressed. I'm not sure how, in amongst all she has to do, she had the time to set this all up, but she did.
So here goes Mommy Bloggers and friends of Mommy Blogs
- You, as the reader, nominate a Mom Blogger by sending Harassed Mom an email on why you feel she deserves to win. No essays necessary - just a few lines on why you enjoy her blog, what makes her special to you etc.
- The list will then be narrowed down to 5 finalists – the decision will not be based on who got the most nominations but rather what was said about them.
- Once 5 finalists have been chosen it will then be put to a vote.
- Nominations accepted until 10 August.
- The finalists will be announced on the 13 August when voting opens and it will stay open until Friday the 17th August.
- There will be a winner plus 2 “runners up”
- The nominated blogger must be a mom.
- She must blog at least twice a week.
- She must be South African.
- The blog must be a personal blog.
Even as I type this I'm tipping my hat and giving kudos to Harassed Mom. Well done Super Mom. You're my Super Hero
Monday, 6 August 2012
Which skool is kool?
A meet up with moms normally includes discussions on bowel movements, sleeping and eating habits, vaginas that have never quite 'bounced' back into shape and a libido that's become a libidon't.
But if you're a mom of a toddler chances are conversations have begun in earnest about which skool is kool for your kid. Organised parents have put their kid's name down at several schools before they were born. Let me clarify now that I'm not that parent. Emma's three and I (we) haven't even decided which schools we want to put her name down at.
I'm the product of a 'traditional' school. You were super duper smart if you could do maths and science, and not so much if you couldn't. I couldn't. At the school I attended you were 'in' if you did sports and belonged to the debate team. I didn't so I didn't. You also fitted in if you fitted in. If you didn't you were labelled a freak, misfit, outcast or delinquent (and that was by the teachers).
So the dilemma we face with Emma is what kind of school is going to bring out the best in her? Do we go the 'traditional' route where academics and sports = success or do we go with the more 'touchy feely' (meant in the most positive way) types like a Montessori or a Waldorf. We want Emma to feel she can be herself and if academics isn't her strong point then we don't want her to feel as though she's failed or that she's not good enough. We also don't want to put her in an environment where her 'smarts' has her running rings around the teachers and she ends up getting away with murder.
I hated school. I was labelled as 'dense' and 'the most likely to be pregnant at 17 with no future prospects at all'. I didn't fit in with the Maths teacher's style of teaching so I was seen as the problem. Not her. Grades 8 and 9 saw me at a co-ed school, which I hated. The rest of my high school years was spent at an all girls school, which I loved. But I know that that's not everyone's cuppa tea.
So where does Emma go? The less traditional route where school uniforms are considered 'stifling' and discipline even more so or a place that values "yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir'. We love the idea of a Montessori primary school but I worry whether Emma will fit in at a more traditional high school later on. What if the school we send her to concentrates on academics and Emma's more of an 'entrepreneur' (read 'dropout').
Costs are also factor but I suppose plans can be made. A private school in our area is trying to get the black quotient up and are offering bursaries to learners of colour. There is no way in hell we could afford the fees so I thought I'd chat to them about a scholarship for Emma. According to them we don't fit the 'previously disadvantaged profile' so I suggested I send my bank statement through and they can see that I'm Currently Disadvantaged. I also don't want Emma and Ben to be surrounded by the very wealthy. I don't want them losing sight of what's important in life and thinking that the world is luxury cars and TV's in every room. I also don't want to be keeping up with Joneses, Sitholes or Cohens.
So here I am, after a chat with Tanya over at Dear Max still as confused as ever as to which skool is kool for Emma and Ben.
How are you choosing the skool that's kool for you?
But if you're a mom of a toddler chances are conversations have begun in earnest about which skool is kool for your kid. Organised parents have put their kid's name down at several schools before they were born. Let me clarify now that I'm not that parent. Emma's three and I (we) haven't even decided which schools we want to put her name down at.
I'm the product of a 'traditional' school. You were super duper smart if you could do maths and science, and not so much if you couldn't. I couldn't. At the school I attended you were 'in' if you did sports and belonged to the debate team. I didn't so I didn't. You also fitted in if you fitted in. If you didn't you were labelled a freak, misfit, outcast or delinquent (and that was by the teachers).
So the dilemma we face with Emma is what kind of school is going to bring out the best in her? Do we go the 'traditional' route where academics and sports = success or do we go with the more 'touchy feely' (meant in the most positive way) types like a Montessori or a Waldorf. We want Emma to feel she can be herself and if academics isn't her strong point then we don't want her to feel as though she's failed or that she's not good enough. We also don't want to put her in an environment where her 'smarts' has her running rings around the teachers and she ends up getting away with murder.
I hated school. I was labelled as 'dense' and 'the most likely to be pregnant at 17 with no future prospects at all'. I didn't fit in with the Maths teacher's style of teaching so I was seen as the problem. Not her. Grades 8 and 9 saw me at a co-ed school, which I hated. The rest of my high school years was spent at an all girls school, which I loved. But I know that that's not everyone's cuppa tea.
So where does Emma go? The less traditional route where school uniforms are considered 'stifling' and discipline even more so or a place that values "yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir'. We love the idea of a Montessori primary school but I worry whether Emma will fit in at a more traditional high school later on. What if the school we send her to concentrates on academics and Emma's more of an 'entrepreneur' (read 'dropout').
Costs are also factor but I suppose plans can be made. A private school in our area is trying to get the black quotient up and are offering bursaries to learners of colour. There is no way in hell we could afford the fees so I thought I'd chat to them about a scholarship for Emma. According to them we don't fit the 'previously disadvantaged profile' so I suggested I send my bank statement through and they can see that I'm Currently Disadvantaged. I also don't want Emma and Ben to be surrounded by the very wealthy. I don't want them losing sight of what's important in life and thinking that the world is luxury cars and TV's in every room. I also don't want to be keeping up with Joneses, Sitholes or Cohens.
So here I am, after a chat with Tanya over at Dear Max still as confused as ever as to which skool is kool for Emma and Ben.
How are you choosing the skool that's kool for you?
WO-man-IFESTO
It's Women's Month and we're celebrating you with a spa treatment from Tracey, therapist extraordinary at Pure Hair in Craghall Park.
Green tea and bamboo ultra body crème massage
Perfect remedy for extra dry skin. With ingredients like jojoba, oolong tea and hydration beads, the crème works not only moisturizing parched skin but restores it to a healthier state.
So if you feel you could do with major pampering all you need to do is like my Facebook page, Diaries of a white mom raising a black baby. Easy! Even a man could do it,,,
Saturday, 4 August 2012
My Origami'd Boob
It's no secret. I have the worst body image of anyone I know. If I could bath in a pair of spanks and a cross your heart bra I would. Better yet, a full scuba suit would do. If I had one. But I don't, so I sit in the bath with three face cloths. One for each boob and one for my who-whoo.
Without giving away too many family secrets, let's just say I'm the only one with this issue. Where I'm the never-nude Mark and Emma are the always-nudes. They're the 'J**** H C*****' can you put some clothes on it's minus 20 outside' nudes.
Trying to find a balance between loving and loathing their bodies isn't easy. I don't want Emma (or Ben) developing my body dysmorphia but I also don't want them to feel clothes are more of a luxury than a necessity and of course I don't want them developing frost bite in their nether regions.
I want them to know how to appreciate their bodies and take care of them. After all, a healthy body is a healthy mind and vice versa. A positive self image means one less thing to worry about later on in life.
So this morning's bath time episode has left me feeling a little befuddled. And violated. Emma and I were having a soak. Me on one side of the tub and she the other. We were chatting about all things aquatic like where mermaids shop and how they find shoes for their tails. We wondered where fish fingers ACTUALLY come from and where fish hide their nuggets. We discussed the merits of Dory's short term memory and whether Nemo's mom actually died or if he was merely the product of a broken home.
And then I saw Emma looking distracted. She got up and scooched closer to me. Or rather my boob. She said she wanted to touch it. I said no it's mine. She said please I just wanna touch. Again I said no, it's mine. The look on her face was nothing but curious. Like if you were to see a unicorn or seven legged dog. She poked and prodded. And tugged and pulled. She folded and shaped. In short, she origami'd my boob.
I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do or how I was supposed to react. Like I said I don't want her to think she needs to be ashamed of her body (or mine) but I also don't want her to think that making paper planes out of boobs or peni' is acceptable.
And so as I sit here, 10 hours later, with my boob still unfolding, I'm pondering the talk that needs to be had. Any suggestions will do!
Without giving away too many family secrets, let's just say I'm the only one with this issue. Where I'm the never-nude Mark and Emma are the always-nudes. They're the 'J**** H C*****' can you put some clothes on it's minus 20 outside' nudes.
Trying to find a balance between loving and loathing their bodies isn't easy. I don't want Emma (or Ben) developing my body dysmorphia but I also don't want them to feel clothes are more of a luxury than a necessity and of course I don't want them developing frost bite in their nether regions.
I want them to know how to appreciate their bodies and take care of them. After all, a healthy body is a healthy mind and vice versa. A positive self image means one less thing to worry about later on in life.
So this morning's bath time episode has left me feeling a little befuddled. And violated. Emma and I were having a soak. Me on one side of the tub and she the other. We were chatting about all things aquatic like where mermaids shop and how they find shoes for their tails. We wondered where fish fingers ACTUALLY come from and where fish hide their nuggets. We discussed the merits of Dory's short term memory and whether Nemo's mom actually died or if he was merely the product of a broken home.
And then I saw Emma looking distracted. She got up and scooched closer to me. Or rather my boob. She said she wanted to touch it. I said no it's mine. She said please I just wanna touch. Again I said no, it's mine. The look on her face was nothing but curious. Like if you were to see a unicorn or seven legged dog. She poked and prodded. And tugged and pulled. She folded and shaped. In short, she origami'd my boob.
I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do or how I was supposed to react. Like I said I don't want her to think she needs to be ashamed of her body (or mine) but I also don't want her to think that making paper planes out of boobs or peni' is acceptable.
And so as I sit here, 10 hours later, with my boob still unfolding, I'm pondering the talk that needs to be had. Any suggestions will do!
Thursday, 2 August 2012
New Freedom
Nope this isn't a sponsored post for all things blue blood, wings and 'that time of the month' but rather the next chapter of my life.
A month or so back I decided to quit the corporate world, traffic jams and cheap office coffee. I had had enough of office politics, onbeskofte (sorry, no English word describes it better) colleagues, egos and the false sense of importance strutting through the corridors. My desire to climb any corporate ladders is a thing of the past. I don't want the big office and the parking bay. Kids will do that to you. They change your perspective of what's important and what's not.
It wasn't an easy decision to make. I had gone freelance once before. It was post breakdown and probably not the best thing to do. I was tired, depressed, insecure and out of sorts. Not a great combination to be go-getting. This time round I'm feeling better about it. I'm in a good space. I have the support of my husband and new found friends inside my computer. This time round I have Emma and Ben in my corner cheering me on.
So Monday sees the start of a new adventure. I'm excited. I'm nervous. I have moments of WTF am I doing and moments of 'why didn't I do this a long time ago'. My plans include self publishing my blog into a book, spending more time doing things I enjoy and taking care of me.
So place of work, goodbye and thanks for the fish!
A month or so back I decided to quit the corporate world, traffic jams and cheap office coffee. I had had enough of office politics, onbeskofte (sorry, no English word describes it better) colleagues, egos and the false sense of importance strutting through the corridors. My desire to climb any corporate ladders is a thing of the past. I don't want the big office and the parking bay. Kids will do that to you. They change your perspective of what's important and what's not.
It wasn't an easy decision to make. I had gone freelance once before. It was post breakdown and probably not the best thing to do. I was tired, depressed, insecure and out of sorts. Not a great combination to be go-getting. This time round I'm feeling better about it. I'm in a good space. I have the support of my husband and new found friends inside my computer. This time round I have Emma and Ben in my corner cheering me on.
So Monday sees the start of a new adventure. I'm excited. I'm nervous. I have moments of WTF am I doing and moments of 'why didn't I do this a long time ago'. My plans include self publishing my blog into a book, spending more time doing things I enjoy and taking care of me.
So place of work, goodbye and thanks for the fish!
Death by UNIBROW
Once upon time, in a time-warp far far away I had a bit of a
breakdown. I remember the lead up to it clearly and I remember the
morning it all went a bit pete-tong...I had been losing weight (on purpose) and was down to 35 kg's
or thereabouts. I was losing my hair (not on purpose) and my mind. I
had started cutting and was finding each day a little harder to get
through. On this particular Friday I had called in to work sick and said
I needed a little time out, which was okayed. That almost seemed the permission I needed to drop off the edge completely.
I remember trying to get hold of my doctor and the receptionist telling me his busy. I must have called four or five times in a very short space of time. I remember grabbing the sharpest thing I could find, using it to rip into my skin. Cut after cut after cut I started feeling...what a relief. I was human after all.
Anyway to cut a long story shorter (there I go again, cutting) I ended up in a rehab clinic - booked in for depression and an addiction to over the counter pain killers and sleeping tablets. The clinic was to be home for a while. Even with this dark cloud over my head I was able to find the funny in it and I spent as much time writing a diary as I did in workshops.
I've been threatening for years to retell some of the stories from my days in rehab...and the time has now come.
For a long time I was Johnny Clegg's publicist and on one occasion he mentioned how disappointed he was to find out that what he thought was a unique, one of a kind because I am so creative angst-riddled crises was actually a universal thing that all people experienced, to some or other degree. My first day, standing in line for food at the clinic I realized I wasn't alone and that the brilliant Mr Clegg was right.
Once Mark had left and I was alone in my room, one of the nurse's came in to check my bags for any contraband. She went through everything. She turned out my toiletry bag and opened up lipsticks and lip balms. She checked perfume bottles and deodorants. She stopped at the tampons and examined the strings. Strangulation by a Lilet? Obviously not, because she let me keep them. She removed my razor, my safety pins (which were used to keep my pants up). She took my tweezers. For the love of God I thought, did she think I was going to pluck myself to death?
She left with my safety pins, myprodols and tweezers in hand. Did she have no idea what she had just done? Not only had she left me pain killerless, with pants falling round my knees...she had left me to fate worse than death. She had left me with a UNIBROW!!!!!!
I remember trying to get hold of my doctor and the receptionist telling me his busy. I must have called four or five times in a very short space of time. I remember grabbing the sharpest thing I could find, using it to rip into my skin. Cut after cut after cut I started feeling...what a relief. I was human after all.
Anyway to cut a long story shorter (there I go again, cutting) I ended up in a rehab clinic - booked in for depression and an addiction to over the counter pain killers and sleeping tablets. The clinic was to be home for a while. Even with this dark cloud over my head I was able to find the funny in it and I spent as much time writing a diary as I did in workshops.
I've been threatening for years to retell some of the stories from my days in rehab...and the time has now come.
For a long time I was Johnny Clegg's publicist and on one occasion he mentioned how disappointed he was to find out that what he thought was a unique, one of a kind because I am so creative angst-riddled crises was actually a universal thing that all people experienced, to some or other degree. My first day, standing in line for food at the clinic I realized I wasn't alone and that the brilliant Mr Clegg was right.
Once Mark had left and I was alone in my room, one of the nurse's came in to check my bags for any contraband. She went through everything. She turned out my toiletry bag and opened up lipsticks and lip balms. She checked perfume bottles and deodorants. She stopped at the tampons and examined the strings. Strangulation by a Lilet? Obviously not, because she let me keep them. She removed my razor, my safety pins (which were used to keep my pants up). She took my tweezers. For the love of God I thought, did she think I was going to pluck myself to death?
She left with my safety pins, myprodols and tweezers in hand. Did she have no idea what she had just done? Not only had she left me pain killerless, with pants falling round my knees...she had left me to fate worse than death. She had left me with a UNIBROW!!!!!!
Young and full of dumb...
As broad shouldered and thick skinned as I am, there are a few no-go areas in my life. I have a hard time with boundaries and letting people know where my personal space starts and when they need to back off. I will 'happily' (more like grin and bear it) take abuse in order to keep the peace BUT where I draw the line is when you comment on my children.
Like the common cold, a cure still hasn't been found for stupidity. There also seems to be a rapid decline in EQ and IQ, leaving me with a lot of jaw-dropping WTF and OMG moments. Like yesterday. The new girl started at work. I do not know her. We have never met before. We have never exchanged XOXO's via mails or pleasantries over Twitter. She does not know me. On any level. Yet when I opened my Facebook page to give her admin rights for the company's page, she spotted photos of Emma and Ben and remarked, "Oh your kids are 'swarties'! Are you trying to be Madonna?"
I was speechless. And angry. And has the day wore on and my resilience wore down I cried. I cried. A girl, young and full of dumb, had made me cry. For a number of reasons.
Infertility is a touchy subject and even though I am blessed with two of the most preciousamazingbeautifulwonderfulheavensentgifts I am still very aware of my inability to produce children. Did I ever tell you about Ben's mom? She's 24 and Ben is baby number four. Four children and she's too stupid to know that condoms are not party balloons and that there is such a thing as the pill. Heck, why isn't she infertile? I don't think I'll ever get over this major shortcoming in my life. It's not that I'm bitter about it. But I am sad and I think I'm allowed to be.
I also found myself wondering at people's complete lack of emotional intelligence. There she was, allowed to vomit out crap like that, yet I have to be aware of my response so I'm not labelled as a racist or a bigot or a bitter twisted old woman. I sat and listened to her telling me that in her culture adoption is frowned upon (but promiscuous, unprotected sex isn't, I thought to myself). I had to hear how her dad told her mom (who had once wanted to adopt) that he'll allow it over his dead body (that can be arranged, I mused to myself).
Being compared to Madonna, Brangelina, Charlize Theron or any other celebrity who has adopted isn't the worst thing in the world. But the connotation is. The decision to adopt, for Mark and I, wasn't an easy one. We didn't, over a chicken cordon bleu and bottle of wine, suddenly decide that we wanted to be cool and walk around Sandton with our black babies. We didn't say "How naas would it be to have two bleck kids? Imagine the BEE business opportunidies and the looks on our friends faces? They could also be laaak deterrents to crym and stuff laak that!"
Instead we looked at the pros and cons and we analysed every possible scenario, from what people would say and think, how we would be able to provide for our children, emotionally, financially, physically. We discussed the consequences for our children as they get older and how it would affect their place in the world. We seriously considered whether we would be adding to the obstacles our children might face.
I don't know Madonna, Brangelina or Sandra Bullock personally, but I'm thinking that they didn't want to start any trends with their AB's (affirmative babies). Instead, like me, they had the opportunity to provide a loving home and family to a baby who needed it. I'm hoping that they didn't do it for the sake of fashion or paparazzi moments.
As I drove home and the tears streamed down I wondered yet again whether I had done the wrong thing. Did my desperate need to become a mom override all reason? Was my decision to adopt a selfless act or an incredibly selfish one? You see, that's what I do? I don't think about the ignoramus who had made such a hurtful comment. I don't worry that there's more than one of her roaming the earth. I don't hope that she, like the dodo bird, will die out one day. No. Instead I beat myself up. I second guess myself. I stress that I have placed Emma and Ben in precarious positions where they're going to go their whole lives through having to defend themselves and their white parents.
As I always do when I'm having a crisis, I tweeted. And my support system out there jumped into action. By the time I got home I realised I wasn't the one at fault here.
To adopt isn't the dumbest thing I've done. Taking hurtful, ignorant, uneducated, stupid comments to heart is.
Like the common cold, a cure still hasn't been found for stupidity. There also seems to be a rapid decline in EQ and IQ, leaving me with a lot of jaw-dropping WTF and OMG moments. Like yesterday. The new girl started at work. I do not know her. We have never met before. We have never exchanged XOXO's via mails or pleasantries over Twitter. She does not know me. On any level. Yet when I opened my Facebook page to give her admin rights for the company's page, she spotted photos of Emma and Ben and remarked, "Oh your kids are 'swarties'! Are you trying to be Madonna?"
I was speechless. And angry. And has the day wore on and my resilience wore down I cried. I cried. A girl, young and full of dumb, had made me cry. For a number of reasons.
Infertility is a touchy subject and even though I am blessed with two of the most preciousamazingbeautifulwonderfulheavensentgifts I am still very aware of my inability to produce children. Did I ever tell you about Ben's mom? She's 24 and Ben is baby number four. Four children and she's too stupid to know that condoms are not party balloons and that there is such a thing as the pill. Heck, why isn't she infertile? I don't think I'll ever get over this major shortcoming in my life. It's not that I'm bitter about it. But I am sad and I think I'm allowed to be.
I also found myself wondering at people's complete lack of emotional intelligence. There she was, allowed to vomit out crap like that, yet I have to be aware of my response so I'm not labelled as a racist or a bigot or a bitter twisted old woman. I sat and listened to her telling me that in her culture adoption is frowned upon (but promiscuous, unprotected sex isn't, I thought to myself). I had to hear how her dad told her mom (who had once wanted to adopt) that he'll allow it over his dead body (that can be arranged, I mused to myself).
Being compared to Madonna, Brangelina, Charlize Theron or any other celebrity who has adopted isn't the worst thing in the world. But the connotation is. The decision to adopt, for Mark and I, wasn't an easy one. We didn't, over a chicken cordon bleu and bottle of wine, suddenly decide that we wanted to be cool and walk around Sandton with our black babies. We didn't say "How naas would it be to have two bleck kids? Imagine the BEE business opportunidies and the looks on our friends faces? They could also be laaak deterrents to crym and stuff laak that!"
Instead we looked at the pros and cons and we analysed every possible scenario, from what people would say and think, how we would be able to provide for our children, emotionally, financially, physically. We discussed the consequences for our children as they get older and how it would affect their place in the world. We seriously considered whether we would be adding to the obstacles our children might face.
I don't know Madonna, Brangelina or Sandra Bullock personally, but I'm thinking that they didn't want to start any trends with their AB's (affirmative babies). Instead, like me, they had the opportunity to provide a loving home and family to a baby who needed it. I'm hoping that they didn't do it for the sake of fashion or paparazzi moments.
As I drove home and the tears streamed down I wondered yet again whether I had done the wrong thing. Did my desperate need to become a mom override all reason? Was my decision to adopt a selfless act or an incredibly selfish one? You see, that's what I do? I don't think about the ignoramus who had made such a hurtful comment. I don't worry that there's more than one of her roaming the earth. I don't hope that she, like the dodo bird, will die out one day. No. Instead I beat myself up. I second guess myself. I stress that I have placed Emma and Ben in precarious positions where they're going to go their whole lives through having to defend themselves and their white parents.
As I always do when I'm having a crisis, I tweeted. And my support system out there jumped into action. By the time I got home I realised I wasn't the one at fault here.
To adopt isn't the dumbest thing I've done. Taking hurtful, ignorant, uneducated, stupid comments to heart is.
Wednesday, 1 August 2012
Happy Anniversary to Diaries of a White Mother
Better late than never but it's the thought that counts. Right? Right!
On 25 July 2011 I wrote my very first blog post. A year on Emma is three, Ben is six months and I'm a little more insane. I have laughed and cried with you and shared my deepest, darkest moments and fears. I've also over shared, from bubble gum stuck in my pubes to the time I sharted myself.
This was the post -
I've been threatening to start up a blog since time immemorial...well maybe for a year and a bit! I've decided the time has now arrived. While Emma was still a bundle of poo it wouldn't really have made sense to diarize her day to day activities as it would have read pretty much along the lines of "Emma cried", "Emma woke up", "Emma ate", "Emma poo'd" and so on...
However the tasty little morsel is developing more of a personality by the day and some of the Emmaisms we get leave us open-mouthed and often on the floor laughing
For anyone who might not know, we adopted little Emma back when she was three months old. Going on two and bit already it has been a journey of discovery for us as her parents. Her journey of discovery will happen when she realizes that a. she's not white or b. we're not black!
Who would have thought in this day and age that adopting a different colour baby would cause so many mixed emotions for family, friends and absolute strangers. We've been accused of 'ripping her away from her biological mother', of 'robbing her of her culture'. We're asked by people whether she's "healthy" or for us "tell her story". A word of advanced warning, should you see us on the street don't ask me whether she's adopted - my response WILL have 'anal sex' somewhere in it...
We were told by so many people about the horrors of adopting, about the problems that come with it; very few told us about the joys of parenting, the little smiles and hugs that will make a miserable day seem so much better. We weren't told about the wit and wisdom that comes from these little people. And to be honest, I'm glad! No-one's descriptions of their magic moments would be anywhere near ours and we have gotten to experience them first-hand.
The amazing thing with Emma is that she truly found us. She has our sense of humour, her dad's big forehead, my oddly shaped toes and like both Mark and I, she already dances to the beat of her own drum.
I look forward to sharing the highs and lows of raising Emma with you and I hope you enjoy the journey too...she's a delightful little thing that will have you in stitches with some of the things she says and does
Through it all you have been there and I thank you for that. You are my BFF's (blog friends forever). Not because I admire and respect you all or because you have me in hysterics and tears...no, we'll be BFF's because
On 25 July 2011 I wrote my very first blog post. A year on Emma is three, Ben is six months and I'm a little more insane. I have laughed and cried with you and shared my deepest, darkest moments and fears. I've also over shared, from bubble gum stuck in my pubes to the time I sharted myself.
This was the post -
I've been threatening to start up a blog since time immemorial...well maybe for a year and a bit! I've decided the time has now arrived. While Emma was still a bundle of poo it wouldn't really have made sense to diarize her day to day activities as it would have read pretty much along the lines of "Emma cried", "Emma woke up", "Emma ate", "Emma poo'd" and so on...
However the tasty little morsel is developing more of a personality by the day and some of the Emmaisms we get leave us open-mouthed and often on the floor laughing
For anyone who might not know, we adopted little Emma back when she was three months old. Going on two and bit already it has been a journey of discovery for us as her parents. Her journey of discovery will happen when she realizes that a. she's not white or b. we're not black!
Who would have thought in this day and age that adopting a different colour baby would cause so many mixed emotions for family, friends and absolute strangers. We've been accused of 'ripping her away from her biological mother', of 'robbing her of her culture'. We're asked by people whether she's "healthy" or for us "tell her story". A word of advanced warning, should you see us on the street don't ask me whether she's adopted - my response WILL have 'anal sex' somewhere in it...
We were told by so many people about the horrors of adopting, about the problems that come with it; very few told us about the joys of parenting, the little smiles and hugs that will make a miserable day seem so much better. We weren't told about the wit and wisdom that comes from these little people. And to be honest, I'm glad! No-one's descriptions of their magic moments would be anywhere near ours and we have gotten to experience them first-hand.
The amazing thing with Emma is that she truly found us. She has our sense of humour, her dad's big forehead, my oddly shaped toes and like both Mark and I, she already dances to the beat of her own drum.
I look forward to sharing the highs and lows of raising Emma with you and I hope you enjoy the journey too...she's a delightful little thing that will have you in stitches with some of the things she says and does
Through it all you have been there and I thank you for that. You are my BFF's (blog friends forever). Not because I admire and respect you all or because you have me in hysterics and tears...no, we'll be BFF's because
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