I Can't Remember When Last I Pee'd

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, being a mom is hard. Being a career woman is hard. Putting the two together and being a working mom is probably the hardest thing I have ever done.

For anyone who has ever really wondered why I, and thousands of woman may ‘change’ when we become mothers, I’ll give you a little glimpse of what really goes into the day in the life of a working mom.

Its 4 pm. I’ve been up since 4 am, and several times throughout the night tending to you, my baby, who needed a dummy, a blanket or simply a reassuring cuddle.

My husband was flying to Cape Town today, so I managed to squeeze in a 30 minute jog before he left home. It felt awesome. At 6 am I fed you, changed you, then changed you again because you decided your morning poo would be better in a brand new nappy. In between showering and dressing for work I checked emails, sang to you with my hair dryer, fed the dogs, made my lunch, packed your bags, packed my bags, and managed to leave the house to drop you off at crèche. All without you falling off the bed (again). I managed to avoid most of the traffic fuckery and got to my desk just after 8:30. There were a few raised eyebrows of course.

I worked hard today. I even landed a new client, and managed to get everything done on my list, and then some. I drove very far for a meeting, secured some budget for a new client campaign, and man, I enjoyed every second of my hot cup of coffee. I bantered with colleagues, ate my salad whilst typing a report, and declined the after work drinks invitation in my diary.

I work harder than ever before, baby. I guess its what happens when you feel like you have something to prove. When you feel that people assume you cant have working ovaries and a brain.

At 4 pm I bolted from my desk. There were a few raised eyebrows. I managed to get to your crèche by 5 pm, the time was filled with a call to a client. Yesterday I wasn’t so lucky. Yesterday I got stuck in a terrible hailstorm for 2 hours and reached your school last. You were so forgiving and gave me that toothy grin that melts my heart.

We normally race home from crèche, because you go to bed not long after. Today I had to pop into Woolworths for dog food and wine. The store didn’t have those baby seats on the trolleys, so I carried you instead. I couldn’t manage the dog food and the wine while carrying you, so I sadly put the Merlot back on the shelf. I really needed wine today.

The store is decorated in Christmas colours. I get a lump in my throat. I’m so worried about money. How am I going to afford Christmas presents this year? The closes I’m getting to a bonus is 2 for 1 tampon specials at Clicks.

At the till I remembered we also needed baby food for you, because after cooking 3 kilograms of organic mince on the weekend, you decided you hated mince. I got a few raised eyebrows from other women in the store.

We got home not too long after and the dogs went mad with joy. I lay you on the floor with them – surrounded by pillows of course, because you still topple over sometimes, for just 2 minutes so I could wee, but somewhere between yesterday and today you’ve realised when I leave the room, and the sound of your frantic screams stopped me midway to the toilet.

You’re in your high chair now and I’m about to feed you the overpriced baby food from Woolies. You’re very distracted and I realise I have to change your nappy. 5 minutes later you’re back in your chair and I’m a plethora of aeroplane sounds as I try and convince you that pureed chicken and broccoli is more exciting than eating the plastic of your chair.

We skip the chicken and start on the yoghurt and fruit. Then the finger biscuits, grated cheese and dried mango. All along I’m teaching you and chatting to you about your day. For every mouthful you swallow, another 4 mouthfuls end up on you, the hounds and in my hair.

There’s another storm brewing outside, so I start running your bath while cooing at you in the next room. The sound of running water reminds me just how badly I need to pee, except you start crying again. You really do hate it when I leave now. You love the bath and we splash for several minutes until the first lightning bolt strikes. I whisk you out and take you to your room where you fight me and the onesie to the bitter end.

It’s too early for your bottle, plus I haven’t made it yet, so I bring you to the kitchen where I try start on dinner for myself while trying to give you my undivided attention. Your father phones to tell me about his holiday work conference in Cape Town. He’s been on a wine farm all day. I want to stab him in the face.

We read a book. I choose ‘The Gruffalo’, because even though you’re too young to enjoy it properly, I love playing the characters and putting on the voices. You don’t enjoy the story too much, but the pages are apparently delicious.

I let the dogs outside and play with them and the Frisbee for a while. I almost threw you accidentally, you thought it was hilarious.

The smell of burning brings me back inside. I’ve scorched my supper, for the second night in a row.

It’s now nearly time for your bed, and I take you into your room to give you a bottle, which you refuse. Ten minutes later though I’m hanging over your cot feeding it to you again, because apparently that’s how you like it now.

Eventually, you’re asleep. Its 7 pm and I start cleaning the house, wiping yoghurt off the floors, walls and ceiling and steaming fruit for tomorrow’s meal. Dinner ends up being a box of popcorn and a beer. Your dad messages me to tell me about the curried pasta he’s eating at some fancy restaurant.

It’s 9 pm now and I’m signing off on a few emails. The house is quiet, and clean. I lock up the house, brush my teeth, and eventually I sit down to pee. You cry out, I think you’re experiencing nightmares.

That pee can wait.

 

Continue Reading

Babies, Bank Balances and Brain Failure.

There are so many things I love about having a baby. I’m not going to get into that now, but consider this my disclaimer:

I hereby declare my undying love and adoration for my son, and no children were hypothetically harmed in the making of this blog post.

Right, now that that’s off my chest, there are times when having a child makes life damn near impossible.

Yesterday, while driving to friends for champagne brunch, we realised that we had left Carter’s nappy bag at home. We were too far gone (read: lazy) to turnaround and go back to retrieve it, so I had to go into Pick n Pay and buy a whole tin of formula and a new bottle. Thank god the friend we were visiting has a baby of her own, so she didn’t actually die of gagging when Carter shat in his nappy, with such velocity, that the turd spilled out of his bum, into his clothes, then travelled out of said clothes, smeared onto their kid’s Bumbo seat and all the way up his body. Of course we had no cloths or towels on us, so I cleaned him up using spit, a wet wipe and a fleece blanket. Have you ever seen shit on a fleece blanket?

So yes, parental error and in no way my 5 month old child’s fault, but having a baby means remembering 40 hundred things all of the time. And when – 5 months prior – you could be as selfish as Eskom’s electricity supply, suddenly remembering all of these things comes as a massive lifestyle change.

This got me thinking – and silently applauding – every other parent out there, for there are things that become just plain impossible when you have a child.

Dating. Single parents OHMYGODHOWDOYOUDOIT? A friend was telling me about a lady she works with, single mom to an 8 year old, who has recently started dating again. Can you even imagine if I was single and had to go out and meet people? First of all, I would have to go out. As in willingly leave the house when the TV was mere meters away. What, do I leave my child alone with a bowl of water and bag of snacks? What would I wear? I still rely heavily on maternity leggings and nursing bras. Would I have to shave my legs? Now, imagine the conversations on this imaginary date:

Him: “So, read any good books lately?”

Me: “No. But I sometimes Google “Is this much wine bad for me” and “How to effectively drug your baby to sleep”

Him: “Er, Ok… what are your hobbies?”

Me: “I adore napping, but am generally too busy washing and sterilising items around the house. Sometimes I take long walks… with a screaming infant and 2 lazy bordering-on-obese-hounds”.

Then, there’s exercise. I posted a casual ‘Hey, I’m interested in yoga class’ on my Facebook page the other day, and berated myself almost immediately for doing so. What was I thinking? When on earth do I think I have time to Namaste when I should home pureeing butternut and bathing my baby. At this stage of my life I’m more ‘mama’ than ‘meditation’.

Then there’s money. Or lack thereof.  My savings account has had a life size nose Frida inserted into it, and been sucked dry. I’ve spent my money on fun things like crèche, working mom guilt gifts and high chairs. Don’t even get me started on the pool fence quote I got last week. *Signs up to sell an organ*.

Sleep. This is possibly the one I miss the most. Yes, laugh away, I realise that for the first 4 months of my babies life when I gushed about “how easy it was” and “how much he slept” that you sat there thinking “just wait”. Gloat away people, for I now have egg (and dried snot, tears and drool) on my face. For my baby who shall be named, no.longer.sleeps. I have narrowed the list down to a small 65 reasons as to why this could be happening.

This then means that at work I become the biggest fucking bumbling idiot. People walk in a wide berth around “Crazy Kate” in the corner. Some days I have such brain failure that I’m surprised I don’t wee in my skirt because I’ve forgotten to go to the loo. Just last week I tried to use my computer mouse for close to 10 minutes before realising that it was my makeup compact.

Lastly, and I think this is a universal biggie – is that having a baby means you love something more than anything, yet hate yourself. I avert my eyes when I see myself in the mirror, I moan about the bags under my eyes, I joke about my stretch marked limp boobs and I starve myself to the point of tears to try and lose a little bit of the flab. I would never talk to a friend the way I talk to myself, so why is it OK to talk to myself that way? I should high-five myself while yelling “Well done lady, you made a human!”

However, for every reaction there is an equal and opposite reaction (FYI – that really should be Newton’s first law, it totally trumps the others). Just as the tide comes in during the day, you can bet your broke fat ass that it will also go back out.

Carter will start sleeping again, I will lose the weight, single parents will meet someone so wonderful that they will want to introduce their kid to them and slowly but surely your bank balance will fill up.

But those bags under the eyes? Those will never go. Because, fuck you genetics.

Continue Reading

How to grocery shop with a baby (and other handy hints)

Yesterday I started a baby massage class. I was disappointed to find out that it would be me massaging my baby, and not the other way round. Surely I deserve a little bit of deep tissue love? It should be payback for never having any time for myself.

Carter’s going through a growth spurt (well, that’s what the books say, as apparently ‘possessed by demons’ isn’t appropriate). This means that my days of having 3 hours in between feeds while he napped and I leisurely applied makeup, showered or pumped boobs are over – atleast for the next few days. Just yesterday I ate an omelette with my hands, like a sandwich.

I have the deepest amount of respect and sympathy for moms who have had niggly babies from day 1. It’s tough – you love them more than wine, but it’s near impossible to do anything if they don’t let you put them down for even a second. Short of drugging them, the only thing to do is wait for hubby to get home from work or wait for the growth spurt to be over.

With this in mind, I wanted to share a few handy shortcuts to motherhood that I heave learnt in the last 5 weeks.

Venturing out. When leaving the house for any reason at all, make sure you are always in gym clothes and are slightly disheveled. (Moms, I hear you laughing ‘cos how ELSE does one go out with a new born, right?). The reason for this, and no, it’s not to actually Go to gym, silly, is so should you bump into anyone you know, or even don’t know, they will automatically assume you’ve come from a 90 minute spin class, and will immediately think you Wonder Woman for exercising while looking after a baby. Extra points for smudged or no makeup and vomit on your top (people will just assume it’s  protein shake).

Cooking. When making anything, anything at all, make sure you make enough to feed a soup kitchen. Then freeze the leftovers and re-heat for breakfast, lunch and dinner the following week. Your husband will grow to love tofu noodles, promise.

Exercise. IF you ever get the inkling to actually do anything of the aerobic nature, then having a goal is key. And by goal I mean a fancy cappuccino or blueberry muffin. I like to take brisk walks to the local Seattle down the road and reward myself with a grande latte and a cheese sandwich. You may not ever lose weight, but it’s a lot more rewarding than going to the gym.

Wine. Is very important. I am not ashamed to admit that I now buy wine in boxes as its a lot easier to pour when you only have 1 hand. Just be careful you don’t drop the glass. I mean the baby, don’t drop the baby.

Makeup and personal hygiene. Invest in a deodorant that promises 48 hour protection, and you’ve saved yourself a day. Sleep with waterproof makeup on, and wear the sports bra to bed that you plan on wearing the next day. That pretty much leaves brushing your teeth and tying your hair in a mom bun, and you’re good to go.

Grocery shopping. I made the fatal error of going to the mall when my baby was asleep in his pram. Taking full advantage of this I thought it was a magnificent time to buy all new wine glasses, drinking glasses, soup bowls and blankets for the house. This left me walking back to my car pushing a pram, a trolley of breakables, a nappy bag a handbag and a 6 pack of milk. School girl error. If you need to do a grocery shop then leave the baby in the very capable hands of another adult and go alone. Although I can’t promise that you won’t dash out for sesame seeds and nipple cream and come back with a thousand rands worth of Woolies goodies and a new lounge suite.

Oh, and before you think “but the bitch has time to blog” please note that baby is with granny and I’m writing from the comfort of the hairdressers chair, while holding a dog named Leo. As you do.

Continue Reading

Baby Carter

Its amazing how much our baby boy has already changed from 11 days old to now (just under 4 weeks). Thank to the awesomely talented Devin Lester we can look back and cherish these memories forever. Now, if my baby will just stay tiny forever, that would be great 🙂

Continue Reading

Carter James Rankin

5 May 2015 marked quite a huge occasion in our lives – we welcomed our living breathing human child, complete with 10 fingers and 10 toes and all working parts, into this world. None of the above should have comes as a surprise, right? After all I have been regurgitating baby stuff on this blog for the better part of 9 months. So even after all the planning, the waiting, the reading, prepping, research and excitement, nothing could have prepared me for meeting him.

Before the memory becomes just a blur in the midst of swollen boobs, cabbage leaves, sleepless nights and projectile vomit (ALL of which have happened) I wanted to share, albeit briefly, the story of how my son came in to this world. 

Sleep ends before the baby comes. 

Ok, so I have never spent the night in hospital as an adult, and literally had no idea what to expect – but the noise and general busyness of it all blew me away. I checked in on the night the before I had him and felt like a complete noob from start to finish. I walked into reception with my hotel worthy suitcase and walked up to the counter as if I were visiting the local 4 Seasons. “Hello, I’m here to check in please” I say, pleased as punch. “Name?” The sole person managing the front desk in the very quiet and dead waiting room grunted at me (this was no Greys Anatomy, with hot surgeons running around attending to plane crash victims while screaming for scalpels and hot sex in the on call room).

Once led to my bed the first thing I noticed was just how brightly lit the maternity ward was. The nurse on night duty led me to my room and then left without another word. It was 10 pm so I assumed she was being kind and leaving me to rest until the morning. Ha! 

Hubby left and I unpacked my belongings and ‘went to sleep’ (And by sleep I mean lie in the worlds most uncomfortable bed and literally count down the hours and seconds until surgery, which was scheduled for 7 am the next day). 

Fun fact about hospitals – the nurse quotient grows from 1 to 100 at about midnight and that’s when the action starts. 

At midnight I was woken by someone to fill out constant forms for the operation and sign a thousand documents. Great. At 12:30 another lady came in to strap me up for the baby’s heart rate and monitor contractions. “I’m having contractions?” I squealed, “no” she said, looking at me as if I were on crack. (She then continued to monitor these invisible contractions for a further 30 minutes).

At 1 am the blood pressure lady wheeled her kit in and strapped me up. She became such a regular throughout my stay, that we’re totally besties now. 

I think I dozed off at around 3 am after I managed to dull the rooms gentle night light (if gentle is a thousand watt bulb shining into your face) by hooking my dressing gown over the cupboard to block its megawatt park glare. I don’t know why I bothered with dozing, as apparently 4 am is a terrific time for someone to come in and empty your room dustbin. Luckily for me the silence in between was short lived as the tea lady came at 4:15 to offer coffee. Unlucky for me as I was on a no liquid ban until after the op.

Having figured that was as much sleep as I was going to get I decided to hit the shower. Just as I’d stepped inside, the nurse barged through the shower curtains asking if I’d shaved, down there. I had (although I don’t think she actually cared about my wax from Sorbet story one bit).

Changed, makeup’d and ready, 1 hour early with no cooking clue as to what was going on, I sat in my room with hubby who had now joined me and was busy slurping Fanta grape and eating sweeties. Shame, he does not do well in hospitals. 

Ironically, on the day I got to meet my child, the anaethetist got stuck in traffic taking his to school, so the procedure was delayed by an hour, which gave me more than enough time to try and convince Barry that I wanted out of there, that it wasn’t too late to run away and actually not have this baby, that we didn’t have to do this anymore. I was terrified. 

Eventually I was wheeled into theatre.

Dignity, be gone. 

I’ve had a few ops in my life, but have always been mercifully, under a anasthetic so was always blissfully unaware of the embarrassing actions being performed on my body. C sections, as anyone who’s had one knows, is a wide awake process, one which you are only grateful for afterwards. 

Naked, splayed spatchcock style and under the flourescsnt lights it was only a matter of moments to go time… Until the bloody spinal block decided to only work 50% which meant the options were to go under general or have another one. Another one it was and finally, after what felt like hours I was number than cold chicken carcass, and ready for cutting. 

I’ll fast forward through the pulling and tugging and burning and tell you about the exact moment I saw his head pulled from my tummy – there wasn’t a big curtain like in the movies – so if I lifted my head I could watch the entire thing. Seeing my boys fat swollen white troll like face was the happiest moment in my life. He was angry, and screaming and bunched up Iike a dishcloth and I wept for how beautiful and perfect he already was to me. 

He obviously passed the Apgar score with flying colors, and despite the fear that I wouldn’t see him while they weighed and measured, he was placed in my arms for several hours until later that afternoon. 

Carter James Rankin. You took my breath away at 8:15 am that morning, and you will continue to do so for the rest of your life.

I hope you love being here, as much as we love having you. 

   
 

Continue Reading

2015, You've Got This. (15 Totally Achievable New Years Resolutions)

For creatures of habit, human beings are funny little things. Why, every year, do we insist on making drastic changes to our lives in the form of new years resolutions? I’m talking huge, life changing decisions that we make at 11:55pm on 31 December, as we drunkenly reflect on the year that was and how we absolutely must do things differently in the year that’s about to be.

We make crazy promises to ourselves, promises that are unrealistic and promises that deep down we know we can never ever stick to. I mean, when last did you ‘get rich quick’ or ‘lose those 5 kilograms’?

New Years Resolution

I gave up on the new years resolutions a few years ago, when I began dreading seeing them through. This year, I’ve decided to take a on a much easier and effective approach.

I Instagrammed this motivational the other day, and it was met with such a positive response, that I figured – why not elaborate on it slightly, and make a list of 15 actionable, manageable and (most importantly) do-able things for 2015 (because, let’s be honest, with a baby on the way a lot of things may just have to be pushed to 2016…)

1. Find 3 hobbies you love.One to make you money, one to keep you in shape and one to keep you creative.

(FYI, I picked voice overs, trail running and Pinterest/gardening,photography and home decor)

2. Sign up to become an organ donor. I’ll make it easy for you – click here.

(If you need some motivation, watch this)

3. Read 1 thing of substance once a month. It could be anything from a novel, to a white paper to a web article. (Start with this, it’s amazing)

4. Give back. Make a sandwich for the beggar you see every morning, collect dog food at your next dinner party and donate it to a needy pet rescue place or pop your spare change in the charity tin at the till. No gesture is too small.

5. Plant something you can use. For me, its herbs and vegetables. There’s something wonderful about eating what you’ve grown.

6. Learn 1 new skill. I am desperate to do a woodworking course – so I can make all the things I find online (instead of begging my husband to do it for me). With this bulging belly, that may be a project for 2016 – so for 2015 I am going to do a self taught photography course and find a course to teach me design and Photoshop.Your new skill needn’t me a huge investment – it could be as simple as learning to knit, or changing a plug.(Hint, Google)

7. Change one thing about your appearance. Cut your hair, invest in a red lipstick, buy a push-up bra. A small change can do wonders for your self esteem and is the cheapest way to get a makeover without the effort.

8. Eat 1 meal at the dinner table. Bringing a child in to this world makes me yearn for the days when we as a family would eat every meal around the table (also, it was in the stone ages, so technology wasn’t yet a distraction).

9. Don’t waste your money on shit things. I am a huge culprit here – I buy a lot of R200 things here and there instead of saving up for one big feature item. A bit like putting lipstick on a pig.

10. Make time for you. Work is work, and apart from those days we all have when a crisis pops up, leave it at the office, go home and make sure you have a balance. Not one Facebook post celebrating 2015 started with ‘I worked more than 8.5 hours a day). No-one cares. (That being said, work hard, make an effort and give a damn)

11. Fix those things that have been bothering you. I have created a Google doc as long as my arm with everything that needs to be done around the house. From things as small as changing a lightbulb, to complete house renovations. It’s amazing how much easier it is to tick stuff off, when you have a list.

12. Remember the good things. A rad chick I know kept a jar in 2014, and ever single time something good happened, she wrote it down on a slip of paper, and popped it in the jar. At the end of 2014 she had hundreds of awesome memories that reminded her just how amazing the past 365 days had been.

13. Find something to look forward to. Remember September? September is the ‘quarter to 5 on a Friday’ month. It’s revolting, and everyone gets in to a slump and starts panicking about the new year and what they have and haven’t achieved, and then makes DUMB NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS. (Do you see where I’m going with this?) This year, plan something fun for that time – a weekend away, a party, time off, whatever. Make sure you dont get to quarter to 5 on your Friday with no plans. You will be suicidal.

14. Save. My scariest one of them all. Put away as much as you can every month (even if it’s a little).

15. Clear your crap. We live in one of those old houses where cupboard space is tiny and scarce (seriously, did families in the ’80s not have things?!). A rule I (try) live by is that for every new thing I buy (be it clothes or makeup) I have to throw out (or donate) the same amount of existing pieces. Its the only way to prevent hoarding, and also prevents years of rubbish and useless things piling up.

So, that’s it. My list of 15 easy peasy resolutions for 2015.

What are yours?

Find three hobbies you love

Continue Reading

Help Hills Click2Feed Hungry Pets Over SA

This past weekend we took the dogs swimming, for a long walk to watch the 94.7 cyclists ride through our suburb, gave them a bath and then sent an inappropriate time cuddling them on the couch (not to forget then tucking them in to their bed for ‘sleepies’).

This is the norm in our household. Sadly, it’s not the norm in all households, and its definitely not the norm in pet and animal shelters around our country.

If you, like me, feel desperately heartsore at the thought of all the dogs who go un-loved, un-fed and un-homed on a daily basis – and like me don’t know where to begin in helping them – then why not team up with Hills and Click2Feed hungry pets around South Africa.

The festive season is one of the busiest times of year at animal shelters around the country. The Hill’s #Click2Feed campaign aims to give shelter pets a yummy Hill’s Christmas dinner. To donate a nutritious meal simply like Hill’s Pet Nutrition South Africa on Facebook (www.hillspet.co.za/Facebook) or Twitter (www.twitter.com/HillsPetSA) and share or retweet using the #Click2Feed hashtag.

You can nominate your favourite animal welfare charity as a recipient. The total meals accumulated will be shared between the five organisations with the most nominations.

The campaign is running until 27 November so what better time to become part of a pet loving community? Get clicking and help fill hungry tummies*.

Tweets

(126 characters)

#Click2Feed– follow @HillsPetSA, retweet this or like their Facebook page & help feed needy shelter pets http://bit.ly/1onITaO

(113 characters)

#Click2Feed a shelter pet a @HillspetSA Christmas dinner. Click http://bit.ly/1onITaO & help fill hungry tummies!

Hills Click 2 Feed
Hills Click 2 Feed

For more information visit www.HillsPet.co.za/Facebook or Twitter www.twitter.com/HillspetSA or www.click2feed.co.za.

Continue Reading

On Finding Time.

Training for another Half Iron Man distance race (Tri Rock) has reminded me about the importance of time. We are each given 24 hours in a day. No amount of money in the world can buy you more than your allotted time – it is the great grounder. In those hours we (most of us anyway) have to work for at least 8 or 9 hours, fetch kids, fight traffic, feed dogs, children and husbands, buy groceries for said cooking, run errands, get enough sleep, do your hobby and make sure our lives are up to date with admin and to-do lists. This does not leave a lot of time to do anything else. Basically, being an adult sucks. 

I don’t know abut you, but I’m buggered by the time I get in to bed every night. Sadly for me, I require 8 hours of sleep a night as well, which means getting into bed at 9 pm – generally not more than an hour after getting home from gym or training.

I’m not the only one with a hectic schedule – there are people who do what I do, plus they have kids thrown into the mix. I feed a fussy husband – I cannot even imagine feeding a fussy child. 

The saying “you don’t have time, you find time” is so true. My pet peeve is people telling me they don’t have time to do anything. Bullshit. You can and will find the time to do something you love. With that in mind, here are some life hack time savers which have proved to be very valuable, for both my sanity and my sleep cycle.

1. PVR shit. If you don’t, you’re pretty much paying a small fortune for 1 TV show. 

2. Order groceries online. Have them delivered to your door. It is the best R50 you will EVER spend. Plus, No more less trawling Pick n Pay at 8 pm on a Monday night.

3. Find a gym close to your office. Training twice a day is a pain the ass, but if you can find a gym close to work you save on traffic stress, and get your workout in as well. (Side note, book your classes on line so you aren’t left scrambling for the last seat on a spinning bike)

4. Online banking- no brainer.

5. Dedicate 1 night to takeaways or ready-made meals. It’s OK, really, I promise Martha Stewart wont find you and beat you down with her wooden spoon. On a Monday Barry and I take part in a swim squad which means we only get home after 8 pm – that’s 14 hours away from the house, which leaves me with very little enthusiasm to muster up a meal. Hellooo convenient local restaurant. 

5. Say ‘no’ once in a while. Yes, training for a race is a selfish act, one that generates very little sympathy or interest from people. I’ve sadly realised that o-one really cares how my races went or training is going (apart from the people you train with – it hurts, I’m learning to get over it). The thing is, you are pretty much exhausted all the time. Learning to say ‘no’ to just 1 social event on a weekend can actually save your soul. This past weekend I was home for less than 1 hour at any given time until Sunday night. Result – I had 5 people ask if I was sick/tired/pregnant/dying on Monday morning. 

6. “Holi-races” – Barry and I love to go away. We also love to enter races. So, we combine the 2 and find fun events to take part in away from home. A win-win. 

Any time saving tips you can share with me? Let me know. (Unless it involves removing vowels and speaking lyk dis. Then you’re on your own)

PS – Yes, I find time to blog. I’m also eating my lunch at my desk as I do it. 

Image

Continue Reading

A Blog A day Challenge – What's In My Purse – Day 9

A sachet of soya sauce, a waist belt, my swimming timetable, a dozen lip balms and a bottle of cinnamon were some of the more strange items I found lurking in my handbag today. Other items included my cellphone (used to take the picture, so missing from this glamour shot), my iPad, hair clips and ties, wallet, keys, a spare cellphone battery and my car and house keys. 

My name is Kate, and I am a handbag hoarder. 

Image

Continue Reading