Life

Life Lately

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Guys, how are we in August already? I honestly feel like this year has been one of those ‘blink and you miss it’ ones, but it’s also been insanely busy and filled with a ton of stuff, and busy stuff. Ever since having the second kid I feel like my life has quadrupled with busyness – perhaps it’s because Piper is the most hectic of all the humans, ever, but she has completely turned my life around in terms of managing my time – or even finding time – to get anything done

I know my last update was all about the new business and where that’s at – so I wont bore y’all with more news on that.

Health

I write this 10 days after having a tonsillectomy – an op which everyone warned me would be incredibly sore as an adult. I went into it thinking I would rock it like I do most things that are considered ‘painful’ – but it seems that my pain threshold was finally met with this one. Not that I’ve been in bed wallowing in self pity – I wish! But the ongoing pain from the op has left me beyond irritated and sore. I am also incredibly exhausted – which I think has a lot to do from both the strong pain med and the fact that I haven’t actually allowed myself the time to rest. I blocked out a week in the diary after the procedure but I’ve still been going to meetings and editing and doing all of the admin that I have been meaning to do this year. I was looking forward to a bit of a ‘break’ while I recovered – but my bank balance and new dog, Pixel – prevented any of this.

Why my new dog, you ask? I think this video explains it best:

On the health and wellness front, I took up keto in solidarity with my husband, a few months back. He is severely carb intolerant and so, to support him, I went full fat ahead so he wouldn’t have to do it alone. Sadly, he has the willpower of a Garfield in a lasagne factory, so that eating plan came crashing down like a ton of freshly baked cheese rolls. And so once again, on the weight front, I stand in front of the mirror wanting to cry. Nothing has shifted since having my daughter and I am fed up. I decided this morning that I need to lose 6 kilos by October. Any grand ideas for me?

Yo-Yo dieting aside, I have signed up to an awesome outdoor bootcamp company called ‘Fab Fit Slay. The classes are 30 minutes each, 4 days a week with the option of doing 2 or even 3 in a row. I love that they are close to home and quick – plus you can bring your kids (although I really try not to) so there’s really no excuse. If you’re in the Douglasdale area you should really come check it out – it’s tons of fun.

Luck

They say bad things happen in threes, so I can’t help but think that someone out there needs to learn better maths, because the last month has been horrific! My poor pooch, Rupert, the name behind this blog, was hit by a car. I have no idea how he survived, but I thank my lucky stars that he did. It was such a big scare and I cry even thinking about it. My husband was mugged last week and had his phone stolen. Our house was burgled the weekend before and both my kids have been in and out of doctors with random Wintery revoltingness. Apart from that (and our 100 other insurance claims, my tonsillectomy and a spider in my bed) I’m hoping that from here our luck starts to improve a bit 😉

Things I love

I was  recently gifted a floor cleaner from a company called Karcher, called an FC5. Granted, it may be my age. It may be the fact that I have 2 kids and 3 dogs and an all vinyl floor. It may be that my photo studio is all white or it may be that we are renovating, again. Whatever it is, this thing has changed my bloody life. it’s also changed Kelly, my nanny’s life. She wipes this things down after every use and thanks me for it, almost daily.

In a nutshell, it’s a wet dry vacuum cleaner that uses a teeny tiny tank of water, some floor cleaning solution and magical unicorn powers to suck up dirt and mess and leave your floors shining like new. I’m so excited by this thing that I even did a sexy time dance with it in my studio. Photos as evidence.

 

I’m using it so much that i’ve already had to replace the rolls and I now have rolls for outside screeding, inside vinyl and studio floors. Not that I’m specific, or anything.

Another exciting gift, which literally arrived this morning, is going to benefit me as well as my shoot clients. We have had a really bad run with insurance claims lately – and one of the items which was dropped and broken at home was my much loved Nespresso machine – so this delivery from L’Or has come at just the right time. It’s a L’Or pod coffee machine and a delicious supply of L’Or coffee capsules.

I promised the nice folk at L’Or that I would be sharing it with my client but now… I’m not so sure 😉

PS – L’Or coffee capsules are all recyclable and the coffee is all sustainable – so you can get your caffeine kick, guilt free

 

I am a huge Lisa Raleigh fan – mostly because anyone who looks that good after having a baby is clearly to be worshipped, but also because I really believe in her products. I bought her rebounder trampoline last year, which I loved and was recently sent a box of goodies containing her ‘Super Scoop’ products. These are dissolvable powders containing  superfood ingredients that can be added to water, smoothies, yoghurts and more. They are apparently incredible for kids (this is for you, moms with fussy eaters!) and I also add them to my morning smoothies.

Amazing sponsored goodies aside, I have also started an honest review story on my Instagram feed, and I am just having the most fun. From reviewing tattoo eyebrow gels to K beauty and everything in between – it’s really not good for my wallet – but it is good for a laugh. Head on over to my IG to find out more

Ambassador News

I was recently announced as an ambassador for a brand that I simply adore – Lens Love Accessories. they are a Cape Town based company who make the most gorgeous camera straps, bags and accessories, and I still can’t believe they have picked little old me to represent some of their goodies. If you own a camera, you need one of these straps – check out their page here. I’ll also be sharing photos of the goodies as soon as they arrive.

Inspiration

I have found an incredible photographer, by the name of Sujata, who’s work has just blown me away. i’m making it my 2019 mission to learn her editing skills and share some pics similar to this. I started yesterday by taking some photos of my 95 year old Oma and 1 year old daughter together – so I will be sharing those on the KRP ‘gram, soon!

Look at her work – isn’t it insane?

 

The Kids

And what’s a Rupert blog without a mention of my two favourite things – Carter and Piper. Apart from keeping me very busy, my house very messy and my wallet very empty, these two are still ‘pinch me’ amazing.

 

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Pregnancy and Parenting

Hey Parents, Let’s Not Raise Asshole Children.

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Yesterday, my normally ‘good’ child gave me a glimpse of what we could expect in his teenage years. He was surly and rude and quite frankly, no bum klap or timeout was working. I eventually resorted to banning his TV time for 3 nights (yes, shit escalated).

Now, any parent worth their salt understands that a ban on TV time is actually harder for the adults. Our Netflix gets switched on so fast an hour before bed that sometimes magicians blink twice. I use the time to cook dinner, catchup on emails or just hit my head repeatedly against a door if I’ve had a particularly trying day.

Yes, folks. I both smack my kids and let them watch television. Sometimes I even give them S U G A R

Anyways. After a half an hour of slamming doors (him, not me), a few glasses of wine (me, not him) he came out to apologise. We chatted and hugged and made up and that was that. Until 5 minutes later he asked if he was therefore allowed to watch TV before bed. To which I had to tell him, ‘no’.

The poor kid was devastated – he could not understand why, when we were big buddies again and all was forgotten, that he was still punished. And this is when I had to stand resolute in my shaky parenting skills and explain to him that in order for him to understand what he did, and to respect me, I had to follow through with his punishment. He actually took it like a champ and that night, instead of Noddy or what every drivel the animators are churning out these days, he sat and chatted to a friend who was over for dinner, drew pictures and read books.

Now, before you go thinking this is all about me giving parenting lessons (I mean, why would you, I drink on the job and use TV time to browse Instagram) I did have a long hard think about this, and other ‘Raising children conundrums’ that have been bugging me.

I’m pretty certain we all know where I stand on the whole ‘girls are princesses, boys are princes’ thing, so I’ll move on. But the whole cutesy naming of our gendered children has also led to another growing concern – WE, yes, us as parents – are letting hem get away with absolute murder.

Remember my whole ‘don’t make vegetables‘ the enemy’ speech? This is kind of like that, except replace the word vegetables with ‘discipline’.

Now, public disclaimer, this is not applicable to everyone, but some millennials in the work place walk around as if the CEO position is owed to them next month, they watch the clock like hawks, insist on the full 60 minute lunch break and their work ethic is pretty much down there with anyone in home affairs.

Guys, I do not want my children growing up like that. I want to instil some sort of ethic into my kids that turns them into smart, go-getting young adults. This in turn will hopefully ensure that when they enter the big bad world of adulting and work, they do not get turned out like dirty soapy bath water wondering where their participation medal is. Because it is going to happen. One day our kids will be doing things for themselves (collective gasp) and we need to give them the right footing to let them get there.

I am so tired of watching parents place the blame on teachers and peers instead of actually putting in the hard work themselves. Parents, your little girls are capable human beings. They are not delicate flowers who will break if scolded or given chores. Please don’t let them be purposefully soft (all the time). It is a hard hard world and we need to encourage them to stand up, use their voices, make rules and change the game. Let them ask questions and eat sand and build train sets. Encourage them to get messy, run wild, explore the world and be bold. Let them wear camo, high five their successes and dance around in tiaras. And then your sons, they should be allowed to cry, they are allowed to hurt and be sad and have feelings. Let them paint their nails neon pink or buy barbie dolls. Let them also climb trees and run barefoot and hit a golf ball high into the sky.  Let your girls do all this as well. Let them break the invisible boundaries of ‘he vs. she’

I have no idea what I’m doing as a parent. None. My kids vaccines are always late, my four year old has only just started seeing a dentist and sometimes dinner is scrambled egg on stale toast. But what I am trying to be better at, is treating my children the same. What’s good for the Goose must absolutely be good for the gander.

Manners. Eye Contact. A firm handshake. A clear voice. Respect. Kindness. Empathy. Interest in others. Social skills. A broad smile. These are not pink or blue traits. They are human traits.

Please, I implore you. Before all the good teachers have given up, before society has turned everything into a participation award and before everything becomes soft and bland, let’s take ownership over raising people who other people want to hang out with.

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Life

I’m Back, B*ches!

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I was thinking about, how when I wrote this post, that I would need some witty intro line like ‘hey, remember me’ or ‘gosh, I haven’t blogged in so long my website is dusty, har har’. But then I can to my site and logged in, and realised I had forgotten my password. So  this, in fact is my opening line:

Hi, I’m Kate, former blogger who cant even remember how to access her own website.

I realise that too many of my (sporadic and poorly spaced out) posts have started like this, so it’s also made me realise that A) I need to get my writing ass into gear and B) I’m sorry. I’ll try harder. All 3 of my followers tell me they miss my content.

So where does one begin after an almost 1 year hiatus? Everywhere and nowhere. I guess in a way my re-emergence from the fog means that my next few posts may be more of a (what the fuck?!) life lately than anything specific. So here goes:

It has been a hell of a year. In the last 13 months my husband and I both lost our jobs, started our own businesses, had a baby, renovated (twice) and then because I clearly didn’t have enough going on, I bought a business. So whilst some of that was super good, it has also been a really really terrible year. An Annus horribilis as Queenie would say.

I can’t get into the work front but let me just tell you, to be out of a job the first week you go back after having a baby is pretty much the biggest kick-while-you’re-down thing that can ever happen to a gal. I realised, recently, that I’m suffering from PTSD and am trying, every day, to remind myself that I am freaking awesome, capable and talented. Sounds pretty arrogant, but I need to start building my own confidence up. As with all sad stories though, it had a happy ending, and I finally had the push I needed to take my photography business to the next level. So I’m thrilled that Kate Rankin Photography is doing so well, and amazed that people keep booking me and using me and it really is the other love of my life. I love t so much, that when I was approached in January to buy a posed newborn business, I jumped.

On 1 March I became the official owner of Slumberings photography, and as I type this I am still sitting in a puddle of wee (not my own) glowing after having just shot a twin newborn session in my brand new studio.

The business, although wonderful, has come with a lot of additional stress. Not only have I had to get funding to buy the business, but I’m also loaned to my crotch hair on building debt and other-fun-stuff-that-comes-with-renovating. It’s been a long journey but I am so so happy to finally have an amazing little studio and office and a home for all aspect of my photography (come visit, I have good coffee;))

On the family front, Piper, the baby I told you about when I last blogged over a year ago, is already 14 months. This little spunky, wild eyed feral child has turned my life upside down and inside out. She took everything I thought I knew about parenting and blew it to smithereens with 8 months of no (and I mean NONE) sleep, dramatic flairs and tiny pint sized diva meltdowns. To say I love her is an understatement. She has climbed under my skin and into my heart and absolutely changed the way I feel about the world around me. Someone told me that she was sent to earth to teach me a lesson, and whiles I have no idea what lesson is, I do know that in her short 14 months she has made me more patient, more exhausted and more of a mom than ever before.

Carter, my angelic now 4 year old is just the most amazing child. He is the calm to her crazy and the brains to her bossy. My little big man makes me so proud with his intellect, thoughtfulness and eagerness ot learn. They always say that children are different but these 2 kids are polar opposites. yet it works. I think he has come to accept that his sister is the ruler of the Rankin roost, and he is merely her plaything and food-bringer. My sweet child.

Oh, and on the family front, because I clearly hared any sleep I was getting or any free time I never had, we got a puppy, Pixel. I have always wanted a Pointer and so I applied to a few rescue groups as I desperately wanted to re-home a dog. Three times we were approved, and then denied when a re-homing position became available – due to us never having owned the breed before. It was heartbreaking meeting a future dog and then being told he wouldn’t be yours. So we got Pixel from a farm in White River, and he has matched my daughter in character, busyness and attitude. He is wonderful (and so fucking naughty we threaten him with the SPA several times a day. (Rupert and Bella are still trying to make up their minds, though)

 

So that’s it, really. Apologies if you clicked through looking for dramatic anecdotes and hilarious stories – but there is just so much going on that it’s almost impossible to out down into just one post. Make sense?

Next week I promise to write about asshole friends, bad parenting and too much wine 😉

I can guarantee that I will be back here, way more often, and hopefully this Stella will get her writing groove back soon

Thanks for the love, friends!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Pregnancy and Parenting

The Toddler, The Carseat and The Mother F*ing Sandpit.

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I’ve often read posts by other bloggers where they take us (the reader) through a day in their life. And I LOVE those posts. I’m fascinated by peoples routine, what they eat for breakfast and how they run their day. I’ve always wanted to write one about my own life. It’s slightly narcissistic I know, but I figured if I’m as intrigued by your daily bowel movements and dogs walks then you might be the same about me.

This is not one of those posts. I was going to, until I realised that it would be the longest.post.known.to.mankind. Why, you ask, when everyone’s day only has 24 hours in it? Because, dear readers, I have a 2-year-old, and anyone who has a toddler understands that there are stages in your kids life when time actually just fucking stands still.

Let me talk you though one of these times.

It was yesterday, and I was fetching my son from creche.

4:45 – Pull up at the school, park and walk in

4:47 – Arrive at Carters classroom and observe this angel, the love of my life, for a few minutes. Agh sweet man, look at how nicely he’s playing on his bike and listening to his teachers, I think.

4:50 –  Walk into play area and Carter catches my eye. Drops bike and runs over to give me my hug/high-five/kiss combo. Yussis but he’s cute man. All dirty kneed and grubby footed.

4:50 –  Chat to his teachers about his day and what he did. Out of the corner of my eye see another kid grab the bike my son was on and start to play with it.

4:50 –  Spend several minutes trying to remind my son that we are going home and he doesn’t need that bike until tomorrow. Alternate between loving and scolding his teacher for then finding another bike that now looks exactly the same and making a song and dance of putting this now new bike in a secret place for safekeeping. (2 year olds, masters of manipulation since forever).

4:59 –  Have child, bag, tag and keys. Somehow manage to lose keys to child. It’s Ok, anything to now start the long walk to freedom.

5:01 – Magically manage to walk out of playground gate. Brain on high alert as I know just how many obstacles lie in store between me, the 250 m walkway, and my car.

5:01 – Child spots sandpit. The goddam sandpit.

5:01 – “Mommy, I dig”

5:01 – “No baby, you can dig at home, come we need to go.”

5:02 – “No mommy, I dig here.”

5;02 – Mommy with willpower of a legless Octopus concedes and makes small human promise to only 2 minutes. He is very sincere and I almost believe he will honour his commitments.

5:02:10 – 2 shoes off child has launched himself into a sea of sand and buckets.

5:06 – Perched on edge of sandpit, overlarge belly and all making small talk with other downtrodden and weary parents who also just now want to go the fuck home.

5:07 – Rationally tell him we have been here for 5 minutes, and not 2, and we must now go home.

5:07 – Alot of no’s and general toddler sounding moaning.

5:08 – Must stick to guns. Tells him in no uncertain terms that we are going home now, and proceed to walk away. Listen to the sound of his wailing get softer the further I walk.

5:10 – Try to not make eye contact with horrified parents who are witnessing this angelic little boy, clearly stranded in the sandpit, with no parent in sight. I am now half submerged in a jacaranda tree to A) avoid said parents and B) hide from my child. I am still convinced the panic of being deserted by his second favourite parent will make him run out to find me.

5:12 – No sign of son growing larger as he runs towards me. Only the sign of the nursery school gardener now carrying my inconsolable child to me in a bear hug.

5:13 – Snot everywhere (him, not me). Not even Orphan Annie puts on this good a show. Slow clap for the little terrorist.

5:15 –  Kneel down on unsteady hind-legs and look into his eyes. Try to rationalise with him about why we have to go. Throw in self pitying statements like ‘mommys had a shitty day at work and just wants to go home’ to ‘daddys waiting with sweeties!”. I will stop at nothing now.

5:17 – A glimmer of understanding, if not compassion in his small tear stained face. I even get a hug and a ‘love you’. Clammy hand in mine we actually start walking, I can sell the Q20 on the gate we are so close.

5:18 – Puppies. MOTHERFUCKING PUPPIES. Two of the adorable bastards. When did the school allow this sort of child heroin into its grounds? Christ almighty we must now stop and play with the most adorable jack russel siblings you have ever laid eyes on.

5:25 – Dogs thoroughly tackled and tickled and assaulted we are finally on the home stretch. People, I am so close that my pregnant bladder lets forth a drop or two.

5:26 – Aand we are at the gate. My god I have never been so excited to see these maroon bars. Excited high fives for all the guards and it’s next stop motor vehicle time. Yes, you baby!!

5:27 – Crap. He has my car keys. It must now unlock the vehicle and enter the front seat at a speed a sloth would find agonising. I’m-A-Big-Boy-Mommy must now insert key into keyhole and start the car. Very clever, praise, well done, go you go. Now get the fuck into your car chair.

5:29 – Again, with the sloth dance, it crawls from my chair to his chair in a ground breaking speed of minus kilometres per hour. We are now actually going against the speed of light. The earth has officially stopped moving. Winter is coming.

5:35 – Realises it doesn’t actually want to be in his chair. It wants to be back in the sandpit.

5:35 – With the strength of Grace Mugabe in a hotel room with an extension cord, I pin him down under my heaving bosom and sweat lined face and try to strap him – a 12 armed rubber toy fuelled by Red Bull, into his car seat. Both now crying.

5:36 – Reverse car at rapid pace with music so loud. Never has Highved Stereo sounded nicer than it has drowning out my sons screams as he unleashes the wrath of his mothers meanness on the world.

5:41 – The 2.1 km commute home has been filled with despair and decibels of glass shattering proportions.

5:42 –  Ironically, in a last minute plot twist, it now doesn’t want to get out of its car seat and starts clawing me with tiny toddler finger nails to stop the unbuckling of his chair. I attempt few hard klaps but end up hitting myself twice instead.

5:43. Leave him in chair and walk into my house which is currently a construction zone. Place myself under the sound of a metal grinder and breathe in the sweet sweet sound of something other than a 2-year-olds-tantrum.

** Disclaimer **

No children were harmed in the making of this episode

The child was removed for the vehicle by his first-favourite parent

Mom only sniffed tasted the wine that night.

 

 

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Pregnancy and Parenting

The Hangover.

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I got through pregnancy #1 like a true martyr. Every offer to help or assist me was met with a very firm ‘Ohforgodssake I’m pregnant, not disabled‘ chirp, and people soon realised I meant it. I was so exceptionally stubborn that I even went to work the day I was booked to go to hospital for my C section. I didn’t want anyone to think I wasn’t capable, up to it or god forbid that I ever showed the slightest bit of weakness.

And then, pregnancy #2 hit, and God laughed and laughed at me, because from day 1 I have been feeling shiiiter than shit. There have been no mass displays of public vomiting, or napping in my car at work, but it has genuinely felt like a 4 month hangover. I wake up each day with a raging headache, spend all day fighting fatigue and nausea and even the smallest deviation from a 9pm bedtime results in my barely functioning the next day. My brain is so stupid that I found myself Googling ‘second hand dogs’ yesterday and I’m so forgetful that I’ve been calling our new domestic worker ‘Susan’ since Monday.

Her name is Kelly.

If you had a friend, let’s call her ‘Sue’ and Sue told you that she was always achy, her feet were sore and she had debilitating migraines once a week, you would send Sue to the doctor right? Then, if Sue suddenly got searing muscle pains up her arse, blistering eczema on her eyelids, and cried at the drop of a hat, you’d then probably send her to another specialist of sorts. Now what if Sue forgot your name, left taps running throughout the house and complained of 24/7 nausea. Shame, poor Sue would have been booked into to see a psychologist and would probably be sitting in a very quiet room in a white padded coat by now. Also, if Sue started developing gas that could rival a Pepsi factory, you’d probably send her somewhere else – like to another room in the house.

So, hello word. I am Sue. And my pregnancy has been a 16 week hangover. Google even a third of preggy symptoms and Web MD will surely tell you you have several hours left to live. Goodbye Sue, you are dying, for absolute certain.

I’m not writing this for attention or sympathy, I’m just truly baffled at how, for centuries, women have got through this. Holy shit, I cant even watch a Game of Thrones episode without wondering how the Wildling lass is mopping up her leaky boobs minutes after birthing her fathers child, or how they even dared to attempt being knocked up in that heat, without the help of cold ginger ale ale and an aircon.

I am battling at work. My symptoms are superficial – compared to the horror stores I’ve heard – but I honestly sometimes high five myself at the end of the day for getting through it all. My tired is tired. I sat in the meeting the other day and am 112% convinced that I had fallen asleep, because suddenly I was being asked my opinion and had to play the worlds fastest game of charades, frantically reading body language and trying to view colleagues notes from across the table in order to try figure out what in holy hell was being discussed. I think I must have mumbled something relatively sane because everyone nodded and then moved on to the next topic.

So, a plea to all HR people out there, please can we incorporate some sort of ‘we promise to not fire you for doing dumb shit for the next 9 months‘ clause into our contracts. Also a ‘sick-but-not-sick-just-pregnant’ day or two wouldn’t hurt either.

So, I’m going to go now, and close my eyes for a long blink and dream about the days when I had the energy to wipe my own arse after using the toilet. Except, who am I kidding. I’m pregnant. I haven’t had a shit since before conception.

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Pregnancy and Parenting

Aaand, There Go The Nipples.

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It happened this morning. As I lifted my pyjama top off my head to step into the shower, I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror, and there they were. My brown marie biscuit sized nipples in all their dinner plate glory. “Barry” I shouted “Fuck!”. “What?” he asked, from the comfort of the bed. I stepped into the room and within seconds his face, full of expectation, had changed to one of barely concealed horror. His wife had ‘turned’.

I remember this happening with my first pregnancy as well, I think I stared at my boobs for close to 30 minutes. Overnight they had changed from perky 34Cs to heavy swollen appendages. And the nipples. Oh my god guys. You would think I would have remembered the fucking nipples!

So, barely 12 weeks in and my body has already decided it’s going to fast forward into alien mode. I think with a second baby your body is prepped and ready to go, so you get less time to feel normal before the changes set in. This time around it’s also been rougher on me. Debilitating exhaustion – to the point where there were days I would get home from work and be physically unable to run Carter a bath. Nausea, which I didn’t seem to have with my first, was always there. Brushing my teeth is still a battle of the gags and the constipation could win some awards. Poo’ing is such a great achievement that I may even tweet about it. Also, the anger. I pretty much hated everyone for several weeks. Normal conflict averse Kate was telling people to ‘go fuck themselves’ and I could barely contain my eye rolls in meeting. I could visualise stabbing people and I got into such a bad altercation with a taxi last week that I though I was going to be murdered on William Nicol.

However, it’s such a freaking thrill to know that I’m growing a another human bean in my belly. Fondly referred to as ‘Pip’, I count down the days between scans and am already rubbing my little belly. I don’t quite know how I’m going to have the patience to wait to meet this little he/she, but what I do know, is that Bulldog farts, food aversion and hubcap sized nips aside, I am totally in love already.

‘Hi!’
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Pregnancy and Parenting

Toddlers Are Quite Lovely When They’re Your Own.

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I was listening to an interview on a podcast this week, where the interviewer asked his guest if the good in children outweighed all the hard shit. I haven’t stopped thinking about this comment. Because, it is hard. Not ‘parallel parking hard’ but hard in that fact that everything – when you have a kid – always seems as if it takes that much longer. It’s mind boggling when I think about how one times 2 year old has completely thrown our lives out of sync, but for the better.

So, to answer your question, Mr DJ, yes, the good absolutely does outweigh the bad.

I feel like my last few blog posts have been somewhat negative. I’ve been writing a lot about the ‘busyness’ of it all. But I don’t often reflect on this little person and just how amazing he is.

I’ve never really liked other peoples toddlers. Babies are adorable, all peach fuzz hair and soft skin, but toddler? What’s there to love about some one else DNA with miles of snot dripping out of their nose, too long and always dirty fingernails, slogan t-shirts and irritating mannerisms. Call me harsh, but (and I’m a kid person) they’ve never really held appeal to me. When people share videos of their kids doing nauseatingly annoying things and then narrate it in baby talk “Tommy wikes wapples”, I could actually just vomit in my mouth. Except now I share all the videos of Carter (except, shoot me if I ever talk to him in nonsensical rhyming ridiculousness).  I used to think that when people told me ‘the best was yet to come’ it was to make themselves feel better, and I would look smugly at my sleeping infant and think never. Never could it get better than this.

But then he turned two and all the potty-training, new bed, will-he-ever-sleep-again drama came and went, and what emerged was this incredibly smart, conscientious, aware, loving, kind, wonderful little boy in my life, and I simply cannot get enough of him.

Motherhood is a complete oxymoron. I miss him terribly during the day and cannot wait to see him after school, but a sense of me also dreads the hours until bedtime. He’s going to need me, and want me, and whine and then want food and maybe then wont eat the food I cook and then he will moan when I want to go wee and want a sweet before supper or hug the dog too hard and be demanding of my attention when I just need to edit some photos for client and then type up an email for my boss but oh my god I only have him for 2 hours a day what is wrong with me.

So often I take the time I have with him for granted, and so I’ve been consciously trying to spend a solid 30 minutes a day with him, uninterrupted. I know that sounds ridiculously short, but you try put away your phone, your distractions, dinner and work and actively just sit with your child and chat.

I try start from the moment we leave the school. I love the way he runs into my arms, proudly pointing at me to his friend saying ‘my mom’. He wraps his arms around me and stands on my crouched knees to give me a kiss. Getting out of a school is a minefield of distractions, from creche dogs to sandpits and wayward two-year-olds vying for this attention. I have mastered the art of bribery and now always have a treat on me to tempt him to the car faster. Once home I try and ignore the carrots that need julienning, the rice that needs steaming or the bags that need unpacking. Instead, if I’m early enough we make a pt of tea, sit outside and catchup.

Carter is incredible. The things he knows and says and shows me. His little sentences are now 4, 5, 6 words long and his attention to detail is amazing. He has this way of tilting his head when he’s trying to convince you of something, and a little frown he he’s genuinely confused by something. Everything that I don’t want him to do, that he wants to do, gets met with a ‘5 more minutes’ plea from his earnest face and god forbid there’s ever a mess or spill of any kind, he will spend years cleaning it up.

He dances like his mother (badly) to music but dawdles like a sloth in peanut butter walking into school in the morning. He adores babies and dogs and will spend the majority of his time looking for either one to love.

He is so independent and insists on doing everything himself (this, my friends, is why parents are never on time). He fights bedtime like a purple star recipient and sat through is first theatre show better than a 5 year old.

This kid he is bloody terrific. Even with a runny nose and always-dirty-fingernails.

Toddlers. You really do like them more when they’re your own.



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Life, Pregnancy and Parenting

I Broke Your Heart Today.

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Nobody ever actively sets out to hurt their child. Sure, things may happen while raising a kid that will hurt them, but nine times out of ten those thing are beyond your control. Crime, accidents, bumps and bruises. These are all things that – try as we may – we cant always prevent.

Today, I knowingly and actively went against every single good piece of parenting and broke my sons heart. Knowing full well what I was doing. And I’m feeling like a pretty un-spectacular human being because of it.

I’ve always been the first to tell you all that marriage is hard – having a kid is nothing compared to the daily work a relationship entails, and anyone who tells you it’s easy, is bullshitting you. It’s fucking hard.

Barry and I got into a fight. It started yesterday over something so silly and innocuous, but on day two had grown into such a large festering ball of anger, resentment and trudged-up-he-said-she-saids from 2011 that it finally imploded at 6 am this morning in a very ugly screaming match. I did and said things I wasn’t proud of (I’m hoping he feels the same) and short of airing all our dirty laundry, it escalated so badly that my poor little two-year-old who was sitting on the bed during the incident burst into tears and sobbingly cried and begged us to stop.

It broke me. And today I am a complete wreck, because I took away a little bit of innocence from my perfect, pure boy and showed just how ugly and mean humans can be. Worst of all, I brought him into a situation that he didn’t deserve to be in and I showed him his mommy and daddy acting like idiots.

I like to think that we removed him from the situation quite quickly, sorted our shit out (like we should have done in the first half an hour of the stupid fight) and that he will never ever remember this, but I do believe that I’ve done some damage to his sweet little soul. The way he sat on my lap hugging and kissing me afterwards hurt me inside until I felt bruised.

Growing up I barely remember my parents fighting. The only time I can recall is on an overseas holiday when I was about 12, and I vaguely recall my mother storming out the hotel room and my dad chasing her down the street. Does it make it easier or worse that we were seldom exposed to it – that I remember that one specific event? Is it normal for our kids to witness such ugliness, and if so, is it wrong?

All I know os that I cant wait to go home his evening and see my little dude, feel his little hands monkey themselves around my neck and to make sure he’s OK. I also want to tell him how very sorry I am for making him the adult in the situation, and for forcing him to watch a screaming match (that may or may not have involved a cup of coffee being hurled across the room).

We do the best we can, but yoh, sometimes the guilt just eats away at us.

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Pregnancy and Parenting

The Time He Told Me He Loved Me.

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When my husband first told me he loved me we had been dating for about 11 minutes. I remember it as if it was yesterday. We were celebrating his birthday at the now-closed Cantina Tequila. A huge storm was coming in and we were sitting at a table outside. Everyone was hammered, especially Barry who was about 18 tequilas down and speaking fluent Mexican. When he told me, even though I knew he meant it, I laughed because it was possible the least romantic timing. Seems it was a tend, because the day he proposed wasn’t much better.

When Carter told me, he wasn’t drunk (thankfully). It happened last week during our recent bedtime ritual of: Kid in bed, bottle, book leave the room. Repeat 100 times. Night light on, off, blanket on, teddy changed, “mommy more milk“. repeat. Fetch giggling child from behind the couch, place back in bed, repeat again. Give child a vegetable of choice to cuddle with (we prefer baby marrows most nights) repeat. Guys, this kid has more stall tactic than Zuma in court. I had been playing this avid game of bedtime Olympics for about 20 minutes at this point, and was totally over it. My wine was getting warm.  So, when he called “mamaaaa” for the 20th time I grumpily stormed in the room and said “What Carter, it’s bed time boy!”. So you can imagine the subsequent guilt slash clean-up-in-aisle-five moment when – instead of asking for a root vegetable or Nesquik- he said “eyeruvyu” (I Love You). He then said it again, said “sorry penguin” rolled over, and fell asleep.

BE STILL MY BEATING HEART.

So, here’s the thing. These kids can drive you to the brink of absolute insanity, and just before you feel like you’ve made a horrible mistake by having children, they bring you back down to love laden earth by doing the most incredible things.

I recently blogged about the ‘terrible twos’ and guys, no jokes, the first few weeks were a dark time for me. I felt terribly alone and worried. Nothing was going right – work stress, car accident, money stress, friendship stress and then a kid who shat in his pants instead of the toilet, urinated on the floor instead of a potty and screamed like a trapped goat everytime he had to get dressed. At one point I even seriously considered anti depressants. That was my proverbial edge, and I was about to jump.

But, since the ‘I Love You’ declaration of ’17 we have had nothing but smooth sailing. This adorable small human has whipped out all the charm cards and executed them perfectly. From glorious emoji shaped turds in the potty (apologies to everyone who’s house this has happened at) to impeccably timed hugs, cuddles and kisses. He even stayed in class last week to clean up the beanbags. Basically, he’s short one pair of angel wings.

So, if you are going through the toddler induced hell that I was just a few short days ago, let it be known that ‘this too shall pass’ And also let it be known that even if we have never met, and you live in some small corner of Uzbekistan, I’m here if you ever need to chat. Because you know whats worse than going through the bad times? It’s doing it alone. So whiles it may seems small fry to others, it isn’t to those who have been there. And to those who dismissed my dramatic appeals for help – go fuck yourself. Just joking, I hope one day when your kid sets fire to your couches in defiance of getting dressed that you remember this. Also just joking. Sort of.

With Love,

A-Temporarily-Smug-Mother-of-A-Two-Year-Old.

 

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Uncategorized

Brace Yourself. The Terrible Twos’ Are Coming.

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I remember watching a friend of mine battling with being a mom. Her vacant haunted eyes terrified me and I never knew how to help her. She made parenting seem awful, and hard and I was terrified that one day I would find myself in a similar situation.

Then Carter was born, 2 years and 11 days ago, and he’s been a 99% wonderful human. All conscientious charm and manners. He slept well, ate well and basically made life pretty freaking easy for us.

Until 2 weeks ago when – true to the textbooks – he turned 2. Holy hell in a hand basket, it has been rough AF. Not only did he start potty training, he moved into a new bed and also decided that to get dressed in the morning was not for him. And not in a ‘no thanks mum, this isn’t for me’ way. In a “I will beat your motherly compassion out of you with a hockey stick until you want to strangle me” way.

Guys. I am at my wits end. I spent the majority of my 90-minute (because also, fuck you traffic) drive to work in guilt-ridden state. Never mind the 2 hours this morning just trying to actually get him dressed for school. Will I ever be on time again? When I dropped him at crèche this morning I was truly happy to palm him over to anyone who wasn’t me, and up until about 10 minutes ago I would have very happily left him there for a week. Because I actually don’t even know if I’m cut out for parenting, let alone parenting a 2 year old.

Newborns by comparison are possibly the easiest you will have it. I’m sorry to break this to you. It gets really hard, like really hard. Granted, it’s adorable when they start to talk and engage and participate in real-life activities – but the down side of their newfound abilities is the realisation that they have an opinion, limbs and a really, really strong will.

Keeping him in his bed at night (which entails 4 stories, strawberry milk, 75 pickups and bed put-back-ins and about a gallilitre of wine), getting him dressed every day, taking him home from a fun environment and trying to prevent volcanic meltdowns on a daily basis – along with juggling two demanding jobs and trying to also not look like a heroin addict have me absolutely farging exhausted at the end of every single day.

It also doesn’t help that t’s been a pretty rough year culminating in my Mothers Day ending with me leaving work (because yes, money doesn’t grow on spouses nor trees) and being hit by a taxi. Not only did he hit my car but he then proceeded to verbally assault and intimidate me, along with several of his charming taxi driver buddies. It was a horrific and terrifying situation and by the time I got home from the police station, shaken and drenched in rain, I was determined to emigrate and leave this ‘hell hole’ of a country.

I am so angry lately, and I suspect that my son is picking up on my emotions. But then he screams like a hadeda with a grammar phone and wrestles me with his 18 limbs and I can’t help but get more and more stressed out. I’m surprised I’m even able to make conversation at the moment. And I have only one human, only one. How are the moms of 2 or more actually coping?

I’d like to point out – one page into this rant – that I desperately love my son and that he has only been like this for 2 weeks. And he’s also only an asshole for a few hours a day. The other 22 he’s a delight, and then I forget about the asshole phase and go ‘let’s make another one!’. So no, I’m not really going to actually take him to school naked, or throw him out with Pickitup, but I do need to know, from other well oiled and experienced moms that this too shall pass. And before you come to me with your tricks, I’ve tried them. They don’t work

  • Bribery
  • Putting him to sleep with school clothes under his pyjamas
  • Naughty corner
  • beating Smacking
  • Ignoring
  • Hugging
  • Shouting
  • Wine
  • Distraction
  • Protein laden snacks
  • Mommy groups
  • Vodka
  • Rescue Remedy (for him)
  • Xanax (for me)

Help. Please.

 

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