Archives for February 2010

It was my son’s party and I could cry if I wanted to. So I did

February 22, 2010 by 9 Comments

Yesterday we celebrated Little Pencil’s birthday party with 12 boys* at a go-karting track.  Read that sentence again bearing in mind that I am a neurotic, over protective and, some say (some being my family), fun-phobic mother.   As you digest that allow me to add that this go-karting track was an hour’s drive from my home.   Not only did I have the “pleasure” of 12, super excited, heat frazzled,  8 and 9 year old boys but I had the dubious honour of transporting them to a venue 60 minutes from the comfort of my home.

60 minutes away from home could be seen as a good thing.  The more kilometres between the boys and my home the better.  But the thing was that we had to spend an hour in the car with these gorgeous young men (using gorgeous young men in the sense of loud, rambunctious  little boys)

As a little background information you should be aware that I had not slept for two nights.  The first night I was up trying to recognise the person in the mirror who had fallen to the insanity of hosting a go-karting party.  The second night I was up googling “go-karting and injuries” and as 3am turned to 4am I started to google “go-karting and death”.  At 5:30 am in a fit of hope I woke Mr Pencil to reassure myself that these particular go-karts did not have engines.  He looked almost excited even at this ungodly hour and reassured me “of course they do”.  It was too late to cancel.

Five  very eager dads had volunteered to take to the party.  I know that this was because they wanted a chance at the go-karting but I took their help anyway.  So Mr Pencil and I took 3 kids and distributed the others amongst the other poor souls.

I was planning on catching up on some much needed rest in the car but instead, after 5 minutes of driving I found myself opting to walk the 40 or so kilometres.  After Mr Pencil admonished me for daring to leave him alone with the children, I learned quite a bit about driving with three 8 year old boys in a car

  • They will constantly repeat things that you find irritating and annoying.  If you ask them not to do it again they will say it with a different intonation that includes more whine
  • They will need to wee as soon as you get on to the highway.  If you happen to find a place where you can stop and they can discreetly wee behind a tree, they will need to poo
  • They will develop an insatiable and desperate thirst as soon as they realise you have no liquids in your car
  • They will not get your attempts at humour.
  • They will make you feel absolutely awful about your singing voice and knowledge of the current top 40
  • They will not stop talking at all. Unless they are shouting.
  • They will not let you sleep

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The actually party was quite a learning experience in itself.  As I left the therapists office I was able to recall these lessons

  • The indemnity forms that says go-karting is DANGEROUS should be well hidden from the mother of the party child.  It looks really bad when said mother is blowing into a brown paper bag when she is laying out the party food**
  • Do not attempt to tell your child not to worry when he’s clearly not worried but you are
  • Do not attempt to stand on a go-kart track when there is a race taking place just because you want to see your son’s smile
  • At least two of the children at the party will cry.  One will be crocodile tears.  One will be a deep emotional or physical problem.  You will invariably console the crocodile.
  • You should take a lighter for the birthday candles.  A stapler and toothbrush are really not necessary.
  • Do not attempt to bribe children with coins for the arcade games.  There is no limit to the depths of the coin slots
  • Do not have a party where  you are required to travel an hour to get home.  If you fall to such insanity make sure there is NO sugar at the party
  • Text all parents to remind them to come and collect their children at least half an hour before you need them to leave
  • Make sure that you do not inadvertently steal a platter from the venue  (okay most people wouldn’t but I did, although I like to think I just borrowed it forever)

Mr Pencil and Little Pencil say the party was great.  They had a ball.  All I can remember is that there was a lot of noise. And mess. And boys.

Next year we are going to see a movie.  Just the three of us.  But don’t tell them that – they may accuse me of being fun-phobic.

*and one girl but she was delightful and easy and made of sugar and spice and all things nice.

**If you are reading this blog and your child was at the party, I promise that they are safe now  (maybe they weren’t before but they are now) .

Filed Under: Little Pencil Tagged With: , ,

Quick!! Tidy the house, the cleaner is coming

February 18, 2010 by 27 Comments

Tomorrow is the day that my cleaning lady comes to shout at me. I could not be more excited.  I love Maria like Romeo loved Juliet, oh okay maybe not that much but I love her like she is one of my friends.  One of the helpful ones, you know – the type that clean your house and do your laundry? But the kind that shouts.  A lot.

I realise that I am very lucky to have the luxury of having someone come to clean my my house. Even if she is quite shouty.  I also realise that I pay her more than I earn myself but, I realise that she is as good a cleaner as I am a payer and I am as good a cleaner as, well I’m not a good cleaner at all.

Because of her propensity to shout, the night before Maria comes is the busiest (and most nerve wracking) night of the week.  Here is the to do list I am avoiding

  • Tidy the house so that she does not believe we are messy and slovenly.  This includes washing and drying sufficient laundry so that the laundry bin is not overflowing.  There is nothing so messy (in Maria’s eyes) as an overflowing laundry basket  (in my eyes there is nothing so messy as bad handwriting but that is a post for another day)
  • Pack away laundry.  Laundry cannot be stuffed into cupboards as she will execute a cupboard inspection when putting away the 8 laundry items left for her.  Even if the clothes are clean they must be folded neatly when put away not shoved into the cupboard thereby showing us to be messy.  Socks must be neatly paired and folded
  • Water and try to resuscitate the plant that she bought me for my birthday.  I positively hate this plant and try my hardest to ignore it all week but I cannot let it die or give it away as that would be offensive to Maria who somehow manages to bring it back to peak health each week
  • Sort out the fridge.   To me, leftovers are one of the greatest highlights of my fridge.  They prove I once catered a proper meal and they are a source of many other great meals.  Leftovers offend Maria. She regularly points out the dangers of salmonella and asks me why I didn’t eat all my vegetables.
  • Practise my smile and prepare alibis and excuses.  There is no doubt that Maria will shout at me about something.  Actually lots of things.  Last week she was angry that I changed the cycle on my own washing machine, that I had bought the incorrect stainless steel cleaner, and the fact that I dared to try and cook IN MY OWN KITCHEN.

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Seriously my best bet is to avoid my own house at all costs on a Friday.  But I will get there as Maria finishes, to pay her, hear her berate me and make sure she gets to the bus stop on time to complete her military training supervision.

Do you have someone in your life that makes you help yourself before he/she helps you?

Filed Under: My Life Tagged With: ,

Happy Birthday Little Pencil. You are killing me

February 10, 2010 by 17 Comments

Today is Little Pencil’s birthday. He is 9 and I think that there is nothing that 9 year old boys like more than their birthdays, so naturally today is a huge day for him.  Huge.  But for me, it is even bigger.

For him it is huge because he gets showered with gifts, he can eat cake for breakfast, lunch and dinner and he gets spoiled more than on any other day (believe me this takes super-human effort on my behalf – particularly hard to spoil the spoiled)

For me it is huge because my baby is 9. Nine.  I can’t believe I made nine years of motherhood and some of the people that I knew before then still speak to me.  Given that I have had MANY episodes of complete and utter meltdown since becoming a parent and I have gone from a reasonably rational corporate girl to a blithering wreck of a neurotic mother, this comes as something of a surprise to me.

Nine years ago today I began my mothering journey as a petrified mess.  Little has changed.  Nine years ago I had reason to be afraid.  I was the size of a baobab tree, filled with water and dangerously high protein levels.  My baby was being delivered by emergency caesarean ten weeks early and in, what would become my typical neurotic fashion, I thought we were both going to die.

I often still think I am going to die.  But, as my baby has grown into a boy these feelings of impending death have changed.

When I did not sleep for a year after Little Pencil’s birth, I thought I was going to die.  I was not being dramatic or anything, it was just that I thought it was humanly impossible to carry on living if you didn’t  sleep at all.  I was happy to prove that this theory is indeed wrong.   I did not sleep but I lived.  Grumpily, but I lived

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When Little Pencil started child care at the age of three I thought I was going to die from heart break.  I was am an over attached mother.  Leaving Little Pencil in the care of other people for the first time was a horrendous experience.  I can still picture his huge, brown eyes following me in amazement as I walked out the door. I can still recall that lump that grew in my throat as I struggled not to cry in front of him.  I can still picture my friend’s shoulder as I sobbed onto it. I can still feel that tight hug we exchanged on my return to pick him up.

Now quite often I get the feeling that I am going to die.  I watch my child and I see the gorgeous, confident, self assured and independent boy he is despite the over-loving neuroses of both his parents and I am filled with pride and love.  Full to the point that I think I may explode.

There is no word for that feeling that fills your heart when you watch your child excel at something.  My child excels at living and my heart is constantly filled.

So, it turns out that maybe those experiences did kill me because having a son like mine is like being in heaven.

You can read more about my baby’s journey on his very own blog at www.thesmallestpencil.blogspot.com

Filed Under: Little Pencil

I wear a purple dress and bare feet

February 3, 2010 by 20 Comments

The other day I went to a magnificent beachside restaurant for lunch it was right on the water, the food was delicious and the waiters were gorgeous.  Perfect really.

So amazing was this place that there happened to be about 50 other people waiting with us to be seated – no such thing as booking a table at this place.  No sirree – because if you book by phone you cannot get assessed for the “you are what you wear” game (note that this may not be the official reason that they do not accept bookings).

The “you are what you wear game” goes something like this

You:                                       I’d like a table for 6 please

Man at Restaurant :        Sure, what’s your name?

You:                                       Lana

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The man then writes “Lana – 6” on a piece of paper but then next to that he writes a short description – purple dress, NO SHOES.  I know, I know – no shoes in a restaurant is not ideal when you are over old enough to walk but, in my defence  I had just rushed off the beach to put my name down,  I had no intention of eating lunch without shoes. But now I had been labelled as the woman with no shoes.  Would he know to call me for my table if I put my shoes on, what if I changed out of my purple dress ?  Would I miss my table if I was still Lana, but a yellow dressed well shod Lana?

After I had got over the public humiliation of being the woman with NO SHOES (in capitals – as if it deserved screaming) I got to thinking about the way we define people we have just met.  Because we all do, we define people by what they look like to some extent, it is not a judgement as such but rather a tool we use to separate one person from the next.

And today I am sitting in a different cafe, where they know my name and define me by my coffee order and the amount of time I spend sitting in their cafe clicking away on my keyboard. I come here so often that I could wear no shoes and they would not even register, and if they did they would probably give me a pair of socks to keep my feet warm.

And in the comfort of my regular cafe I realise that it is impossible to play the “you are what you wear” game in a place where you know the people.   The woman in the pink and gray dress with the pretty toenails becomes the woman with the whingeing child that used to go to child care with my friend’s son. The woman with the hanging earrings and the golden skin becomes the woman with a son in year 2 that plays the piano like Mozart and the woman with the striped shoes and the sunglasses on her head becomes the woman who once drank too much at a 40th and went home with the somebody else’s shirt.

And I realise that, although I love my local cafe, I prefer the mode of the beachside restaurant.  Because sometimes, wiping one’s history clear and just being the shoeless woman in the purple dress gives you a better chance at being who you really are and not what people expect you to be.

Filed Under: My Views