Me Time

Concise Mommy

I’m incapable of waffling. I say what I mean and then I shut up. This was an enormous problem when I was in university and I was faced with having to fill 20 blank pages with my opinion on, say, Jane Austen’s preference for the colour blue (or something). After the first paragraph or two, I’d made my point and could write my paper’s conclusion.

It’s not such a problem now. I say what I have to say, no more, no less. I’m frequently silent when I’m in company, but if the mood strikes, I can get chatty with the best of them.

There are a lot of people who aren’t like this. Ask them a question and, somewhere in the middle of their answer, you lose the will to live. Ok, maybe not that bad, but you know what I mean: their answer is so long and circuitous that you get bored halfway and regret having asked in the first place.

I met someone like this recently at a conference. She was very passionate about her subject, and to start with, I was interested in what she had to say. But after the second hour (or so it felt) of listening to her saying the same thing in a hundred different ways, I started having a conversation with myself in my head:

“Oh look, there she goes again. And surprise, surprise, she’s making exactly the same point!”

“Yep, here comes that point again. And nope, she hasn’t added anything new to it this time around either.”

“I wonder whether there’ll be any dessert by the time she lets me go. I’d hate to miss out on that cheesecake”

“The waiters are cleaning up around us. I wonder whether they can sense my desperation and have decided to make a rescue attempt.”

“If I stop making eye contact, will she stop talking?”

“Maybe if I feign death, she’ll go away.”

Have you met people like this? Do you feel my pain??

Apparently, I'm versed in paralysed dog trollies

Most recent Google search landing on my blog?

"Paralysed Dog Trolly"

Riiiiiiiiight.

I know: I've been away for too long. Forgive me - I'm sickasadog and feeling sorry for myself. More soon. Promise.

Judgemental Mommy

I find women in general fascinating. I love listening to their stories of who they are, what they're up to and where they're going. Invariably, a woman's story is about hard knocks and inner strength. You don't have to listen hard to find the profundity. But I have to remind myself to listen, because I have to get past my initial, usually completely inaccurate, judgements.

I was out doing grocery shopping on Saturday and met two women who told me their stories.

A car guard* was standing outside the dvd store and her first words to me were: "Let me guess: he's 7 and she's 4", pointing to James and Hannah. I was intrigued: she was almost right, but I was keeping my distance, because she looked and walked funny. I was guessing she was a bit drunk. "Do you have children of your own?" I asked her. Her story goes like this: She had a baby girl six years ago. She had very high blood pressure at the end of the pregnancy and during the birth, she had a stroke. It left her paralysed on one side of her body, the after effect of which is a limp, and her speech has been impaired ever since. Her husband wasn't interested in her after the stroke and she now lives on the street, guarding cars, her entire life in a trolley.

Not drunk. Handicapped. Not a low-life. A woman who didn't get adequate care during her pregnancy.

When I was finished doing the grocery shopping, I struck up a conversation with the cashier. To look at her, you'd assume she was just another young woman with few career aspirations, who would probably spend her life as a cashier. But you'd be wrong. She's been studying to be a nurse. She's thinking of specialising in paediatric nursing, but she hasn't quite decided yet. It's hard, because she works very long hours at the shop, but she's determined to finish her studies. She also loves singing and playing the piano. When her father asked her whether she wanted to pursue nursing or a music career, she said, "You know what, dad? I want it all."

I totally agree with you, sister.

Take some time to listen to someone's story today. It might just inspire you.

*Probably a uniquely South African occurrence, car guards situate themselves outside busy shopping malls and along the side of the road and 'guard' your car while you shop. If they're lucky, they earn a few pennies from parkers.

Outsourcing Relaxation

As I drove to work this morning, I passed a woman in a domestic’s uniform, taking her employer’s dog for a walk.

 

Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t the psychological, social and physical benefits part of the reason we have pets in the first place? Taking a dog for a walk and caring for someone other than yourself is supposed to have major health and relaxation benefits.

There must be something seriously wrong with the world if we have to outsource our relaxation time and employ someone to walk our damn dogs.

Putting soapbox away now. Over n out.

Clichéd Mommy

Here's what I've learned after 13 ½ years of marriage:

As you get older, you can't escape becoming a cliché.

We bought a new light fitting for our lounge on Sunday. Opening up boxes of electrical equipment has always scared me a little. There are wires and other mysterious objects and who knows where they go and what they're for.

Scott doesn't seem to share my fear. When we got home, he nonchalantly pulled out all the bits and stepped confidently onto his ladder. We had a new light fitting installed within 20 minutes.

"Are men born with an innate knowledge of these things?" I asked somewhat deferentially. I felt a strange attraction to him as I watched him connect those wires and screw in those bits.

Yes, I've become a cliché.

Back in the day when I was young and idealistic, I fancied myself independent and self-sufficient. I didn't need a man to tell me how to live my life, manage my finances, or tie my shoelaces. I liked being alone and I liked doing things for myself.

But gradually, insidiously, married life has changed all that.

In our house, there are 'man jobs' and 'woman jobs' . Man jobs include:

• Killing cockroaches or anything nasty

•  Climbing on ladders for any reason whatsoever

•  Heavy lifting of any variety

•  Room painting

•  Lightbulb changing or anything required knowledge of electrics.

I could go on.

Woman jobs include:

•  Changing the sheets

• Vacuuming the carpets

•  Cleaning the bathroom

•  Ensuring lunch boxes are packed creatively

•  Signing of school forms

Ok, so Scott doesn't do the vacuuming or changing of the sheets because he has allergies. And although he's been known to clean the bathroom, he very rarely does it because I seem to have a more developed "ugh" factor than he does.

But there you go. Man and Woman Jobs.

If you'd told me this when I was 19, I would've laughed derisively or maybe given you a hard stare, a la Paddington Bear. My old university friends would not be terribly impressed if they saw me now. But I'm ok with that. As long as the job is done, I'm happy.

 

Friendly, in a scary kind of way

While we’re on the subject of Builder’s Warehouse, I’d like to ask:

What is the staff there on?

Because going there is like being assaulted by a crowd of cheery Christmas elves. “Hello, folks!” they yell as you enter. “Hi!” they grin as you wander past them in the aisles. “Hey there!” they wave, as, having grown weary and a little frightened of their gaiety you back slowly away from them.

Apparently they’ve been sent on one too many customer services courses run by someone who overdid it on the happy pills.