Discipline

Discipline. It’s that quintessential life principle that gets drummed into us from day bloody one.

I need you to know this before I continue, I hate rules. I loathe being told “no, you can’t do that”. So, when it comes to discipline, I battle. But, as life has grown me up and made me think about things over and over again, I’ve developed and stick to my own set of rules.

For that, I blame my parents. They weren’t ever particular sticklers for the conventional “be a good girl, keep your mouth shut, do as you’re told” rulings. In fact, their lives weren’t even remotely good examples of “keeping their mouths shut”. For that, I am eternally thankful, even when it makes me unpopular. I don’t have the ability to keep my mouth shut when something irks me, annoys me or is shown to me as an injustice. Above all of that, I can’t stand people who beat around the bush. Either be direct, stick your neck out, say what you mean to say, and we’ll deal with it. People who try to pussy-foot around an issue, generally don’t get my respect or my abiding.

This is one good reason why SheBee and I can live together. Neither of us are pussy-footers. Some people call us fullashit, but we call a spade, a spade.

When I was growing up, my folks used their voices. Alot. I cannot think of a time when they weren’t talking. Heh. My mom also had a very unique way of telling us when we were in the shit.

If I’d been a bit of a naughty shit the day or night before…Mom would simply make me a beetroot sandwich for school lunch. Now, beetroot sandwiches are actually great freshly made. But, leave them in your lunchbox for the four hours between leaving home and lunch break and, well, by the time you whip them out to eat them… all you have is a pink, soggy mess. That was generally enough to let me know I’d been a bit of a shit. Trust me, having your school friends look at you askew because you’ve got soggy pink bread for lunch, makes you feel distinctly UNcool and it works pretty darn well.

I digress…

When it comes to discipline, when it comes to rules, when it comes to the “no, you can’t” and “yes, you can” debate for Cam…I’m not all that conventional.

I’m not a smacker. I have a simple rule on this, if she smacks someone, I’ll smack her hand. Undoubtedly, I’ll kiss it better and give her a love afterwards but, I will never smack my child in anger. I can’t do it. It’s just not me. And that’s not me being weak, that’s me knowing that that’s how I want to raise my child.

When it comes to enforcing a rule though. I’m a shouter.

Now, in our house, our rules are not conventional. The primary rule in our house is bedtime. And I will shout about it, if I have to. Generally though, I win before I have to shout. I’m a negotiator, true, and I believe that gentle reminders for about half an hour before bedtime make things easier.. “after this Gummi Bears, it’s bedtime, okay?” generally garner a very cute “okay” response and there’s not much hassle beyond there. Face it, No kid likes to be told it’s time to go to bed, fuck, I hated being told it. But, it has to happen. And it does. Most of the time.

Oi, nobody’s perfect and anyone who says they are is simply another one of those things I cannot stand - a liar. =)

So, in our house and our lives, we don’t have the “eat at the table; children should be seen and not heard; no, you can’t wear a ballgown to school; dessert is only for after dinner” rules. We have good ones. Cameron is a stickler for please and thank you and is learning, very well, how to share. We don’t care about drawing on the walls, as long as it’s crayon. We don’t care about paint, as long as it’s on the sheet and not on the carpet and yes, we can throw stuff in a bowl and make a big mess and pretend to bake. Yes, on the floor. No, I don’t care if it makes a mess.

Someone pretty random in my life that I went to school with, Wendy, taught me a critical life lesson about child-raising many, many years ago. She, in passing, whilst we were sitting at a soccer game (don’t ask questions just accept, people…) said to me: “having three kids is hard. But I just don’t worry about anything that a shower or a good cloth can fix”.

I can never thank her enough for saying that. I am anal about cleaning the house. But, when it comes to Cam’s mess, I let her have her mess.

And, funnily enough, it’s Cam who says “Mommy, I want to clean” or “Mommy, I want to wash the dishes”. She knows that mess means cleaning up afterwards. Most of the time. Again, Nobody’s perfect, and anyone who says they are is, you guessed it, a liar.

So, yeah, Rules. Mine aren’t normal. But, yes, I’m a shouter. A big one. I am not scared to raise my voice to make my point when trying to cajole a three year old away from a tantrum.

So, if you ever see a short lady walking down the street holding the hand of a little girl wearing wellington boots and a fairy princess dress whilst they sing and eat ice cream BEFORE dinner, that’s us.

Living our lives our way, thanks very much.

The Shoes

Dear Cameron,

As you grow (and my word, you are growing so fast and so awesomely), you have one element of life as a girl of which I am so proud and yet, it is so very tiring.

You, my girl, from your earliest days, have been and always will be, a shoe fetishist.

The good kind though, you do not demand the purchase of a million pairs of shoes all at once. The good kind is the type where you LIKE a pair of shoes, and will NOT let them go. Not for toffee or bribery or anything I can muster up to convince you that “no, those shoes are really done for now and you should really wear this pair”.

You, my Cameron, are stubborn. This is not your fault. It’s genetic. And when you LOVE something or someone, you LOVE them. Wholeheartedly, and without inhibition.

And so, when you LOVE your shoes, you really do LOVE them.

You see, Cameron. I’ve known this about you since birth. I knew you would be a shoe fetishist. I have an affinity for shoes, and I love my favourite pairs and yes, I wear them to death’s door and just cannot let them go. Just one look at Mommy’s “smartie slops”and you’ll know this to be true.

Your very first proper pair of ’shoes’, were a pair of Vans that Anne bought for you on your first birthday. Before then, it had been booties and little slip on guys that you loved in much the same way - those red and blue ones stick in my mind particularly. You loved those slip-ons.

So, then appeared the Vans. With the velcro and the cool skulls and whilst some parents of other children would look a little askew at the ’strange parents who let their one-year old wear shoes with skulls on’, we did not care. You loved those shoes, and we loved that you loved them and we all loved how divine they were and how much they embodied your definitive coolness.

You wore those Vans everyday. You loved them. Even on the days when I would have to wash them.. you’d wait for them to dry in the sunshine just so that you could slip them on again and feel cool again.

My babe, you’re the coolest kid, even in your socks. Don’t forget that.

Then you grew some more, and those Vans needed to ‘move on’. And we found what you term your “sky present shoes”. A little pair of camo slip-ons, with a buckle and thick sole. And you loved them from the moment I put them on your feet.

And every day since that you put them on.

But those ’sky present shoes’ wore thin quickly, and we spent months cajoling and going shopping for new shoes. Hells, it got to Winter and you refused. You said “I will wear them with socks!”.

And, you stubborn girl, you did.

And then we finally found - your pink dancing shoes.

With the velcro and now that you were bigger, you could put them on and take them off by yourself and you loved them. LOVED them.

But, you were nearing three, fast, and being the tomboy you are, they started to fall apart quickly.

So, I spent six weeks trying. Taking you shopping, showing you shoes, purchasing no less than three pairs of shoes that you took some kind of a liking to in the stores and bringing them home.

You wearing those new shoes, proudly.

And the moment we’d walk in the front door, you’d sit down, take those lovely new shoes off and demand your dancing shoes.

I got to the point once where I just sat and sobbed over it.

Your stubbornness was defeating even me - the most stubborn of all. I’d tried everything - rainbow shoes, shoes with laces, shoes with little heels, shoes that sang, shoes that were pink, shoes that were green, anything).

So, i gave in. I caved.

I phoned your dad whilst I was at work one day.

And asked him to try and take you out shopping and see if he could get you to fall in love with a pair of shoes, and keep them on for more than five minutes and somehow, SOME.HOW, we could eliminate the ’sky present shoes’ and the ‘dancing shoes’ from the equation. I was desperate at this point, determined to somehow get new shoes on your feet…

The next day, a Friday, you woke up and we had our morning cuddle and I began the ritual of trying to catch you into wearing clean clothes for school and get your shoes on, and your face clean. I try and make it fun, I promise. And really, I do, with “spiders” and Super Mommy Powers and flying whooshing noises and cuddles and promises of “yes, i’m sure you can have a pony one day, Cam-Cam, if you’ll just let me get your socks on”…

So that Friday, I looked at you, you looked at me, and I said what I say every day:

“Cam-Cam, what shoes do you want to wear today?”

(and I hope and pray, every day, that you’d ask for not-the-dancing-shoes or not-the-sky-present-shoes).

And you looked at me, laughed and said:

“Mommy, you know, I want my new rainbow shoes”.

seven things i cannot do since i became a mama...

1. Not be a kidlet person. I was the worst type of kidlet person. I could never understand why or how ANYONE would want to have a snot-nosed brat. Never mind two. Or god and heavens above, three, four or any number of them. Nowadays, you can't pass me in the street without me wanting to peer into your bundled package of cuteness.

2. Cook and eat a three-course meal. Nobody gets the chance to do the great big cookup and sitdown nowadays. wah. In my world, a sandwich and an orange make a good meal. Mind you, that's still pretty healthy.

3. Have cupboards that stay ordered. Heh. Anyone who has an inquisitive three-year old knows what I'm talking about.

4. Read and finish a book. I miss reading for days on end like I used to do! I get all my lit-love online nowadays.

5. Be sick and stay in bed. You know that saying 'no rest for the wicked'? yeah. no rest for sick mommies, hey.

6. Sleep in. Even if Cam isn't with me for a weekend and is with her dad, my brain wakes me up, every time, by 6am. Sob.

7. Work late. Wahaha. I have no idea why i feel bad about this.

5.

Ten Reasons Why I Want to Raise My Child In South Africa

With all the hoohah and constant questioning of my choices (Why don't you go to the UK? You know, it's safer there...) and the occasional self-questioning (am I a bad parent for staying here when I could go to allegedly safer countries to raise my child?), I thought it time i list a few reasons why, currently - maybe not forever, but right now, I choose to raise my child in South Africa.

1. She was born with a fair skin. Playing daily in the sunshine has given her a beautiful complexion that's full of life. Quite literally, sun-kissed.

2. Every day she comes home dirty from school, and is not afraid of sand or grass. I have had kids from 'other places' come to visit and yell at the idea of getting their hands dirty with mud.

3. She goes to school with kids of every colour of the rainbow. They all get the same snotty noses, the same scrapes on the knees, and they hold hands with each other. They have absolutely no interest in whether or not their grandparents or parents once upon a time were not allowed to do this.

4. She understands three languages. She's not even three yet. Yes, she can't speak them all, but she can understand all three.

5. There is noise and joy and emotional honesty in the way we live. When we as a nation are happy, we celebrate. When we are sad, we are sad together. Does anything else really matter? At least we are together in the queue for petrol and/or torches.

6. At the age of less than three, she does not lead a sheltered life. She already comprehends the fact that there are people who have money and people who do not have money in the world. And that, where we can do a little bit to help, we do. For this reason, she has no issue in sorting out her old toys and clothes with me, to be passed on people who need them more. And I quote "Mommy, make a box for Gladys' baby, she needs my old shoes. I am too big for them". (yeah, i know, I die daily with that sentence construction)

7. She's not afraid to dream. Our country was founded on dreams. And we ran on a dream for a long time. Now we're trying to keep it alive in reality. We'll get there, I'm sure.

8. She's not afraid of the dark, thanks to loadshedding. ;-)

9. When she runs through the park, she's not afraid of falling over, but just of losing her turn on the swing.

10. Being a single parent in a crazy world is not easy. But it's the choice I made. And in a world where women are fast becoming primary breadwinners, and the nuclear family is quickly becoming a myth, I am learning that it truly does take a village to raise a child. Nobody understands the notion of community better than a South African. And my village blesses me daily.

your hair smells of oranges

your hair smells like oranges this evening.
you put your little arms around me and say
'i love you mommy. i sorry i cried when you say no'

i look at you and kiss your head
i mentally jawdrop a little at your sentence construction
we cuddle up on the couch
and watch the most annoying dvd of all time

(kidsongs. parents, just don't buy them. please)

and you love it.
the dumblooking children who you are clearly the bigger star out of
when compared
fascinate you
with their silly songs
and little antics

i don't care that it's giving me a headache.
i don't care that i'm lying in an uncomfortable position.
you don't care that i am tired and haven't showered yet.

all you care about is being on the couch with me.
and all i care about is me being on the couch with you.

and there i am
smelling your gorgeous hair
with your head snuggled under my chin.

when tertia told us about mommy love
i knew it could not be defined.
but this is as close as i can do.

nothing in the world matters
not bills
not deadlines
not how i look
not how i feel
not what i did or did not do today
not how i smiled or grimaced
not that i liked or disliked
not that i could or could not figure something out
not what i did or did not achieve today.

everything in the world that matters
is snuggled under my chin
smelling of oranges.

good night my cam.

x

time capsule homework!

Today you are 2 years and 9 months old.

At this exact moment, you are sleeping, finally hehe.

These days, you like to wear this: your princess skirt. constantly. and a stripy shirt.

Your favorite t.v. show(s) or movie is Barney. Thomas the Tank Engine. The most annoying Kidsongs dvd of all time, Cool Cats and teletubbies

You love to play with balloons, are OBSESSED with playing with coins and you love your dolls so much.

You say 'and then' alot right now.

Your favorite food these days is begables, cheese and vegetarian nuggets with mayonnaise.

Your favorite character from a show or movie is Barney. definitely. You kiss him alot.

This is your favorite toy: your 'moneys'. i have no idea why.

I love you to death, but I really wish you would stop throwing tantrums and screeching when I say no. I know it's genetic and you can't help it, but sheesh. I think you're better than me at it, and thats saying ALOT.

You're a great kid because you are so full of love

I'm amazed that you speak so well. your vocabulary is phenomenal. Moreover, your ability to express, define and explain the reasons for your emotions supercedes my alleged adult ability to do so daily.

I love when you put your little arm around me and say " i love you big bubbles mommy"

Something I’m wearing these days that will probably make you laugh some day: the pinafore dress i wore to work today

Something you are struggling with presently that I wish I could help you with: missing your dad

This is an article from a magazine or newspaper describing an event that happened today or around this time: Robert Mugabe, it seems, has had his reign over Zimbabwe ended.

bad mommy homework

I've never told you this, but your name is actually the beginning and the end of all things. To some, they think it means 'crooked nose' but, it actually symbolises the two of us, and together, it made you. The first three letters of your name, particularly.

Catherine



And

Matthew

Child Protégé, Indeed.

(Crossposted from SA Parent Life)

So, there you were, all newborn and fresh and cute and your dad and I were swallowed up by new baby love.

Then, after six weeks of “continual awake/asleep/feed me/change me/and that’s all I do – isn’t that easy?” phasing… the worst thing happened.

All of a sudden, you were AWAKE. AWAKE and staring at me. Goading me to “go on, now entertain me”.

So, we did. We bought the bloody expensive Baby Einstein. Convinced ourselves we were, as a result, nurturing your hidden talents and growing ourselves a true blue child protégé. We just KNEW we were the BEST parents ever.

Of course, that was the exact moment you started to totally ignore the television.

So, back to the world’s largest baby superstore we went. And invested small African countries’ GDPs in “educational toys”, utterly enamoured by the idea that WE were doing the BEST for our little pumpkin. SHE was going to grow up and CHANGE the world.

And we brought them home, showed them to you, and you gave them exactly thirteen seconds’ attention before throwing them back at me.

And turned your attention back to the television.

So, we kept on going. Trying everything. Reading. Reading to you and with you was a HUGE priority in our lives because someone (and approximately fifteen child-rearing books) said…

“You know, children who read from a young age really learn to talk faster?”

And there we were, talking to you and reading up a storm. CONVINCED that we were STILL growing a child protégé. I even went as far as saying:

“Well, my daughter is already mouthing words and making word-sounding babbles. She’s SO clever”

Why did nobody stop me and say something like “Oh, you’re going to regret this one…”

And then, you were walking and talking. You said “mama” one Thursday night and I just held you and cried and laughed and smiled.

I WAS SO PROUD.

Until, of course, the day came. Anyone who is a parent knows this. The day comes where you begin to regret being so eager for your child to speak and talk and communicate.

And yes, folks, that day was a Tuesday morning.

You’d been sick, poor thing. There’d been mess and vomit and pooh.

So, I cleaned us both up, started the mammoth laundry task. Tried to pry my fatigued eyes open to remember how to turn the machine on.

Both of us so tired and grubby.

And there I was, standing beside the machine. And you called me that name I know and love so well now.

“Mama?”

So, I turned and looked at you, my poor little sick child.

“Yes, Cameron?”

And you looked back at me, with your innocent eyes, all your precious teeth grinning at me.

And then you said, “F*ck.”
.
“Children are natural mimics who act like their parents despite every effort to teach them good manners.” ~Author Unknown

introduction - c@th

So, here I am, doing my introductory homework, because I am failing dismally with the househunt this morning - sigh. Not my fault they will not put the perfect address up for rent.

1. Post a picture of your kids.


this is my favourite one of the two of us. i look about three thousand years older than i really am, but i don't care. it's from the december holidays, and it was the best time.

2. Tell us all 3 things we wouldn't know about you.

a. I have horrible coordination. seriously. the fact that I have yet to break a limb (touch huge amounts of wood!) in my life is terribly surprising.
b. i type very fast. someone once said i 'am not an easy tiger on the keyboard'.
c. i live in my head most days. i'm learning not to be ashamed of it.

3. Tell us some things we wouldn't know about your kid(s).

a. Cameron was electrocuted during the first year of life at school. Yep, freak accident at daycare. She has a little scar on the lefthand side of her lip. One day when she asks about it, I will tell her she was working on her Pikachu inner character.
b. She is not afraid to name and explain her emotions. This makes me happy, and think that maybe I am doing a good-enough job.
c. She has a favourite princess skirt that she wears everyday. I am not one to remove a comfort object. Life's too hard already, I say, let the comfort objects rule!
d. As she grows, she becomes more and more affectionate.
e. She crawled for about a week before she thought, bugger this, I'm walking.
f. She has the same birthmark as me, just on the outside of her leg, whilst mine is on the inner thigh.
g. Her favourite crayon is black. I don't believe in the conventional thinking that this is indicative of negative thoughts. I think she's just honest. And on that note...
h. She is the most honest person I have ever met.

4. What quote/saying best describes the way you feel about being a mommy?

It is the best of times, it is the worst of times (paraphrase)

5. Who's your Famous Mommy Role Model?

Um. Famous? Maybe Angelina Jolie or Gwen Stefani. But, in reality, my Mommy Role Model would have to be the single moms out there who do not feel like they have to apologise or justify themselves to anyone.

6. If you could have one wish granted for your kid(s), what would it be?

Have good friends.

things i miss about BC

hi there. I'm not sure whether i should introduce myself or not. here goes the 'data':

single working mom in durban with vitriol running through her head, constantly, lying next to dreams. write and love it, smoke too much and trying to be unapologetically alive.

and I just want to say this: i think you're all amazing mothers. But, more than that, amazing writers. But, more than that, amazing women.

I thought I'd start with a little list of things I miss from BC. BC = Before.Child.

So, here goes:

1. Staying up all night, sleeping my hangover off all day.
2. Playing music loudly. all day.
3. I once spent an entire weekend in my pyjamas, watching South Park. Nothing disturbed me. On my worst mommy days, I want to timewarp back to there.
4. Having money to spend on the things I want, not the things she needs.
5. Having clean carpets.
6. Smoking inside the house.
7. Getting home from work and not doing anything domestic 'til the morning after.
8. Being able to type coherent blogposts/emails/anything, and not having to fight for the keyboard.
9. Being able to wear jewellery and not having it stolen from me with a "Mommy! Pretty!" glee.
10. Not having to feel guilty for getting my jig on with the girls.
11. Randomly 'going on the pull' with the girls, and waking up somewhere and thinking "you're nice, what's your name again?"


ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. now breathe in and go wash bottles mom.