Words to Live By

  We will not just say, "I love him very much,"

 but instead, 

"I will do something so that he will suffer less."

 

The mind of compassion is
truly present when it is effective in
removing another person's
suffering.

~Thích Nhất Hạnh~ [Peace Is Every Step]

 

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Let's see

The husband is still sleeping the morning away in the guest apartment.

Poor man, he needed a good night's sleep and it wasn't going to happen in our bed.

Wait, that sounds exciting, and isn't my intention, harhar.

It seems that the youth of the greater area picked last night as Night On The Tiles, and were cycling past with loud, happy voices at all hours of the night.

Son#2 woke me at 2 a.m., unable to breathe (asthma???  pneumonia???)

I fell asleep at 5 again, and then the Sons of Anarchy woke me up at 7.

7 is good - I was expecting to get up at 6.

 

Enough numbers.

Son#1 is doing his swimming exam for his B-diploma this afternoon.

Then, later this week, he is starting Rugby practice, twice weekly.

His South African mother couldn't be more proud (not that I understand rugby, but it's a heritage thing I suppose).

On Friday, Son#2 is finally starting his much-craved swimming lessons.

Sigh.

My dad is still in hospital.

My mother is on a roll, questioning the doctors on my dad's medication, and getting them to prescribe what SHE thinks is best (and has worked in the past for my dad's high calcium levels).

My dad is confused at times, but that's the calcium talking.

He got more blood yesterday.

I hope today will be better.

My mother has to start working again on Tuesday.

I have a strong mother, and in the words of Jann Arden, her voice is what keeps me here.

Have a good Sunday, and if it isn't good, then make it good regardless.

Time is ticking away.

Breathing in, breathing out

Son#2 was up most of the night, and along with him, the husband, because I took a sleeping tablet and slept on after the disturbances of our night-crawler.

Even so, the husband left me in bed this morning, cooking breakfast for the boys (all too tired for their own good), and then dragged them off to go build huts in the woods.

They'll be back by one.

Now I'm sort of stuck about what to do with my precious morning to myself.

Think I'll just think about that for a while, sipping my coffee, lest I start cleaning stuff and tidying up.

That wouldn't be very selfish, now would it?

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C'est Le Weekend: Love

I took Son#1 and #2 to school on the bikes this morning, riding through the fields with swans, cows and horses.
Fog hovering on the surface of the water and a church steeple in the morning sun.
Calm.

Now there are men at the house, pruning the fruit trees, because we have no idea how to do it without buggering them up.
Son#3 just made me coffee (he pressed the button) and is walking around with orange glasses and his favourite orange car.
He must be full-blood Dutch to love the colour orange this much.

 
I have a busy morning otherwise, with my studies to catch up on, administration to do, vegetables to fetch at the organic farm for the last time (it's getting too expensive and we end up chucking stuff away that we never use...).

Later, I'm taking my three boys + 2 kids to a swimming party tonight, close to a town called Hank.  It's quite a drive, and I'm thinking that McDonald's sounds like a good treat for Son#2 and #3 (and me:  relieving me from cooking-dinner-duties, which I abhor).

Despite all my stress from my dad, work, kids that need help/attention/clean clothes/food/goodnight kisses/very little and disturbed sleep, the husband and I love each other.
Dearly.
And love, that is precious.
And it's a privilege to still have that ability to love another.


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Get back up

My dad was admitted to the hospital again yesterday after my mom had to get the ambulance to come and help her.
His coordination was so out of whack that he couldn't get up on his own.
To make a long, sad story short, my mom is getting help from my dad's orthopedic surgeon today to get their shitty oncologist fired, and a new one employed.

The shitty one keeps telling all and sundry that my dad is refusing ALL treatment, while this is not the case, he's just refusing the chemo-part of the treatment. 
This means that, when Mr Shitty is called in the middle of the night because my dad has problems of some kind or another, he will tell them NOT to treat him, while my dad WANTS treatment.
The stress that this idiot has caused our family is enormous.  
Why should one have to fight for one's life AND fight a doctor's over-inflated, self-interested ego as well?
I don't understand people, and I don't understand life.
Sigh.

I had a class this morning, 49 students that had to be squished into a class suitable for 30.
I started crying - in front of my colleagues (bad, bad Yo).
Luckily a colleague-friend gave me a hug, told me she would split the class into 2 groups, and that she would take the one group to another room so I could teach the remaining group.
I'm only going back on Tuesday next week, and don't plan on doing anything to do with work until then.
Will have to put my professional mask on for Tuesday.
Sigh.

Meanwhile, I picked Son#3 up early from daycare.

We saw sheep and stopped by the side of the road so Son#3 could converse with them.
It was meaningful, and calm.
Both things that I appreciate today in my stressed state.

Now Son#3 is lying on the couch, munching peanuts and it is calm and quiet in the house.
The husband will be home early to pick up Thing#1 and #2 up from school on the bikes.  
Thing#1 is coming around in terms of behaviour, but Thing#2 is still a tough cookie.
We clash a lot, because every request is met with a firm, tantrumic No.
 
I don't want my dad to die, and I don't want my mother to suffer as she does.
I've had it with problems and illness and stress and responsibilities today.
Give me a break, Universe.
Please.


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Words to Live By

Ring the bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offering.

There is a crack in everything, that is how the light gets in.

Leonard Cohen

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Heart in Hand

My dad was released from hospital by the quack-idiot-&^$()(&^&&****$#-swear word swear word-nitwit that  is his supposed oncologist.  Despite severe hypercalcemia and low hemoglobin.  
Luckily, my mother spoke to another doctor who finally (cue angelic choir) came up with a treatment plan.
No chemo, just as the good father ordered.
Halle-bleeding-lujah.
My dad's going back to the hospital today.

Meanwhile back in the Nether Lands, I survive in pockets of being.

One is a super-duper happy at work-person, ready to tackle any problem, listen to petty problems, participate in meetings, developer of curricula far and wide, being academically responsible-personality [disorder].

Another is a/an (im)patient mother and wife, cooker of dinners, washer of dishes, folder of laundry, attender of parent-teacher meetings, fetcher and kisserhugger of children.

Yet another is a good daughter, phoning my parents every day (because I want to, not because I have to), helper-thinker of solutions to our current collective sorrow, hater of all god-like figures of Human Mechanic Quackery that do not tolerate contention of lowly patients (insert guffaw and outrage).

This multiple personality-ness is severed and detached from the mother ship.
It's an odd state of existence.

Meanwhile, the husband and I had a meeting with the school social worker and Son#1's teachers yesterday.
The school social worker seems like a reasonable human being.
The teacher however, flirted with my husband (my husband) and then continued to tell us how odd that when, a couple of weeks ago, Son#1 fell from his bike on his way to school, and then proceeded to go to school, having LEFT HIS BIKE AND FLIP-FLOPS ON THE ROAD!!!
Horror of horrors!!!
How do we live with this pathology in our midst???
The leaving behind of the flip-flops was obviously the deciding factor that a number of personality disorders were at work here.
I got angry at this stage.
Must be PMS.

I think I need to get angry more often.
No more of this pussy-footing-ninny-with-no-spine.

Raw anger.
Mean.
Hard.
Heartless. 
Growling.
You'd better watch out world, I swipe too.


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On a merry chase we go

It's a packed day.
Generally, three things that need to be done on any given day, exhaust me - thoroughly.

This morning, Son#2 and I were off to the hospital to see the ophthalmologist at 8h15.
Then I had to rush back home and drop him off at school.
A rush to work, teaching in an hour's time, then rush back home to be at the boys' school by 15h00 for a parent-teacher meeting on Son#1's Daring Escape and other matters.
Sigh.
And I've been up since 3h50 this morning, along with all 3 boys, because Son#3 woke up screaming from a nightmare. 
I'm pooped.
Uncoordinated and unenergized.
I know that I will be stuttering through my lesson in a little while. 
Two hours of talking, pah.

My dad spent the night in hospital getting blood transfusions.
Today he must be treated for his high calcium levels, which could be fatal in itself if left untreated. 
He's refusing chemotherapy, and I understand that.
My mother said he is emaciated, not the robust man I knew in my life.
Love them.
Lovethem lovethem lovethem.
An awful lot.


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Life is Fragile, believe me

Last night, in spite of feeling tired and quite sick, the husband and I plonked down in front of the TV.
This, after a phone call to South Africa to hear how my dad's day was.
My mother said he had an off-day, feeling so weak he couldn't get up, being in pain, and generally sleeping the day away.
His HB-levels have dropped significantly, and that would require a blood transfusion, for which he would have to be admitted to hospital again, today.

It's a strange state to be in, this 11 000 km away from where my dad's life is slowly and painfully seeping out of him.
I feel oddly detached - it must be some kind of self-preservation-mechanism kicking in?

After bawling my eyes out, the husband offered to make me a cup of tea, and we watched a documentary on the life of Anneke Kohnke, a Jewish child whose parents were killed in the Holocaust, and who was fostered by a Protestant family where she suffered much abuse.
Eventually, she was adopted by family in the United States.

After that, we watched The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, on the life of Jean-Dominique Bauby, a French actor & writer who had locked-in-syndrome after suffering a stroke. 
This movie gets me in tears every time.
Every time.
(And it's not reflective of my already-fragile state of being).

Today, I have to work again, preparing lessons for tomorrow morning.
The husband took Son#2 and #3 on a bike ride, Son#1 is stuck to the couch watching movies on TV.
It's nearly midday and I'm in my pajamas still.
It is as it should be.
Later, I'll phone my mom to check up on my dad.
Better not to think too much.


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C'est Le Weekend: Oh boy, oh boy

I'm trying hard not to scream and get more annoyed than I already am.
Son#3 is crying on and off, any frustration setting him off.
Son#2 is staying home this morning (this might have been a wrong decision on my part) - I get the impression he's tired, judging by his horrid, Satanic behaviour. 

This weekend, I have to prepare lessons again.
Son#1 and #2 are going to a party on Saturday, praise our lucky stars, from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m.

In South Africa, my dad is hobbling along.
I spoke to him yesterday and he sounded angry and tired.
The oncologist told my mother that he just couldn't bring himself to come and see my dad in hospital.
Huh??  Isn't that supposed to be his job??
Understandably, my dad is angry, and so am I.
But this anger isn't worth the energy it requires.
Focus on the good, daddykins.

It's the weekend, and we are grateful.
The husband gets to rest, I get to work in peace, and on Sunday, we'll go and do something nice.
Being together is good (well, some of the time anyway).
 


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Never oh never

Never.

I have the flu and am spending the morning in bed with a book and tea.
Gotta love tea.
And buttered toast with Marmite.

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Date Day

It's hard to think of all the wonderful things the husband and I got to do yesterday on our 'date day', when Son#2 has been fighting me at every turn and Son#3 has been constantly crying since 7 o'clock, and is continuing to do so.
Right now he is devastated, and I mean devastated that his balloon just burst.
Sigh.
I have a cold and a bit of a temper, I suspect Son#3 is also going down that route.

The husband and I drove to Dordrecht, but it was awful weather, so we walked in the rain to the Grote Kerk, drank coffee made by two lovely older ladies, then discovered the church.
Wonderful, simply wonderful.

The husband also found evidence that the church was actually built with Lego blocks, see evidence below, Exhibit#1:

After that, Museum van Gijn, which was surprisingly lovely, seeing as it's just an old house that has been kept intact since the 18-somethings.
Villa Augustus for Lunch.
Then we drove back to Breda to see 'We're the Millers'.
We laughed, ate popcorn, enjoyed it.

Now it's Wednesday with its inevitable rush and depletion of energy.

My dad went to the dentist yesterday for toothache.
A specialist dentist called them to say that there are lesions on his jaw from the multiple myeloma.
Cancer is a bitch, and a mean one at that.
Not only a bark, but a bite as well.

Son#3 is crying fervently now.
Time for coffee.
Dora the Explorer.
And paracetomol.


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But not today

No sirreeee, not today.

Because today, the husband took a day off, and so did I, and we're off to Dordrecht.
We're doing a walk around the city, taking the cheap water taxi through the harbour, then to Villa Augustus (where else???) and then to Breda. 

 If we're careful with our time, we might even go see a movie.
The whole shebang and not a kid in sight.
 

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Family is important

The husband's brother and his wife are getting divorced, and if my sister-in-law can choose, it would be sooner rather than later.
I feel sorry for my brother-in-law - he loves his family so.

They will have to disentangle their business - most likely sell it off to the bank in these times of economic hardship, which will leave my sister-in-law's parents high and dry as well.
Her parents sold their business to the brother-and-sister-in-law, and were counting on its profits for their pension.

The greatest tragedy, though, is our nephew, above, with his 2 greatest admirers, Son#1 and #2 - whom his mom has decided she would not be taking with to her new life.
I couldn't imagine ever leaving my kids behind, even when they sometimes annoy the living crap out of me.
She must be pretty desperate.

Family is important, but not only that, it is precious.
A precious commodity in a sea of change and insecurity.
Safe harbour.


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New word

Satan (a.k.a. Son#2) woke me at 5h20.
It is Sunday.
I was miffed, to say the least, especially after he then woke Son#1 and Son#3 as well.
The husband is happily sleeping on, with the happy prospect of going to Breda this afternoon to see Bettie Serveert in concert.

My day is not so glamorous:  I have a lecture to prepare on white-collar crime, then the husband will go leaving me with 3 kids that need dinner.

I need a night off from making dinner and putting up with late-afternoon-tired-kids, and plan on taking it next week.
Even if it's just going for a walk around Breda on a dry night, and only returning after everyone has had dinner.
Or taking the husband's car and zipping down the highway somewhere and back.

For now, it is quiet and I'm sitting in the kitchen, reading up on the dangers of wheat and sipping tea.
It will rain again today, I'm sure.
But that's Okay.

Later, I'll phone my parents and hopefully my dad will have had a good day.
He has a toothache, on top of all the other pain.
When you've had a prosthetic (like in his case, a hip replacement), you need to take antibiotics before you can do anything involving blood, like visiting a dentist.
Who knew.
Hang in there, daddykins.

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Party freak

Son#1 has 2 parties this weekend.
First, last night, a Friday-the-13th-fest.
He went as Hiphop Zombie.

Complete with scars and blood on his face, a shirt and tie, cool shoes and suspenders, undone ofcourseyes.

This afternoon, he went to Party #2, a sports-party I think, as he had to go in sports gear and on his bike.
He's getting big, he went to both parties all on his very own.
He was dropped off at 9 last night, and fell asleep next to me, his head at an uncomfortable angle on my shoulder.
My love.

I went to the hairdresser, who unfortunately, did not accept credit cards.
This means that my hair's money went off my grocery budget, meaning I'm now close to broke.
Thank the gods for a thrifty husband.
We've spent the past week working out our budget.
These are tough times.
We earn good salaries, but luxuries have been stripped.

The government's policies are screwing the middle classes, and we are at the higher-and-getting-screwed-the-most-level.
Sigh.
Things are easier in Germany.
Just another year and a half, then Son#3 is also going to school, which means I'll have something of my salary left after paying childcare, which costs over a thousand bucks a month, and that for only 2,5 days' use of childcare.
If I would work more, I would only pay more.
Sigh sigh sigh.

We just have to sit it out.
It could always be worse.
We could have no jobs, no house and no prospects.
Always lots to be grateful for.

And we have BULGING apple trees, all 100% organic and we-didn't-lift-a-blooming-finger-to-look-after-them, supplying us with enormous amounts of free apple sauce.
Lo-ve-ly.







 

Words to live by

Besides the noble art of getting things done, there is a nobler art of leaving things undone. The wisdom of life consists in the elimination of the non-essentials.

Lin Yutang

(1895-1976)

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Elvis and I

For some quixotic reason, I have an affection for Elvis Presley.

He died the day after my 3rd birthday.

I don't like his music.

But I do like this:

 

Everything and everyone has something good in them.

Everyone is wise.

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Hope

An eye-opening talk with my work coach yesterday - on feelings of anxiety and then the inevitable avoidance-strategies that I apply.
Gives me hope that maybe, just maybe, I am able and willing to change my ways.
We're working on a change-my-life-strategy, setting smaller goals, letting go of my it's-got-to-be-perfect-or-you-might-as-well-leave-it (which I inevitably leave then...).
I'm starting to sound like a perfectionist.
This morning, I woke calm and semi-rested.
Breakfast.

Happy kids.

I have been working all morning, preparing a lecture on global organized crime for early tomorrow.
Riveting stuff, even if it is work and that I would like to limit work to time spent at work and not at home.
Finally, at 5 to 12, I jumped out of my pajamas, into my clothes and fetched the boys from school.
To the dentist for Son#2.
Home.
Lunch.
Now we wait for the rush to swimming lessons.
Son#1 has 2 parties this weekend, and my depleted funds will have to go towards cheap gifts for the birthday boy & girl.
I have never been this poor before.
It worries me (when I'm not avoiding it, haha).


Meanwhile, the husband is still miffed with me from a war of words on Monday night, but that's just the way it is.
We all row our own canoe.
He's going running tonight, and I'm taking a long walk when he's back.
Then a shower to get rid of the cold in our bones from autumn that has arrived in blustering fashion (fallen branches, pears knocked out of my pear tree, and gusts of wind and rain).
Reading.
Sleep.


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Mission statement#1

Yes.
Just had a wonderful conversation with a colleague about writing one's own manifesto, mission statement, that will get me to happy.
And happy is a destination.


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Thanks Mom

Gheobhaidh tú bás agus imní ort;
Gheobhaidh tú bás agus gan imní ort.
Cén mhaith í an imní?

  

 It's a Gaelic saying.  

Which roughly translates to:

You'll die with worries,

You'll die with no worries.

So what's the point in worrying? 

My mother is so damn wise.

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Fabulous Farming

We went to our local organic farm's Harvest Festival yesterday morning, and ended up spending more than 3 hours there.

The biggest highlight was most probably the tractor ride through the fields.

My friend Karen, highly pregnant, and her 2 kiddies came along.
The kids found an old canon from the Second World War in the fields, and Son#2 found and hogged a toad, which he refused to set free.

 Sigh.

The husband bought ice creams, twice.
(But I suspect that he felt bad after Son#3 split his lip when Daddy unexpectedly threw a handbrake turn in the parking area.  Tut tut.  Men = Boys).

We ate cake and drank coffee and the kids made vases out of pumpkins and decorated cupcakes.  
We bought apples and plums (which have gone into a jar with gin and sugar for delicious plum gin which we'll be gulping in a few months' time).
Son#1 made a beeswax candle, we spoke to the beekeeper and learned about bees, and the husband had a long and interesting conversation with the farmer on how he chooses which crops to plant.
A nice guy.
The farm is so lovely, because they also provide work and care facilities for people with all sorts of handicaps.  
A system which cares for the more vulnerable ones amongst us, is surely to be commended.

We returned home satiated and happy.
It's wonderful to be outside when it's sunny.
And then the husband went to play guitar and I painted for an hour.
Bliss.
Small joys.

I feel better.
One needs to be hysterically pathetic every now and then.
Whatever happens now, is what I can handle now (as my Zen teacher said).
Contented sigh.



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Young & Jung

And I like Carl Jung.

A lot.

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Saturday morning

 

Tea in my cup that my friend Karen gave me for my birthday.

I took a lovely sleeping tablet last night, and slept like a babe.

After yesterday's self-pity, I feel OK-ish this morning.

We're off to an organic farm this morning - picking our own veg, buying cheese, looking at goats.

The boys are fiddling with Lego in the playroom.

I'm joining them in a moment, taking my book and tea with me.

My dad is doing well-ish in South Africa.

He has a lot of pain.

My poor dad - within a period of less than a year, his body broke down.

Big time.

 

My mother is starting work again in 3 weeks' time.

Things must get organized to help my dad during the day.

I admire my mother so much.

So very, very much.

Even with all the crap regarding health issues, I'm so lucky, you know?

Husband, kids, parents, in-laws.

All good.

I feel blessed. 

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C'est Le Weekend: Pretty Darn Flabbergasted

And now it's Friday afternoon again, and after this past week, I am speechless.
Which is a good thing, because sometimes, one needs to just shut the hell up and grin.

I spent this gorgeous morning in the hospital, having my mouth, ears and neck checked by a Ear/Nose/Throat specialist.
Something is amiss in my mouth.
He mentioned words like 'Leukoplakia' (sometimes a precursor to oral cancer) and then 'Atypical Hyperkeratosis'.
Don't look it up, it's depressing.

I've had this burning sensation in my mouth now for 3+ weeks, and the lump in front of my ear for 2 months-ish.
The good doctor thinks I probably caught some virus, and that is causing my slightly swollen face, big glands in neck and the lump.  
Then again, it might all be part of Fibromyalgia, and might never go away.
I got a bit miffed at this point and told the doctor that it's an easy cop-out to blame everything on fibromyalgia.
I'm going back in 3 months' time.
He can't do anything for me.
I'm thinking, I might go for a second opinion in Belgium.
Where they have real doctors.

Luckily, after bawling my eyes out like a baby, I got lots of kisses and Son#2 smashed rocks for me in the garden, bringing me the super special remnants.
Bless.

Would love to have a glass of wine now, but hell, wine seems to be an aggravating factor in the development of oral cancer.
I'll abstain.
Tonight. 
Or not.


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Words to Live By

I understand.

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It is September

It is September and the garden is filled with happy, gluttonous spiders.

How do I know that they are happy?

Because they are well-fed, and everything 'well-fed' is happy.

Although this might just apply to me, and me alone?

I hope they got fat by eating gazillions of mosquitoes that have been eating my boys alive.

Literally.

According to the garden-person I met the other day, spiders come into the houses and buildings in September.

Am keeping windows and doors hermetically sealed from now on.

Bugger fresh air.

Especially Hogna snodgrassi a.k.a. the plain old Wolf Spider, likes to come for a visit (and does so often, on my side of our bedroom).

I'll just Snod him back into the Grassi on the other side of life.

Or get the husband to do it.

Getting rid of spiders and other bugs must be the #1 reason why women get married.

They are allowed to live when they stay outside.

Inside, that's a whoooooole different ballgame.