Rest in Peace, dear Nelson

Sometime during the night, Nelson, our feral-ish cat, was hit by a car.

The nasty old farts across the road knocked on our door at 8 a.m. and asked if it was our cat who had crawled underneath their car, and died there.

It was our Nelson.

 I feel heartbroken.

Nelson was brought home 14 years ago when the husband had given me his credit card, told me to go buy 'something nice' for myself, and I came home with a cat.

Nelson was my trusty companion in a time of my life when I was just in the early throes of immigration, sad and alone and foreign in a foreign country.

Now the house feels emptier - a soul that was here is gone.

Son#2 and I drove to the animal cemetery and organized Nelson's cremation.

Her fat furry tummy was still warm, her paws cool.

Rest in peace, my friend.

Today is 6 months since my dad died.

 And tomorrow, the husband and I are going to Portugal, but right now, I can't muster enthusiasm for it.

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Bestie

I count the hours until my glass of wine may be enjoyed, truly enjoyed, without guilt or fear of being some common or garden variety wino.

Sigh.

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C'est Le Weekend: Gloom and Doom

The school holidays are starting today at noon.

I bought soil and Hostas and Buxus Sempervirens and Rosemary yesterday.

My mother killed the snails, fended off the spiders lest I freak out, and we cleaned up the shady corner under the pear tree.

I mowed the lawn, trimmed the hedges.

There is something intensely gratifying about working with plants, outside, sticking one's hands in the earth.

 

The weekend looms, luring my mother and I to Antwerp on Saturday, not a kid in sight.

I cannot wait.

The husband is busy with work, and in less than a week's time, the 2 of us will be flying to Portugal for 5 long nights.

But it is always strange how a holiday is stressful too.

Or I'm just screwed up.

Consider all possibilities, methinks.

Mostly I need sun and heat.

Both in copious amounts. 

And the bloody laundry and dishes that have been piling up all week, clumps of cat hair and dust and the mountains of unsorted toys, make me want to get in the car and drive south until my credit card stops working, settle there, and start again, pretending to be a mute so I won't have to talk to anyone.

At work, I'll need to organize a new office.

I'm not happy where I am now.

But that's next week's problems.

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Ice, ice baby

The weather has been kind to us.

The kids spent the day outside:

Son#2 cycling, Son#3 washing various cars and bicycles with a bucket of soapy water, and Son#1 with friends.

The husband and Son#2 aren't getting along all that well.

Son#1 went out on a rubber boat with 2 friends, one calm specimen which spent the rest of the afternoon hammering away in the fort in the garden with the boys.

The week was so busy and stressful thus far, and it ain't over yet.

Oh well.

Tomorrow morning, I'm seeing the doctor again.

My mother and I are going for a long walk through Breda after my morning appointment.

Sans enfants, merci bien.

 On Friday afternoon, the school holidays start again, and the husband and I are counting down the days until we go to Porto, next Wednesday.

I cleaned my studio/study, sorting through all my paperwork from 2008 (!!).

It took me 6 long years to do.

Somehow I don't even feel ashamed.

Meanwhile, I dream of a life in Portugal or Paternoster or any-bloody-where the sun shines and life is easy.

I like easy.

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Slogging

Rushing to work

 

 

An early morning meeting.

Classes later.

We survive, thanks mainly to my mother who let me rest this weekend.

 

On Thursday I'm going back to the doctor to discuss my test results.

But first I need a clear mind to get everything done today.

And I'm not sure whether that is a possibility.

Oh well.

 

 

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Space invader

You may have noticed, I'm still here.
It seems to prove quite difficult to stop the urges to attend to my blog.
Far more difficult than I anticipated, and I can only surmise that I feel I have something to say.

But I have been better with switching off Facebook and email, and that's dandy.
Pinterest is tough though.
A veritable smorgasbord of visual stimuli.
And my new work mobile is mainly a portable Sudoku treasure chest and Instagram facilitator.
Sigh.
I never was very good at sticking to my guns.


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Happy Easter

Easter, a.k.a. Ishtar, a.k.a. Babylonian goddess of fertility.

May the seeds we sow be fertile too.

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We Painted

I copied a Nicolas de Stael and hung it in my dining room.
The husband might be shocked when he comes back from his fishing trip tomorrow.

And then Son#2 and #3 fought continuously and I lost it utterly.

Bliss gone.

It felt as if I might be having a wee heart attack.

My stress levels really need to come down.
But my mother is dealing with the kids today, navigating between needs and tantrums.
And I'm off to the nursery to buy yet another box plant with my last money.
Bugger food when you can have buxus sempervirens waiting to grace your garden.

C'est Le Weekend: On Repeat

My mother and I skipped work and other responsibilities and, you guessed it, went to bloody Villa Augustus again.

I cannot get enough.

 Here I am, in the loos - please note, not on the loo.

I have my pride.

I even like the loos.

We ate lemon meringue and grilled vegetables, and washed it down with wine. 

This was before noon, which is shameful really.

Sniffing through the shop, a bunny topiary richer.

Just in time for Easter.

Home again.

And we stopped at the nursery to buy a purple Wisteria and a small buxus sempervirens to put in abovementioned bunny topiary.

I should get a bloody life, but let me tell you, I can't.

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Oh All Right then

I couldn't resist.

Here he is, Son#3.

Ready for school.

Wonderful kid.

This morning I was complimented by Son#3 on my beautiful underwear, necklace and nose.
This after Son#2 was finished telling me what a fat stomach I have.

I have decided that Son#3 is my official sidekick:  

He's always ready with compliments.

He walked around the garden with those glasses on this morning.

God only knows what the neighbours must think of us.

Probably that we feed our kids drugs.

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Entities

Precious.
It also goes for complaints.
The husband and I are trying to whinge less.
I've noticed that once we verbalize our stresses, they become like extra people we have to drag along.
Instead of those crap moments in our lives just being momentarily crap (being uber-zen here), they end up being these forces that need to be dealt with on top of all the rest of the stuff.
And they were just moments.
Moments pass.

The complaints rarely change:
No sleep, pain, naughty kids, crap at work, chores to do.
We seem to be non-innovative in the complaints department.

And then tonight I watched an interview with Douglas Rushkoff about the invasive and pervasive influence of technology, and how our attention is vied for by large corporations.
Also that we have a choice to choose either technology or real interaction.

I remember when I was in South Africa in November: I had no internet or mobile phone for a fortnight and how liberated I felt.
I could just BE with my mom and Son#3.

At work, we have email, a digital area with lesson material, mobile phones, Linkedin, and we use Facebook to communicate with students.
At home it is Facebook again, email, Pinterest, mobile phones (I have 2!!) and Instagram.
Did someone like my photos? My status update on Facebook?
How many congratulated me on my birthday this year?
All this leads to an empty existential dilemma:
I only exist and matter if others say I do.

And then I whine for a simple life.
Bwahaha.
Not forgetting this blog which has become a Whine Outlet, giving me a digital diary of my own despair.
I think I might need to shut up for a while.
Simplify.
Chuck stuff, people and my long list of things to do.
Sounds good to me.
And that, dear reader, means that I may be gone for a while.
Or not.
We will just have to see how that goes.

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And?

Everybody is normal until 

you get  to know them.

(John Ortberg)

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Beach

Sunshine, wine.
Playing kids.
Seemingly happy people with dogs.

And all that was missing, was my Dad.
My mother and I cried when we got home, missing my dad with all his integrity.
He always just did the right thing.
And never hesitated to lend a helping hand, even to his own detriment.
We love you, Daddy-O.
Always.


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Be Compassionate

Too often, I forget to be kind.
I'll see things from my own perspective, refusing to see things from someone else's.
Self-furtherment.
It's a nasty thing.

 

I've made a decision for my way forward, and it includes compassion.
Practicing it every day, starting with my family.
Charity starts at home, you know.


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A Full Three

And so, Son#3 turns 3.

We had a good day.

Son#1 had a rugby tournament, scored numerously and ended up in first place.

My mother and Son#2 tagged along with the husband, and later, Son#3  and I joined them.

Home.

Dinner.

Tomorrow beach, if the weather is good.

And I'm hoping, praying, for sleep.

My body is stressed and tired, with moods to match.

Sigh.

Sigh.

Long sigh.

C'est Le Weekend: Nonparticipation

A friend, an artist, lives on a farm, in a small cottage, near the village of Paternoster (a small seaside town close-ish to Cape Town).

His partner cooks wondrous things in a restaurant from the stuff he forages on the beach and in the veld.

My friend paints, glorious things.

They've been sprucing up the cottage, and it is utter simplicity.
Right now, that cottage is my go-to fantasy for a life devoid of status and complication and money and too many damn frills that a large mortgage brings.
I don't want to keep up with the bloody Joneses.
I want to shoot them.

I wish I could post his photos, just to show you how wonderful it is, but having this semi-anonymous blog is what I want - I don't want my friend to read it too, if that makes sense.

But I guess those fantasies are reflective of what I really desire in my life, and that is just simplicity.
Honesty.
Sincerity.


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Toothless

Our schedules overflow.
Our lives lack boredom.
We have enough to do.

In between, we rushed to doctor's visits - both Son#3 and I, another damn fever for Son#3 and trying to defend physical symptoms for myself.  The doctor thinks I'm just stressed.
It's all frustrating.
My mother fell and possibly broke her wrist.
Son#1 and #2 fight and listen alternately.
Son#2 went to the hospital for his eyes again, getting drops that dilate his pupils.
He's been wearing sunglasses for 2 days.
And then he pulled his own tooth.

Our little tiger.

Meanwhile, today I've been tearful.
I feel frustrated after the doctor's visit.
I understand the mind-body connection, how the one affects the other.
But I don't think I'm a nutcase.
Yet.

I'm supposed to get some work done, but right now, I can't muster the energy, and just doing the damn crap laundry, dishes and changing the cat's litter box is a wee much.
Better to drink tea.
And watch cartoons.
Later, a glass of port.
Because the husband and I are going to Porto at the end of April - sans enfants - and that is a nice prospect.
When you're in a hole, stop digging.
 
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With a Deep Voice

I have an annoying high-pitched voice, and if you're into teaching (and I mean the 'into' quite loosely, as in 'I have to do it', not 'I dig it'), that's not so great.
Some days my voice annoys the living crap out of me.
Then again, it might just be the students and stress.

But there seems to hope for the high-pitched voice looming on the horizon.
I think I have a thyroid problem.
(And I realize that all this sounds quite upbeat, and it isn't, but the prospect of being 'helped' with something concrete, sounds marvelous).

I've had a lump in my throat for about 6 weeks now, thinking that one of the boys must have whacked me on the throat, hoping it would pass on its own, without my having to run to the doctor's again.
But it hasn't.
My mother mentioned words like 'angry' when describing me, the husband scampers away every time I'm near, and the kids automatically put their hands over their ears when I enter the room.
Perhaps I have been kind of angry lately.
Plus, all the conflict I've had at work, fighting every good fight I could...
Methinks my thyroid might be to blame.
I also have tiredness, muscle pain (which I thought was just the damn fibromyalgia), dry skin and hair, heart palpitations, no memory...
In short, I might just get that deep husky voice I've wanted all my life, after all.

I have work tomorrow morning, then I might just go to see the doctor and do some tests.
Thank goodness the rest of the week is fairly calm.
At least, despite being Super Witch, I'll try and stay calm.
Who knows, who knows.


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C'est Le Weekend: Tralalalalaaa

Forgive my quietude.

My mother arrived, all 3 kids in tow at Schiphol, and I got a talking-to from #1's arrogant too-young-for-her-own-good-and-wisdom teacher about that.

Mmmmm.

My mum's here, and that is what matters most.

It feels like she's always been here.

There is a synergy and symbiosis between us - I function better with her here.

The weather changed to sunshine and heat, and we worked in the garden yesterday.

Son#2 has a tanned face.

Then today, the weather turned cold again.

We went to swimming lessons where everyone is friendly, I went to my new office this morning (our building is being remodelled), and now we're home again, listening to Son#1 with Friend, fighting with overtired Son#2 and #3.

My mother and I are doing my assignments for my varsity courses.

It is quiet and peaceful in the kitchen, and that is where we will stay.

Our weekend together awaits, and that is wonderful.

No matter what we'll do.

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Early mornings

I left early for 2 meetings with my boss and students, only to find my boss in a strange April 1st-kind of mood.

I fell for all his cunning tricks.

Sigh.

All that rushing to work for nothing.

And the boys feel the tension:  #2 and #3 were howling the morning away.

Sigh.

Tomorrow, we pick my mother up at Schiphol.

And it's her birthday too!

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