Some days

Some days you wish they could just stay this way forever.

Forever!

.

Will it really?

I'm not sure yet.

I did the laundry, made breakfast, then lunch.

Son#2 is gung-ho and dead-set on going to an obscure party held at the rugby club - which we will certainly NOT be attending and each conversation about it does end in tears.

He comes in every 10 minutes, just to repeat the same request and then get the same disappointing answer, with the same response.

Things#1 and #2 have been playing-fighting with a friend in the street.

The ice cream van sang its Mr Sandman-tunes outside again and we ran out, the kids walking back inside with ice cream-licking smiles.

Thing#3 is being uber-cute, quite happy in and out of an old cardboard box.

 You don't need an awful lot of toys to keep kids happy.

Simple things: boxes, a car or 2, a football.

I washed the baby buggy, and put the buggy, our old couch and bunk beds on the Dutch version of Ebay.

 I want to clean.

I want to get rid of all this stuff that clutters my mind and life.

Pity about pain and low energy, but one has to start somewhere.
Strangely, my right middle finger hurts like hell today - just the finger I feel like using too.
Suspicious, Universe.
Suspicious. 

Cut me loose, I need to float away.

.

Mad about the boy

I mean, really.

.

1992

Top row, third from the right.

Curls and that dreaded school dress which was threadbare at the end of my high school years.

I owned one dress, refused to let my mother buy another, lest she spend money on an institution that I abhored. 

Does anyone actually have an enjoyable puberty?

The girl with the flower on her head was my best friend,

but one of those that you need to keep your back to the wall with.

We don't have much contact anymore, which is good.

I simply skipped school for probably half of my matric year, unable to muster the energy to show up.

My parents - bless them - were in full support, being outsiders too.

Got into university anyway.

.

Chain-chain-chain of fools

I phoned the Centre for Youth and Family for help.

Son#3's failure to thrive at school leaves with me with a terrible taste in my mouth.

On Monday, I have an appointment with a school in the next village.

My friend Karen is hyper critical of schools, yet very content with the school.

The idea would be to move Son#2 (bullied) and Son#3 (unrecognized).

We shall see.

Tomorrow morning, a colleague is dropping by.

And while I appreciate the gesture, it isn't necessary.

I'd rather watch a movie with my mum.

Or read a book.

Or clean the house.

Anything rather than pity.

.

On your own

Yikes!



.

The Point

I saw a new immunologist who thinks that I'm in a prodromal phase (i.e. initial phase) of a systemic autoimmune disease.

Blood tests, results next week.

He seems to be connecting dots, and although that is  exactly what I wanted - someone to look at the big picture of my illness - I feel so, so very sad about his conclusion.

Lupus?

Scleroderma?

He said it can take years before we get to a clear diagnosis.

I am going back in 3 months' time and need to speak to my GP for pain management.

Home again.

Meeting with Son#3's teacher plus other kindergarten teacher.

Son#3 is definitely not continuing to the next year. 

He 'plays too much', especially with younger kids.

Horror of horrors, a toddler who plays.

Tsk tsk tsk.

We have NOTHING to say about this, no control.

I'm fervently hoping that we are wrong and the teachers are right - because we want what is best for Son#3.

But this complete lack of control of any direction of my life got my goat today and I threw a tantrum at home.

What oh what is the point of this blooming existence?

We are born, life-strife-people-problems and then we all die anyway.

I am struggling today.

My mother listened patiently.

Thanks mum. 

Beauty Seeks Parlor

The most brilliant titles accompany the advertisements for cats at the animal shelter.

'Beetle seeks drive'

'Feisty butterfly for the advanced cat lover'

and indeed,

'Beauty seeks Parlor'.

Literature found in the most unlikeliest of places.

Poetry can be discovered anywhere.

.

Warming up

It is the first warm day of the year.

My mother is washing the garden furniture, I raked the soil-y patches in the lawn and sowed grass seeds - a gargantuan mistake pain-wise but nice nonetheless.

Sons#1 and 2 have gone off armed with shorts, t-shirts and a soccer ball.

Son#3 is happy as a lark, playing with water.

Look at them lily-white legs.

We might go in search of slippers for the boys.

Then again, we might not.

All I know for today is that I love the sun on my skin.

Wish we could have this everyday.

.

Wait

My mother has arrived, and it is wonderful.

Simply wonderful.

Even Mother Nature is celebrating: blooms and budding trees all around.

The husband is closing the stairs in the kitchen so we (read: he) can make a cupboard to chuck our shoes in.

Sons#1 and #2 played with a friend-with-no-manners while #3 was off to a Knight-party.

I'm in a lot of pain.
When you think it can't possibly get any blooming worse, it sometimes does.

On Monday I'll see the immunologist at noon, then Son#3's teacher in the afternoon. 

Son#3, who is failing kindergarten, and who can strangely read already and pick out the correct letters for words from a letter line-up.

Yup.

So we wait.