My shadow

Stuffing ourselves.

I had extra cream on my creamed cappucino.

No sissy-froth, thankyouverymuch.

We take our cappucinos like real men do, harhar.

That soft toy is Moemfie. 

Moemfie goes everywhere with us.

EVERYWHERE.

Son#3's curls are sagging out due to the dry heat from all the central heating.

Quite frankly, he looks like a mini Barry Manilow.

Sigh.

In the 80s, I was a huge fan.

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C'est Le Weekend: A dash

There is nothing like something going right for a change to boost your confidence and belief in life itself, however small.

Yesterday's exam was a cinch (or I'll be nose-diving in the mud unexpectedly).

It went well.

Celebrated with a wee glass of wine.

Just a wee one, so I could then have another.

The boys had play dates, and it was quiet at home.
 

I still have to prepare for the exams on the 17th and 18th.

But:

I feel - quite simply - supercharged.

Son#3 and I are having us a wee little celebration this morning.

Grin grin.

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Well here we go then

 

Calm and peaceful, that's what I am.

 

 

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Manifesto #1

A lot needs to amend itself without my stirring.
My first exam is tomorrow and 'ill-prepared' doesn't quite cover it.
I know I tend to freak out prematurely.
I know.

I need to ask myself the question though:
Do I really want to live from stressed moment to stressed moment? 

Sometimes one doesn't have the option of free choice.
(Note the oxymoron)
But sometimes one does.
It is a pity, though, that life has been so busy the last oh, say 12 years, that I've hardly had time to come up for air.
Perhaps I am just a nervous type like the mongrel of a midwife told me during Son#1's monster birth when I didn't even know what 'pushing' meant (and would you really WANT to push an almost 11 pound baby out?).
I digress.
Perhaps this is just life, and the picture of 'The Waltons' was  and always will be a story only. 
No-one really lives in peace, do they?

I should let sleeping dogs lie for the moment, at least until stress and pms and exams have passed with time.
And hope for the best. 
What else is there?


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Horror of horrors

This, then, is the look of terror, and not some narcissistic selfie.

Better yet:

This is the look of sheer terror that has been in its pajamas since 17h30 already:

A silent protest against stress and work and sick children.
 

Note frantic eyes, disheveled hair and hipster-esque glasses: 

I keep thinking those glasses will MAKE me clever.

(They don't)

I am melting down, dear reader.

Fast.

Son#2 vomitted the day away yesterday, still full of energy, mind you.

I've noticed that he can fall asleep with his face pressed up against the wall whilst listening to bedtime stories.

I keep reading even after he has lulled off: the rhythm of reading is soothing and makes me calm.

I still have 200 pages to study before Thursday.

But I'm thinking that this kind of reading won't be making me feel calm at all.

All children, whether with pneumonia or gastrointestinal viruses or whine-itis were sent to school.
I have a mountain of real work I'm running behind on, never mind the studying.
And I'd better do it all, before I am found out to be the fraud that I feel like.
They should call it the 'fraudulent forties', you know.
I'm at that age where I realize that I know nothing, really.
Nothing about nothing.

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Lunch break for 3

A movie on TV.

Mother and 2 out 3 sons utterly pooped.

A restless night and a zestless day.

Son#2's nausea finally came to fruition (I'll spare you the details).

He and I drove to my office this morning to get my things so I can work from home.

Not that I've done anything yet.

The procrastination is evidence of my lack of motivation.

Son#1's lunch break is almost done.

Meanwhile the trees are emptying their leaves out onto the streets, and the awful realization has dawned that winter is now really on its way.

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Taking turns

Son#2 woke me at 4 a.m. telling me he was about to vomit.
(Why children announce vomiting and peeing I'll never understand. Think deep voice: 'Mommy I am about to pee/poop/vomit')
Sigh.
Poor bunny.
His asthma is heavy, his coughing copious and now this damn nausea too.

Son#1 is going back to school, his fever gone but his coughing also lingers.
And then His Spoilt Nibs, Son#3, also coughing away but no other signs of illness yet (apart from the recently acquired bad moods, ugly faces and expressing his wishes to scratch me).
The timing sucks, it does.

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I'm trying to study

Amidst three crafting boys

armed with stickers and crayons and

many, many interruptions, 

I'm trying to study.

For the moment, peace reigns.

A story on CD on in the background.

Concentrated faces.

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The holiday feels far away

But think Collioure.

Feel it.

I stood on THAT beach, took THESE photos.

Oi oi vey.



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C'est Le Weekend: Give me fever

Son#1 has been sick for a few days, along with me.
We bark together, but he sounds like a seal.
(And may I just say that Prospan is the BEST cough medicine. Ever!)
He has a good fever too, and where mine remains low-grade, his rages on.
He came to snuggle his skinny-tall body into mine last night.
Kids mould themselves to you beautifully.
We fell blissfully into sleep and it was only 20h00.
The poor thing has pneumonia.

The week was filled with odd days.
It has been emotional and tiring.
We didn't sleep very much.
Son#2 is nauseous and asthmatic and also heading towads pneumonia, and it wouldn't surprise me if Son#3 did the same.
The timing sucks: I have an academic quarter to round off and studies to cram into my memory.

I ended up cleaning the entire kitchen and dining room.
Decluttering, reorganizing (also known as procrastination).
But I didn't think too much about my dad,  which was good in a way.
My new resolution: to reduce the contents of our house with 50%.
I want to travel lighter through this world.
Deadline:  unknown.

Today I will need to study like mad.
With all the hospital visits, sick kids and an overloaded work schedule, it's no damn wonder I didn't get that much done study-wise, especially if you chuck in the ever-present no sleep.
Oi vey.

The practicalities of life also demand their hunk of meat: we can't connect the laptop to the internet.
It leaves one strangely bereft and liberated: my work phone our only connection to a universe of data.
The hermit's life will be ours yet.




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