Mother Dearest

So . . . two janaazas (funerals) in one week. Sunday night an aunt who lived with my parents passed on, and on Wednesday night we received news that my Gran’s sister had passed on. So one has to pause and acknowledge that there’s really no escaping the reaper. I don’t fear death. I’m cool with one day waking up to find that I didn’t really wake up and wasn’t likely to ever again. What I do worry about it is my mother dying. I mean, I accept that logically, because she is my mother, she is older than me, and will in all likelihood move along some time before me (though nothing is cast in stone). But the thought of not having her around is both scary and depressing. I’m a grown woman of 30+ (no need to get technical about such stuff), but when I have a tummy ache, when one of my kids have a tummy ache, or even when no one I know has a tummy ache, I call my mom for advice. I call her for help with recipes I’ve made hundreds of times because she’s made them thousands of times. I call her to share my good news, my bad news and of course when there’s juicy news. Heck, she’s usually where I get the juicy news.

Don’t get me wrong, she can drive me insane at times too. But even that I’ll miss when she’s no longer there.

I guess there’s nothing I can do but enjoy and appreciate the time I have with her now. I do realise that I am lucky to have her in my life still.

 Guess what!?! She just called to tell me she made a huge pot of soup. See why I love this woman. She rocks!

Stressed Much? Yesterday I submitted my resignation. After working for the same company for over 13 years I had to draft a resignation letter for the first time in my life. I of course had no clue what to write. I googled resignation letter templates, but found nothing appropriate. I eventually settled on three little lines, saying thank you, I quit and thank you again.

Then I had to hand over this clumsily worded letter. And right as I turned to the relevant manager, to ask if we could talk, he hops up and says that he has to get to a meeting, but grabs the envelope I was holding, as he correctly assumed it was for his attention. He then darts off to the meeting with the dreaded resignation letter. So I sit and stew, wondering what his reaction would be.

After a painfully long time he finally reappears, sees my anxious face and just burst out laughing. How’s that for an anti-climax. He then asked me the why’s and where’s and finally wished me well and said he was genuinely happy that I found something that suits my needs.

And that, dear folks, was that. My last day in the Bird Cage will be the Fri 28^th June and on Mon 1^st July I report for duty as my new employers. No turning back now. The deed is done, the paper work signed. And I guess I feel quite relieved.

While new beginnings can be scary, you never know what happiness may be waiting, just around the corner.

I found this in an article on secret regrets of woman in their 30's . . .

"6. I regret that because of the pain you have caused me, because you can't be anything but selfish, because you are continuing the affair and denying it, that because of all of those reasons, I'm going to wreck myself and have an affair just to hurt you. That because I feel like an outsider in our marriage, someone who is ugly and not worth love, I'm going to seek attention elsewhere. I don't regret the hurt I'm going to cause to you, but I will regret that all my morals are disappearing in my desperate need to feel loved. By anyone. I regret that I'm not going to be the same honest, faithful person I was, because of you. -- Female, 35."

It's scary, cos i could have written that. It's as if she tore a tear stained page from my diary. We're even the  exact same age. 

Counting the days . . . Have you ever felt happy, relieved, anxious and doubtful, guilty and flippant all at the same time? All these conflicting feelings can leave one rather sea-sick while sitting dead still in an office chair. Let me explain: I secretly went for a job interview and found out two days ago that I was successful. After a brief salary discussion I accepted the offer and as soon as the paper work is signed, I’ll submit my resignation letter. After being employed by this particular company for over 13 years, I’m finally breaking out.
 

I was hesitant about going for the interview in the first place – it’s a perm position in a large corporate – I start hyperventilating at the thought. Suffocating. Choking. You get the idea?

But my current situation isn’t ideal and hasn’t been for the longest time. And it certainly isn’t rewarding. A change is long overdue.

I admit and whole heartedly believe that I should have left here years ago. But out of fear of the unknown, I’ve turned down numerous offers.

And I’m not 100% sure that the offer I just accepted is the best one, or the right one. I just know I need to take it because another might not come along for a while, and I’ll be stuck in this soul-sucking, gut-crunching, nerve-wracking, back-breaking, mind-warping and financially un-lucrative wart on the ass of the project management industry.

I am unspeakably grateful for the opportunity given to me 13 years ago, and the years of protection and support that have allowed me to grow. However I feel like I’ve gone as far as can in this company. And now it’s like a bad marriage, where the couple stays together simply out of fear being alone and instead wear each other down and waste their lives being miserable.

 And I guess that makes my new job the rebound relationship. But its ok, it’s a step in the right direction.

Cranky . . . I’m understandably cranky – post-op and still in pain. Honestly I thought I’d have the op, fix my knee and be pain free. But I’m in as much pain as I was before the op. Add to that the news that I won’t be able to run anymore. I sat there, lump in throat, glaring at the doctor and wondered what the heck I had the op for.

What followed were some very dark hours, until I regained some perspective. Fact: I still have both legs and can walk. I’m alive and well and should be grateful for having all my limbs and most of my senses. After speaking to some very smart and kind people I was reassured that the Doc was being over cautious and covering his own ass by trying as best to prevent any further injury or complaints. I was further convinced that after a decent rest period, and the right exercises, that I’ll be up and running my much loved half marathons again. But for the time being, all I had to exercise was patience. Easier said than done, most days.

And very difficult on days like today, when the darker the sky outside gets with rain clouds, the worse the pain in my knee gets. I’m really not aging gracefully.

 

Patience and perspective. Oh and positivity. That’s what I need to remember. And I guess prayer. I think praying would definitely help.

Can I have an AMEN?

Happiness should be getting to lie in bed for four days with permission, in fact, on strict instruction, and getting to call on the many helpers to bring me what ever I wish.  But in truth I'm bored.

I've tried sleeping, but it just doesn't happen. There's nothing to watch on TV and I can't read cos the meds i take make the letters wiggle and half way through a sentence I forget what the first part was about.

A little later I plan to watch some movie I have on my laptop. But for right now I'm watching the hibiscus outside my bedroom patio gently sway in the breeze, pretending its hypnotic and will sooth me to sleep. Lets see how well that works . . .  Later peeps.

Craziness is having an emotional meltdown because the tumble drying isn't drying the soccer T-shirts you forgot to hang out. It's 10pm and you're so tired you could puke, yet there's still so much to do. School cloths to iron, well if the t-shirts would just get dry first. There's Sunday to Wednesday's dishes in the sink - so you need to figure that situation out first before you can clean and prep lunch boxes and juice bottles. A quick check of message books shows that you missed last weeks request for recycled items. (And as an aside I wonder whether if I recycled, would the world maybe be kinder to me. Would karma stop  stomping on me every chance it got) 

Socks. Can't find one matching pair of clean socks. Back to the basket of smelly damp washing to find a pair of socks to toss into the tumble dryer. Open tumble dryer that's still blowing cold air out the little holes in the door, and find wet washing, also very cold, flapping around in the drum, no dryer that when I tossed it in there almost an hour ago.

I guess sticking them in other t-shirts won't kill them. But that would be so embarrassing, for them and even worse for me - being exposed as a mom who doesn't have everything under control. And heaven forbid that the world learn that I'm not super mom. 

It's 11:33 and I have a light bulb moment. Not my tears nor my cursing have affected the tumble dryer. Not positively anyways. I'm almost convinced the mean machine is doing it deliberately to see if I'd crack. 

Plan B - and B may by all means stand for brilliance. I turn the oven on to 180 degrees and give it five minutes to heat up. I then take one far from dry T-shirt and hang it over the inside of the oven door, and close it, careful that the fabric is far from the element and any risk of flaming. Wait two minutes. Open and test - drastic difference in moisture level, t-shirt feels warm as well. Repeat step one with other t-shirt. Alternating pink and green soccer t-shirts, changing angles, t-shirts were not only dry, but shockingly uncreased in just over twenty minutes. I hung the crisp dry tops over some chairs, smelling of freshly baked cupcakes, and finally limped off to bed. 

I should have felt relieved, well more than relieved actually. I should have felt like super mom for saving the day. But the stubborn lump in throat was a reminder that the sink was still full of smelly dishes, the fridge needed cleaning out, the kids were going to school in socks that were almost a full size too small for them. But worst of all, in all my mad ranting, I refused to sit with them and wait till they fell asleep. I left them to moan themselves to sleep. 

I just wish I could get organised. I wish I had help. If I had help would I be able to sit with them at night, till the fell asleep? 

That's about all the time I really get to spend with them. Those few minutes after supper and bathing, just before they doze off, and I was too busy loosing my temper with a tumble dryer. 

My daughter is four years old and to hold her chubby little hand while she sleeps is amazing. My son is five, and it worries me that he is such an insecure and anxious little boy. I wish he knew how much I loved him and how I'd do anything to keep him safe, anything to make him happy. They give the best hugs.

Kids are wonderful, so honest about needing love and affection.  Why, as we grow older, do we become coy and manipulative. Why do we see loving as weakness and being loved as a point scored. Kids are so vulnerable yet they are so eager to love. And as adults we fear and avoid vulnerability. I guess it's because kids are innocent, blissfully unaware of how hurt and pain is a certainty, and bound to find you, probably before you properly reach your teens.

But wouldn't it be great to be a child again?  Just to feel true love again?  

Kids complete you, like no parter or spouse can. They give you your true purpose in this world - a vessel to pour your heart into. Until you teach them about God, to them you are God. Isn't that the greatest thing, to have someone adore you, the real you, fat or thin, pretty or not. In the beginning they don't judge you, they demand only love. And love comes in any form to them. But mostly to them love is time. Time spent just being with them. 

I wish I had more time to build blocks, to draw. I wish I worried less about chores, about expected standards of cleanliness. I wish I played more, listened more, took more time to explore these unbelievable little brains.

The guilt lies like a lump in my throat. 

I want to be a better mommy. More than I want anything else in the world I want to be a good mommy. 

I hope my two beautiful angels know how much I love them. I hope they'll know, when they're able to understand, that they were the best thing that has ever happened to me. My son and my daughter are my greatest gift, the best part of me, and all I ever need in the world.

Sometimes I get it wrong - what being a good mommy means. I get confused about what really matters. Toys are less important than the games you play with them. Being at home, is more important than the house itself. And sometimes I'm mistakenly convinced that the chores are important and that I do it for them. When instead I get carried away with chores to impress others. For example, I  worry too much about appearing to be a good mom, attentive to details such as smart cloths for school, where practical and clean cloths would be just fine. I worry too much that I'm being judged ,as a mom, by other mothers, by other people in general. When in fact the only people whose opinions should matter are asleep right now - one in his own little bed, and the other diagonally across my side of the bed.  

I started this post, blinking back tears, on the brink of severe sadness bursting out of me. But in my confused typing I managed to figure something out. I managed to remember that I love my children, and that they love me. However undeserving of that love I might feel at times, they honestly and absolutely, 

unconditionally love me. And that's enough for me.

Alghamdulillah.

Happiness is knowing that you did something good. It's a sense of relief that you did the right thing. It's being warmed by an internal smile.

Few weeks back I was on my way to work, after dropping my kids at day care. Along the road I spotted a boy, in his high school uniform, walking his little sister to crèche. She wore the same school t-shirt my kids wore that morning. The big brother was walking so fast she had to practically run to keep up with him. I was suddenly so sad, wondering where her parents were, that they probably had to leave for work very early, and use public transport. With a lump in my throat I thought of turning my car around to drive her the several blocks she still had to walk. But I was jammed in traffic. I guess I could have turned around if I had really tried.

The guilt and sadness and the image of the little person trotting along to keep up with her brother bothered me for a long time.

This morn, as I dropped my kids I looked for her along the road, but no luck. Even after I dropped my kids I swore that if I spotted her on my way home  I would turn the car around to drive her to school. And then there she was, still a good few blocks away. She's adorable.  Either 4 or 5 years old. It's been raining since yesterday, and even thought it wasn't raining this morning, she had a little umbrella with her.

I stopped the car, barely caring about the cars behind me. Her brother hesitated for a moment, then took her hand and led her across the road and into my warm car.

I easily drove around the block and dropped them both just outside the school gates. Did I mention that she's adorable. 

As I paid for my few groceries my kids noticed the collection tin for spare change on the counter beside the cash register. They mistakenly thought the image was of a little boy vomiting. I showed them it was actually a starving little boy eating what looked like garbage from the ground. They didn't understand. They asked why his mom or daddy didn't give him food, and if he was being naughty for eating from the dirt. Bear in mind that my kids are aged four and five. I tried to explain that he didn't have a mommy, that they have no food and no house and no toys. But their little innocent minds couldn't comprehend such a reality. 

And I'm stuck trying to decide whether to make them aware of the poverty and sadness in the world, or whether to leave them innocent.  

I at 35 am somedays derailed by guilt and depression at the thought that there are children in this world starving. If I can't understand how that could happen, how with all the waste and luxury, starving children are still a reality. How can I make my own babies understand it. 

Cos I'm sure that one of the first questions they'll ask me is why Allah didn't give him food. And again I wouldn't be able to answer.

Perhaps I should just teach them to pray. And of course teach them not to waste. And above all else, to be grateful.

And I will teach them that it is always our responsibility to help others in need any time and any where we can.

If I can have this value ingrained in my children, did I help perhaps in any way? It hardly seems like anything at all.

So all post published today have been written over a period of time, but have been waiting for an Internet connection ... We have managed to get troublesome sim tray open, some time back, but are still waiting to get sim swapped for smaller version. Micro sim I believe it's called. Really. Astounded at how much money is spent on smaller and smaller things. Oh we'll.

So the sim tray is still securely shut. My only consolation is that my husband wasn't able to open it either. 

Happiness is knowing how to open the sim tray on your new iPad mini so life can carry on. Though I was laughing hysterically at all the online posts of other people battling to open their sim trays as well, I was far from happy. 

I was becoming rather frustrated at how uncooperative my new toy was proving to be.  Had to work very hard to hold myself back, for fear of wrecking the delicate little mechanism, and tried to remember when exactly it was that smaller became better.  What ever happened to go big or go home?

So after googling and utubing with no success and eventually no bandwidth either I had give up, box up and go to bed.

Tune in next time to find out if we ever got the blasted sim tray open.