Literary adventure

Today I woke up very excited at the thought of going to the public library in the city centre. It is the biggest of the libraries in Bloemfontein so I could just imagine the choice of books I would have at my disposal.

I put on my prettiest maxi dress ( the one that says picnic under a huge tree reading a good book). With Khaya in tow we set off on our literary adventure.Such an anti-climax, I've been planning this trip all week and what do I get? A dirty, dingy, "sparsely booked" arena.

The shelves were empty, the ones that had books had books that were in such a bad condition. How can we, us, government, whoever let this be? I went with the intention of borrowing the Sophie Kinsella Shopaholic series, and was told by the librarian "that Author is not in our system".I settled for walking aisle for aisle and grabbing any book that "calls me". I had imagined sitting on the floor, legs crossed, a number of books spread before me to pick and choose from, but between the dirty floors and less than inspiring book collection that was impossible.

There are so many initiatives, food drives, blanket drives,toy drives, surely we need a book drive to support our local libraries.

There is only so much of Tan-orexic, style disabled, New Jersey natives that a person can take. If I can't read what shall I do?

Mommy Fabulous

I woke up this morning with the intention of entering a competition to be the next blogger for Bronx Ladies Shoes. The lure of a year’s supply of shoes was just too good to ignore.  Once I had downloaded the pictures formulated some ideas and now all that was left was to put pen to paper... Blank! I do not understand why I can’t write about shoes, I love shoes, I love fashion I know my Zannotis, Stuart weitzmans and every woman knows Choo.

I can not write about shoes because my mind is clouded.  I am no longer a fashionista, motherhood has consumed me so much that  when I think of shopping I think of heading to Woolies not for the Fabulist items but, for Oyster sauce  ( my Asian stir fry is not the same without it).  The fashion must haves this summer are Rompers and Bootie sandals, really I just bought these for my 11week old son, now I need them too? Will they have cute little phrases like “as cute as my mommy” or “looking for trouble”

In all honesty I probably will end up with the bootie sandals, however I guess I just can not express my love for fashion anymore, my magazine rack is filled with not just Elle, Marie Claire and Glamour, but your parenting, your baby, Essentials, Ideas and Fresh living.

I remember a time when I used to take monthly trips to Joburg to shop for shoes and clothes that I can’t find in Bloemfontein. I would ensure I go to the latest trendy clubs, roof top parties etc. My next trip is coming up in a few weeks and instead of shoes and dresses, I want to come back with novelty baking pans and a cake decorating set. Rather than a trendy club I want to spend my birthday at Gold Reef city with my oldest son.

As much as I love shoes, fashion and all things fabulous, my scope of fabulous has expanded to include, fabulous specials on nappies, fabulous cupcake recipes, and fabulous restaurants that offer jungle gyms and playstations for my babies.

The Bench.

                                     

For South Africa 11July 2010 marked the end of a Spectacular event and time in our nation’s history. For parents it meant the time had come, soon the kiddies would be going back to school.  To many the thoughts of the children going back to school is met with utter delight, no more kids running wild, no more worries over baby sitters or what stimulating activities to plan for the day. I on the other am not so happy.

Back to school for me means going back to being a default “stay at home mom” i say default cause unlike other mom’s this is due to circumstance and not choice. I don't mind having to wake up at ungodly hours and making sure my munchkin is dressed, fed and ready for school. I don't even mind the school run and being stuck in the 10 minute traffic jams (I live in Bloemfontein). No, all that I can tolerate, what I can’t tolerate, what is an intrinsic part of being a stay at home mom is... The Mommy Bench!

If you are a working mom you probably have no idea what I’m talking about, you drop your child off at school , probably don't even get out to walk him to class because you are rushing off to work. After school your child goes to day care and after work you pick him up, probably in a rush to get home cook, and get ready for another busy day.

The Mommy Bench is where you find the stay at home moms. We get there 30 minutes before school is out, so we can get the best parking (bet you had no idea parking is a major cause of contention). Most of us are pregnant or have toddlers trailing behind us.

This bench like all other places where woman convene, better yet woman who really have nothing else going on during the day, is a place of silent alliances. Mommy cliques based on what car you drive, where you live, what you husband does for a living etc...

The Mommy Bench does not only come with the perks of being up to date with the latest gossip; who’s husband is cheating, who’s son is failing, No it also comes with  responsibility. Part of being part of the “bench society “means that you, (because it is evident you have nothing better to do) will be responsible for volunteering at all major school events. Tuck shop duty, bake sale, charity drives, and field trips. It even gets to the point where you are not asked to volunteer but I told that you will be on duty.

The last factor which makes me dread the mommy bench is; the play dates. Don't get me wrong I love my son and by all means I want him to have fun with his friends but being on that bench means each and every friend will come up to me  “Khwezi’s mom, when can I come over?’’ and of course I reply just tell your mom to call me honey...  Like clock work I’ll get a call “can such and such go home with you on Friday, I’ll pick him up after work”. Friday being a sports day and the day of the spelling test means not only do I have to sit through conversations about other people marital problems, their ill behaved children, worry about  spelling test results  but now have to also  be concerned with  planning a fun filled after school play date.

                                                                      

So you see while other parents feel a sense of relief, I could do with an extra day maybe two or make that a week!

Khaya

04 June 2010 after much debate and resistance from Zenzile I reconciled with the idea that I would not give birth at a private hospital. Nine months of private Gyneacologist visits at R680-00 per visit, twice a week I felt jilted when my Doctor decided (two weeks before I was to give birth) he was escaping World Cup fever and going to the USA.


It’s not so much that he was gone but he left without even arranging or discussing with us what the options would be, I had nothing, no info regarding who would be my Doctor during the birthing process when to book a bed nothing. It doesn’t help that I am radically patriotic and here’s this man leaving on the eve of one of the most historic moments in our country, in-light of these issues I did what I do best, “ke ngadile”. Nothing explains better my decision than the S.Sotho description, I guess I’m used to Hubby asking after every fight “O ngadile?”. To put it simply I decided to hell with them I’ll take my business elsewhere, I say business cause unlike other couples Zenzile is an entereprenuer and I’m un-employed which means medical aid insurance is a luxury and debt is not a friend so we pay everything cash, even the R15K they wanted as a deposit for me to give birth at their hospital.

That Friday we set out to our local clinic to get the process started for us to give birth at a public hospital. When we got to the clinic at about 14h30 it was empty, how great we avoided the long queues of people. Unfortunately the told us they cant help us they only do ante-natal appointments Mondays to Wednesday’s beacause of the large amounts of people that visit the clinic each day ( did I mention it was empty) oh well, as twitter people say “shrug” we turned back.

On Monday June 07, I made sure to get there before the clinic opened, once I was able to see the nurse and I gave her all my paper work from my gynaecologist with all the blood tests etc that I had taken, I realised I was supposed to have had a tetnus vaccine and H1N1 flu vaccine that my Doctor negelected to administer, (twitter talk “smh”).

Once all was done I called Zenzile to pick me up, he was on line for worldcup tickets... I decided to walk home especially because I had been researching ways to naturally induce labour according to “Dr.Google” this was one of the ways. It took about 30 minutes to get home and all I remember of that day is passing out on the sofa as soon as I got there.

That night, June 08 2h30am at 38 weeks pregnant my water broke. I just remeber waking up to this liquid rushing out and I could not stop it. It was not red or brown as the magazines say but clear. So after debating on whether or not I had just wet the bed we decided to go to the hospital. So with my hair in perfect curls thanks to a feature in the womans health I had bought earlier, I put on some makeup got dressed and off we went. Five minutes into the trip and I started getting back pains (not painful enough to deter me from letting my friends on twitter know that labour had begun). When we got to the hospital after checking how far along I was I was given a bed and told to go to bed Zenzile was told to come back in the morning since I had a long way to go. By this time contractions had started and to tell you the truth I was happy to see Zenzile go as I needed to sleep. In the morning breakfast was served; Wors with tomato gravy and two slices plain brown bread (I gave it a pass). Not much later a number of student nurses came in and one came towards me and said I’ll take her ( I guess it meant I was her patient for the day), the Dr came a few minutes afterwards at about 8h30 to check how far along I was. It felt more like he was trying to pull the baby out and I screamed out in pain which led to one of the nurses commenting (in S.Sotho so Dr. couldn’t hear) that I must be the type who at the moment of orgasm screams so loud I wake the kids up. As soon as the Dr. Was done violating me and my poor child the security guard told me Zenzile was waiting for me, he couldnt come in so I had to go out to the waiting room, hardly able to walk, I went with my student nurse trailing behind me, she let him know i was 5cm dialated and would probably give birth around 16H00 so he can go home shower and come back at 11H00 when its visiting hours. Needless to say within an hour contractions where coming one on top the other, the whole martenity ward was listening to my screaming, calling for the lord to help me. At this point a nurse decided my screams that the baby is coming where not enough she had to check for herself so again I was violated this time I screamed so loud i think I had the entire hospitals attention.

In excruitiating pain, I was told to walk to the next room ( it was at this point where I felt like I had bit off my nose to spite my face, I could’ve had an epidural and none of this would be happening was I not so quick to prove a point). How can I explain the next ten minutes when Khaya was born; its like when they show the cow giving birth on tv, with the farmers pulling and you’re on the couch thinking “Oh my that calf is so big” well I was that cow. Today 3 weeks on, what feels like 50 stitches, 48 hours of sleep lost, and a set of numb nipples later as i type this with my khaya on my lap the question lingers; would i do this again? No!

The decision to have Khaya at a public hospital was easy for me because it’s where i had Khwezi, but i’ve realised birth at the age of 23 and birth at 29 are extremely different! I dont know what an epidural feels like but if you have a choice, get it. I on the other hand will never get that chance, if there’s anything this experience has taught me it’s; no more children for me.

Ladies night out!

It used to be when I wanted a ladies night out I’d have to plan days if not weeks in advance. The Friday night sessions would end up with me at some restaurant, house music blasting (which I hate) they would refuse to serve me hot chocolate after a certain time (I don’t drink!) and I’d end up going home smelling like an ashtray.


Due to the advent of social media I now have ladies night out in the comfort of my house with out even leaving my bed. At almost 9 months pregnant with out a single cute dress that fits or heels I can wear you have to understand my excitement.

Every Friday night I tweet up (meet up with via twitter) the ladies @lihle_z, @alambe, @zoddies, @nkuli1 and @Mslishia to name a few and we watch the series channel together we laugh our way through (or at least i assume from the Lol’s, Lmao’s and twitter smiley face icons that we are laughing) She’s got the look, Project runway, and Fair ladies Style intern.

Never did I imagine I’d have so much fun with people, if they are real people, since I only have their avatar’s to go by and honestly I find myself chatting to an avatar of very cute manicured toes in beaded sandals who refers to her children as Thing1 or Thing 2.

Above all I’m just glad to find that there is more to social media than haters, and swag and that a person can have normal conversations with normal people.

"Long Walk"

It was only a few days ago that we celebrated 20 years since Nelson Mandela was released from prison, and therefore began our long walk to a "non-racial" South Africa.

20 years is quite a long time, someone born 20 years ago could today be working, finishing varsity hell in this day and age he/she could even be a parent.

So you can see after 20 years of living in a "Non-racial" society I had no qualms about having another mom ( who just happens to be white) pay me a visit today.

However from the minute she arrived the racial disparity became very clear. She arrived at 10am! 10am! Mind you that's when she said she'd arrive but, I did not expect her to. "Its a Black thing" although she said 10am I was expecting her to arrive around 11:30am or even 12pm.

As I was getting over the rude awakening she walked in the door and the first thing out of her mouth is; " I am just too liberal for the Free State too liberal". I took the bait and asked her what had her so worked up, she went on to tell me how her neighbour a "regte Boere" was annoyed this morning because as she quoted her neighbour " die rasintjies will nie uit die pad loop nie" (I think I just wrote the raisins will not stop walking in the road). When she asked her neighbour who or what are the raisins her neighbour answered "the little Kaffir kids". I, not wanting to get into this conversation so early in the morning tried to brush it off calling it ignorance but no my visitor was not having it.

Like all (okay most) White people who I've come into contact with, she had to prove just how much she loved Black people. She started with " The Monologue" I've heard it so many times I can recite it myself.

"I have never had a problem with Black people, my father speaks fluent Zulu". Then the peis de resistance "my children just love our maid (I prefer helper) Francinah she's been with us for ages and Absolom our gardener he is just the best" I let them use our toilet" (how nice now I know should I visit won't have to hold my wee till I get home).

This Monologue as intriguing as it always is, makes me wonder, I understand a large number of Black people are Domestic workers and gardeners but why must white people always compare us to their domestic workers? Your in my house drinking my Nescafe, eating my Woolies muffins yet you see the woman that scrubs your toilet? Why must they also always try to show they are not racist, no not like their neighbour, co-worker etc? Why can't relationships, friendships be built without first having to recite the guilt ridden, pseudo- apology?

Its been 20 years since we started this journey, so when I ask do we reach the destination?

The Evil that is Gossip!

I understand that as women we are social creatures, therefore we Relish on our little communities or " cliques". Its what we get Up to when we are in the midst of these cliques that I want to discuss.

When we are in these groups we tend to discuss others, especially those in other groups. Its a woman thing we have these silent "wars" understated competition with other female groups. When we are in public we embrace each other but, the minute the person walks away we dissect their appearance, what they said who they are with...

This type of gossip by all accounts is harmless. Its only when such gossip permeates the Clique that you realise the toxicity of the practice. If you as women discuss others as recreation you will soon run out of subjects and turn to each other.

When you are on the side discussing you will not know the harm of a few choice words, words uttered without thought. Only when you are the discussed do you fully grasp the severity of your actions.

I remember while studying law we were taught in "The Law Of Contract" that omitting to act does not take away liability. How does this apply to gossip? Simple; just listening to gossip in itself makes you an accomplice, you are giving it a platform.

These principles were a few days ago nothing to me, Until I found myself caught up in the dreaded rumour mill. I found myself to be on both sides and let me tell you "its not nice"

I will not for the sake of personal growth get into the who, what,when and why. I will say though its been emotionally taxing, I have learned a lesson from this.

• If you gossip, you will be gossiped about.
• If you give someone the opportunity to gossip to you, eventually they will gossip about you.

The only way to effectively get rid of this "Drug" is to "JUST SAY NO". Although it may be addictive the pain of the crash is not worth the high.

So next time some one attempts to gossip about another to you, remember proverbs 13:3 " He who guards his mouth preserves his life and the one who opens wide his lips comes to ruin"

AMEN!

The Kitchen Gods wife " Book Review"

One of my new year’s resolutions was to start reading books. Growing up I loved to read, I cherished my library card. Nancy Drew, Sweet Valley High, Charlotte’s web… the list was endless. However with time the library card had to give way to lip gloss mascara and cell phones. I guess just like the Sweet valley twins I looked up to as a child, boys, bestfriends and life’s drama’s took over.



Now almost 30, married and a mom there’s much less drama, therefore I have come to realise I miss my long lost love of reading. After almost 15 yrs I walked into a library and got a library card. When it came time to choose I did not know where to start so I went to the first isle and did what I usually do when I’m at Mr. Video and have no idea which DVD to choose; read the back of the sleeves. After reading the back of the sleeves of a couple of books I decided on Amy Tan’s The Kitchen Gods wife ( Flamingo publishers)



The books is about a Chinese American woman (Pearl) and her relationship with her mother (Winnie), although they love one another they do not have the typical mother daughter relationship, something it seems is keeping the woman from having a closer bond. When Pearls aunt “thinks” she has a brain tumour and has a short time to live she confronts both women and tells them she can no longer keep their secrets that they are keeping from each other, she therefore is giving eachone the opportunity to tell the other, if not; she will.

The story had quite an impact on me because as Winnie told Pearl for the first time about growing up in china during the war, being deserted by her mother as child, having an arranged marriage to a husband who abused her physically and mentally all these events that stole her innocence, caused her lose trust in people, develop a tough exterior, and led to her being the person she is today. It led me to reflect on my own relationship with my mother.



There are so many things I would like to know about my own mother; why as a child she would desert our family (my father, two brothers’ and I) for month’s sometime years at a time. Why she was not like other mothers, why she did not tell us she loved us more importantly why she had so much anger aimed at me. With age the anger I had towards my mother have been replace with curiosity, why ? I realised  I only know my parternal family not much about my mothers family . Where she grew up, how was her childhood, what my grandparents were like (they died before I was born) why she has no relationship with her siblings. I want to be Pearl I want her to tell me her life story in a few hundred pages. Invite me over for a cup of tea, sit me down and reveal all to me. The most significant revelation being that she trully Loves me.



I doubt though that such will ever happen between my mother and me, but reading Tan’s book made me think maybe there’s more to my mother’s story. She also has events, a war?  An abusive husband?  Something that  led her to be astranged from her children, to fear expressing intimacy.



It’s ironic how a new year’s resolution as easy reading a book has me contemplating such a difficult descision as mending my relationship with my mother. *note to self; next time pick up a Danielle Steel novel.

bitten by the Blogging bug

Its the 10th of February 2010 and I'm on to resolution number 3. Resolution number one, was to put family first. That I realised by purging a few people in my life, 2009 I was all about "my girls" I was living a Carrie Bradshaw kind of life. Reality hit when I got pregenat with my second child and had to be on bed rest for the first trimester. Lets just say Carrie lost her groove, and as I puked every hour, had severe backaches, piles and ruptured blood vessel in my placenta, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda where no where to be found. No it was Hubby and my lil boy who took daily trips to Woolies to satisfy what ever the craving was that day from avocado and salmon to sour cream on toast. It was in those crucial 3 months that I came to terms with what I already knew "My boys come first". As much as I liked being invited to all the cool parties and having bottles of Moet sent to my table it did not define me. What will define me though is the kind of mother I am, what Khwezi will say, the kind of wife I am what will Zenzile say and last but not least what will my God say did I live up to the high expectations he had for me?

Resolution number two, is to read more so to bring this to fruition I did what I had to do I got a library card. The choice of books at the Langenhovenpark library though leave much to be desired. So this resolution might have to be tweeked, does exclusive books have a an account LOL...

Along with being a gourmet cook, teaching myself to bake and decorate award winning cakes (actually I want to channel my inner Martha Stewart) I also want to keep you entertained, informed and enthralled as we keep on this journey called life. So laugh, vent and cry with me...