Allow me to give you some advice: If you insist on entertaining on the weekend do not do it on a Sunday afternoon for lunch.  The problem with Sunday lunch is that it literally takes the whole week.  Well it does for me.

Monday and Tuesday I spend worrying whether I have invited the right combination of  people. Whether they will talk, like each other, eat the food and go home before dinner.

Wednesday, Thursday and Friday I am consumed with menu decisions – sometimes I have difficulty sleeping because I can’t decide on which salads to make. It’s quite a serious condition and I have been known to pore over recipe books in bed deliberating for hours and trying to recall past gatherings wondering which salad I made last and who has tasted what before. Do not even start me on dessert. That takes up all my daylight hours. All of them.

Some of Fridays hours are also spent worrying about the weather and alternating between WeatherZone and the BOM hoping for different and sunnier outcomes.

Saturday it starts in earnest – shopping to be done, cooking to be started and house to be cleaned. Although why I clean the house before I cook in it so that I have to clean it again after I have cooked I am not quite sure.  Call me crazy – remember I don’t sleep for worrying over salad.
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Saturday night plans need to be shelved for, I’m not quite sure what – but doing general cooking stuff always seems to take me way into Saturday night.

Oh and then there’s the actual day of the function. Sunday morning is a nightmare. Wake up early morning to clean the house AGAIN and try find a place for the golf clubs that your husband has decided he needs. Oh okay that’s just me and yes, I am a tiny bit bitter – who buys stuff when there is no where to store it and what the hell is wrong with the boot of the car for golf clubs?

Then just when you think you can relax the guests arrive and you have to entertain them and feed them. That takes up all of Sunday afternoon when you are left to clean AGAIN.

Cautionary extra piece of advice: If you have a big party on the Sunday afternoon before a public holiday you will also spend that public holiday cleaning up.  Somehow it just happens.

So my weekend was fun. How was yours?

I’ve often been quite dismissive and even a bit scathing of the very incestuous and extremely tight South African community I have around me.

When Little Pencil was in preschool there were 2 Australians in his class of 20 kids. That’s quite a huge (make that overwhelming) majority of South Africans. And they were pretty intense albeit very lovely – the mothers that is, not the kids. The kids were just lovely.

The very close-knit ex patriot community meant that the kids all had South African accents (did I mention most of the teaching staff were also South African?). My son learned that corn was mielies and mandarins were naartjies, that dinner was supper and that back home was South Africa although he was born in Australia and had spent only 2 weeks of his short life in “that home”.

I was excited to move Little Pencil out of mini South Africa to go to a primary school that was a little more, how do you say, diverse. Granted there’s a fair share of my birth countrymen there but it’s balanced and we’re back to saying mandarins and corn and we now eat dinner every night and giggle slightly when people say supper like its quaint and antiquated.

I still have a lot of South African friends who I love and of course my family will always be South African at heart although most of them live here now. But the distance from that very tight and insular community at pre-school made me a little more intolerant of the very closed South African circle.  There’s a saying that you can sneeze in Bondi and someone in St Ives will bless you – that’s how small the community is, but worse, that’s how much every body knows your business.

I found it stifling. Invasive. I backed away from it – found it loud, aggressive and constricting.
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A couple of weeks ago one of my closest friends suffered a terrible loss, the tragic and seemingly senseless death of her 38 year old sister-in-law in South Africa. She and her family went back to South Africa for the funeral and the customary days of Jewish mourning. When they returned they had a prayer service for their friends and family to express their condolences and pray for the peace of the departed, her family and her 3 very young children.

I didn’t want to go to the service. I had just stepped off a plane, I was in no hurry to face some of the people that I knew would be there and I wasn’t feeling particularly religious (in fact it was the same day I was toying with becoming a Buddhist.) But I love my friend dearly and nothing was going to stop me going to show her my support, to squeeze her hand and just be there if she needed me.

As I stepped into the synagogue where the service was taking place it hit me. This is what the community is all about.  The synagogue was packed, there were literally hundreds of people there. My friend and her husband have very few family members in Australia – maybe 6 people. But there was a synagogue full of people, people that genuinely cared and wanted to be there to do the very same thing I had – to squeeze their hands, to be there to support them and to show them that they are never going to be alone and that they are loved.

In good times and in bad their close-knit,  somewhat incestuous friends were there and it didn’t matter what accents they had or how they were South African more than Australian even though they had lived more of their lives here than there.  It made me feel very grateful to be part of such an amazing community.

I’m definitely going to try be less scathing.

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I always thought the point of holidays was to eat buffet breakfasts, scoff on ice cream at random and varied times and wear ridiculous tie dyed dresses that you invariably think you’ll wear back home but as soon as you hang them in your cupboard you also hang your head in shame. No one wears tie dye dresses to work. Or to pick up the kids from school. Or when they are not at the beach

Mr Pencil says that the point of holidays are to relax and unwind, to do things you normally don’t have the time for and to gain perspective.

If both of us are right I have had a really good holiday. I’ve eaten an inordinate amount of breakfast (in fact the only reason I haven’t put on 5kilos instead of 3 is because I have tooth ache AGAIN)*, I’ve eaten ice cream just because (not related to the tooth ache) and I have worn clothes that are strictly holiday gear.

I’ve relaxed, wound down and I most certainly have new perspective.   In fact I have briefly toyed with the idea of becoming a Buddhist which could be fun considering it’s my son’s Bar Mitzvah year and he’s already telling me he wants the party without the “Jewish stuff”.

And now I’m back.

And while there is nothing fantastic about coming home from holiday – so far I have finished four loads of washing, done the shopping, made a soup and read 87 emails – I am hoping that this time back will be different. I am going to be keeping a little bit of the holiday zen close to me.

In fact, as an act of holiday defiance, I have decided not to change my watch from Singapore time so expect me to be 3 hours early when you see me next.

3 hours early but very mellow.

 

*2013 is turning out to be a very bad year for my teeth but a very good year for my dentist

In what will be news to no one that already knows me I have realised that I have an awful problem, I cannot switch off. I don’t even know where the switch is.

I am in what could well be regarded as paradise – an idyllic resort in a blissfully quiet part of Phuket.  Truly magnificent surroundings, a choice of 3 stunning pools plus my very own plunge pool mere metres away from what could be best described as the most comfortable bed in the world and surrounded by people that I love and that love me in return.

I have seen the hustle and bustle of tourist Phuket, I have swum in spectacular azure waters and I have eaten (way too much) of the most sumptuous food on offer.  I have spent hours reading on the beach, lying at the pool and floating in the sea, I have had massages and a fully body polish and if my body was any more relaxed I would be declared dead.

But my mind is far from dead. It’s been ticking over at it’s normal pace of knots and the thoughts racing around my head are in dire need of a holiday of their own.

That’s just one of the reasons that I am so lucky that I am on holiday with my husband. Aside from having someone to put suntan lotion on my back, pay for all my meals and take care of all the tedious parts of holidaying (he’s an excellent packer and makes plans with seamless precision) he is also my very own personal therapist. And while he doesn’t charge anything he works harder and better than any counselor I have paid in the past. And Lord knows I have paid a fair few therapists in the past. 

But most amazingly after 25 years together Mr Pencil still comes up with insights into my own character that I didn’t even know where part of me.

The other night while trying to still the noises in my head and resisting the huge and almost overwhelming urge to go online and see what was happening at work, correct a typo, give my 2 cents, send a work related tweet (or 40) check on Facebook, organise school stuff for next term, worry about child care next year, even spend a few minutes panicking about my son’s Bar Mitzvah (which is more than a year away) I looked at him with “that” face – the one that says “I will never be able to sleep, I just can’t get close.”

I don’t even know what he was thinking about or how his brilliant neural pathways made the connection but he pointed out to me that my problem that night, and MANY other times comes from the fact that I always “have to be right”.

I have to tell you – I was shocked. I thought that it was MEANT to be that way. It is our assumption that just intense men can have children! NO! You can in any case treat your ineptitude issue and acquisition de viagra and successful weakness drug. While treating low testosterone is a possibility today, knowing when exactly treatments should be taken is also important and therefore, we bring to you several ways this discount viagra the original source condition can impact your sexual function. purchase viagra uk Before 1998, erectile dysfunction did not have a cure. Cranial osteopathy embraces viagra online online all of these specialties and is available following many requests from our satisfied customers to enhance the quality of male hard-on. I thought that if you knew something other people didn’t; you had to tell them. 

Turns out you don’t.  I have always been too quick to respond, in too much of a hurry to make my point, too anxious to make people like me or believe me or maybe just believe IN me.

I have never been good at long term planning – more of a band aid girl rather than a watch and wait type of person. I want to solve everything now and deal with the fall out when it happens (and not a minute later). It’s not working and it’s exhausting me.

I know that sometimes people can see me as aggressive and I never really understood why, I am, in my own mind, the least aggressive human on the planet – I spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about the effect I have on people around me and a harrowing amount of time worrying about everyone else’s happiness.  But I do know that I like to make my point – sometimes way too quickly.

Most times I do it to make people think about me in the way I want them to. My husband’s newsflash assured me I was doing the opposite.

 So I am going to take more heed of what Mr Pencil has to say (except when it comes to shopping). I am going to blog more, try and switch off and relax more, think calmly before I respond rather than rushing into it and stop trying to prove to the world that I am right.

It might be uncannily quiet given that my neurosis and on the spot responses make a lot of noise but I am confident that Little Pencil and Mr Pencil will more than make up for that – it’s just that the noise that they make will be better for my head. And in return it will be better for everyone around me.  

Yesterday results of a University of Melbourne study into NAPLAN made headline news.  Many parents (and teachers) were indignant about the reports which showed “significant concerns about the ‘unintended side effects’ of NAPLAN, including teaching to the test, a reduction in time devoted to other subjects and a negative impact on student health and staff morale.”

“Almost half of teachers said they held practice NAPLAN tests at least once a week for five months before the tests every May.”

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(actually if you want to read this you need to hop on over to iVillage – do it, I know you want to)

If there is anyone left that reads my blog (it’s been a while – sorry I have been very busy over here) they will know that I am not the kind of person that sleeps with strangers. Well it’s been a while since I last did but recently I was given occasion to go back and even my husband approved, actually he was the one pushing me to do it.

An amazing opportunity came up for me at work to do a famil to Maurituis (for those of you who aren’t with the travel talk a famil is NOT a family in fact it’s the opposite – it means you go somewhere without your family to famiiarise yourself with a destination).   I had said no to countless other famils because a)  I am a control freak and I thought I needed routine and b) there is no b) I am just stubborn.

Anyway I had been having a pretty hard year and feeling on the edge of snapping so I decided to take this opportunity and sleep with strangers. 4 of them.

Before you start judging me let me explain that I didn’t technically sleep with them, although we slept at the same time in the same place. On a plane bound for Mauritius. Because what else do you do on a plane? Seriously? If you aren’t sleeping you’re definitely trying to …

To me sleep is one of the most intimate and personal functions that our bodies perform. Something that I have difficult doing because a)  I am a control freak and b) there is no b) I am just stubborn,  so I guess it was a fitting way to start a journey with strangers  – in the deep end.

And now that I have woken up on the other side I cannot tell you just how much I recommend it (and then spending a week with the strangers afterwards – sort of like afterplay)

• I learned that I can actually communicate without the internet. I know it sounds so archaic but I did it and it was awesome.  In fact I am thinking I may do it again some time.

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• I realised that I (along with a lot of help from Mr Pencil) have done a spectacular job of bringing up Little Pencil. He is strong, he is resilient, he is independent and he does not need me to be present in every minute of his life.  He’s perfect.

• It opened my eyes to some of the interesting, amazing and talented people out there that I don’t get to meet because a) I am a control freak and I hate being away from routine and b) there is no b) I am just stubborn.

• I released a bit of the past. Some of the fear.  I was just me. No expectations of being anything else. Not the Sharpest Pencil, not a wife, not a mother, not even a perceived version of Lana. No one knew me, I could just be the real me.

• It made me want to write again. Just write and write and write. It made me realise how lucky I am to have the job I have and this blog as well!

• And it made me younger. A very astute companion told me that I looked younger at the end of the trip than I had at the start.  I think that might have been meant as a compliment

If that’s what sleeping with strangers can do for you – I think I’m going to be needing some protection!

PS The real story of my travels will be up on iVillage shortly and my life as a travel writer will have begun.

PPS To me the analogy of sleeping with strangers and air travel is really obvious. It’s not even an analogy – it’s what happens on a plane – people sleep and they are surrounded by strangers. I fear some people may not get it so I am offering this explanation.  You’re welcome

Last night I went to a function. An exhibition in fact. There amongst the beautiful canvases were some of the most, er “interesting” people that I have spoken to for quite a while.  People that I don’t know and will be unlikely to see ever again.

There was one woman in particular who took quite a fancy to me, I think that she could tell that I never run away from conversations with strangers. (I’m very polite like that.)  After she introduced herself to me – wait, she didn’t she just talked a lot and told me her life story, but she launched into a story about her grandson. And I have to say it was a very sad story – he’s only 8 years old and he has some awful medical conditions. I could name them and explain them in full detail like she did but I want to keep you here reading what I have to say.

The first million hours of her story centred around her grandson’s birth and the fact that he was in the special care nursery.  “The level that they don’t give babies much chance in” she said . The same level that my Little Pencil was in 11 years ago.

Maybe it is because she was really boring the hell out of me (she did mention her daughter’s farm at least once every 3 sentences) but my mind started to wander and of course it wondered to Little Pencil and the time that he spent in the special care nursery.

I know that I bang on about his prematurity and early years a lot, and I am well aware that he is so much more than his first year of life but God I am proud of him. And I don’t think I express my gratitude for the perfect person that he is often enough.
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He was just the size of my hand when he was born (and I don’t have particularly big hands).  A tiny, struggling little angel that wasn’t ready to come into the world. A baby that fought so hard and endured so much just to stay with us. A baby, that according to the thoughts of Ms Talk Till You Drop wasn’t expected to make it.

And last night as I listened to this lady ramble on I caught sight of him running around, making small talk with the adults and desperately trying to get his father to agree to let him drink Coke and I almost burst with pride. And gratitude.

He’s a feisty little boy, he talks NON STOP (but that’s a post for another day) and he is strong, intelligent, healthy and full of life.

He makes me proud every day of his life and I hope that when I bore people with his story I always remember to say how grateful I am for everything that he is.