Finding my calm… at the bottom of a bowl of soup

Yesterday was one of those days. Not a good one. My mind was racing, I could not regain my calm. I was snappy. Ready to fight, unable to breathe with ease. And so I cooked.  I cooked to calm myself down because when I am  in the kitchen with loud music and cooking to distract me I feel like the order of methodology and measurements and instructions gives me the boundaries I need and the music washes away the thoughts that try to interfere with the boundaries.

Such an intense introduction to a recipe, you probably didn’t need – but the recipe I am going to share will make you glad you sat through it.  It’s deeply comforting food and although no one but me is eating soup at this time of the year you can always keep the recipe for when “normal” people eat soup (ie winter)

Tomato and Pumpkin Soup

You need:

1kg Roma tomatoes

400grams butternut

1 leek

1/3 cup olive oil

5 cloves garlic

2 tbs sugar

1 cup stock

salt and pepper

1 tbs ginger

Method:
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Place tomatoes, butternut, leek, olive oil, garlic and sugar in a roasting pan

raw vegetables

Place everything in a baking tray

 

Bake in the oven at 180 degrees for 40 minutes

cooked veg

Put it into a pot

Once they are all soft and squishy put the vegetables into a pot and add the ginger and stock. Then blend it all together with salt and pepper.

Pour it into a bowl (or cup) and eat

soup

Ta da

And that’s it – my comforting soup recipe which I made at the same time as I made a zillion other things last night because I was looking for lots of calming.

What do you do when you need to find your calm?

 

 

What kind of person are you online?

This morning at work one of the gorgeous women who I work with mentioned she’d had an awful night, she had been awake with her baby every two hours. She was sleep deprived, shattered, headachey (you know that shocking headache you get from not having slept enough?) and quite possibly nauseous from settling a crying baby for hours on end.

She needed coffee, sympathy and a nap. Also quite possibly a babysitter for a few nights. Instead I gave her the worst placation anybody could give. “You have my 100% iron clad guarantee that it will pass” I said in our little Skype chat. And only after too much time I realised how awful my words must have come across to a sleep deprived mother right in the midst of the hard parts of parenting.
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I went to a teenage party and I heard the word that I hate most

teen blog

On Saturday night I was granted brief access back into the hideous world of the teenager. Thrust back into my own years of teenage angst but with my husband by my side (thank god), a drink in my hand that I hadn’t stolen and the knowledge that those horrible teenage years come to an end.

I’m not saying for a minute that being a teenager is always horrid (although it was for me) but those very beginning years when you’re just desperately trying to fit in and discover who you are, are not pretty for anyone. Not even the pretty ones.

So back to Saturday night.
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1 000 022 things I just don’t get

I will be the first to admit that I have been a little grumpy of late, I will also be the last to talk about it because I am awful at sharing all that personal stuff (which could explain why I am such a shit blogger).

Anyway the grumpy and slightly anxious (where slightly means over-the-top) mood means I’ve been pondering over a lot of things I don’t understand (probably because I don’t want to deal with my own grump).

So here, in no specific order, is a list of things I just don’t get right now
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When my family went through a wife drought

When I stopped working at my last full time job my husband was insanely happy, probably because he was unhappier when I was at work than I was, and that’s saying something. I was stressed and unhappy when I resigned which is obviously the reason that I left.

I was working because I wanted to, because the salary was helpful (but not enough to make a real difference at home) and because I thought it was an amazing opportunity. Truth is I went to the job in a part time position and very soon that wasn’t a reality and I began to resent that. I began to realise that I could not work in that job and be the mother and wife that I wanted to be. All work places are not created equal. Even if you want to believe they are – for all the talk in the world about family work balance I didn’t have any.

My husband was ultra supportive when I was drowning at work. He couldn’t have been more understanding and helpful in fact, he picked up a lot of the slack helping out at home and with Little Pencil whenever and however he could. It’s all very well to say “of course he should after all he’s his father” but the thing is he was in a career that we both had agreed was important not just for him but for the family. His helping out at home impacted his work A LOT.  The balance was completely out of kilter.
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Childbirth is never over

little pencil at the beach

I am navigating parenting a teen in much the same way a party goer navigates a breathaliser test on the way home from a big night, dodgily swerving about and praying for the best while trying to keep everyone safe. And alive

I recently read a line from a book that I am dying to read when it is published in 2015 . The book, Love in the Time of Contempt written by the immensely talented Joanne Fedler, sums up pretty much how I am feeling with the line “Childbirth is never over. We are always birthing them, letting go of them, giving them to the world”

And so it is for me that every age and stage of Little Pencil’s life is a brand new (and frankly sometimes terrifying) experience. Now I have never been one to read baby and child rearing books because god knows I hate being to what to do and I positively loathe being told how to parent, but I like the sound of Joanne’s book because it’s about her experience more than it is an instruction manual and I do like to know how other parents are handling this stage they call the teenage years.

Further to knowing more about these bumpy years, I recently went to the most valuable and affirming talk on parenting teenagers. The talk was given by my beautiful friend and over-the-top brilliant psychologist Dani Klein and it wasn’t just because I love her that I found her talk so inspiring. What I loved is that she gave us, between many, many, many laughs, an insight into how the teenage brain works and thinks. She helped us understand that our teen’s sometimes confounding and hideous behavior is normal and, although she didn’t say this in her own words, if nobody dies in the process, we will get through it.

So I’m lucky, I’m surrounded by knowledge and experience and I have some insight into my son’s developing pre-frontal cortex. But I’m still trying to navigate my way in between the peer pressure, my own needs as a helicopter parent and the safety of my child. Oh and of course I am factoring in Little Pencil’s needs and happiness of course and it aint easy.

I’m pretty confident in the decisions we make as parents and I think our son is turning out to be a fan-bloody-tastic human being with compassion, kindness, humour and smarts but I am bloody stumped by the beach.

We have recently moved house and are closer to the beach. When I say closer I mean walking distance closer. And it’s been hot. And Little Pencil thinks he should be wiling away his days in the surf. Without his mother of course.

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He thinks he should be allowed to go to alone to the beach with his mates and by alone I mean without a parent. It feels wrong to me. When he asks me why he’s not allowed to go I actually can’t explain it.

I am not worried about the people at the beach – stranger danger is not a theory I subscribe to and I believe that he is perfectly safe from predators and men in white vans (or speedos). But I worry about the hugeness of the ocean and the strength of the waves.

In my rational mind I know that my being at the beach would not make even the smallest difference because I am a worse swimmer than he is and, if he was in the water and God forbid, something happened to him I would probably not even be aware let alone be able to help him.

He tells me that all his friends are allowed to go to the beach by themselves but most of their parents tell me otherwise. He is only 13. He has a long life at the beach (and away from it) ahead of him.

He is very much still a child albeit a teenage child. He still needs a parent and guidance and lifts and to be loved and to be shown wrong from right. He still needs boundaries and parental involvement in his life. I refuse to believe that 13 is old enough to be left to just make your way – of course he has independence and he’s better with a bus timetable than people twice his age but does he need to go to the beach by himself?

Tell me, beach-city dwellers, when did you go to the beach by yourself ? What age would you allow your kids to go swimming at the beach completely unattended?

My to do list is now a blog post. Fancy huh

breathe

I have got so much on my mind and so much on my to do list that there is no way I could write a sensible blog post – shhh don’t tell the people at Kidspot where I am writing posts every day.

But I have been busy, I have been working A LOT and I haven’t been breathing a lot – well I’ve been breathing but that shallow shitty stuff that makes you feel panicky rather than oxygenated. I thought I’d better write down everything that I have to do so that I can see how manageable it is. I am yet to be convinced but it’s worth a shot

So without further ado – my to do list, offered in no particular order

  • Shave legs (probably need to buy a weed eater)
  • Stop obsessing over ISIS
  • Make plans to live in an underground community of puppies where the outside world can’t get to me
  • Remember that I am a diabetic. This involves not eating cake for breakfast and chocolate after (or for) dinner
  • Buy a laundry basket and a bucket
  • Pick up shirts that have been at the laundry so long they’ve probably yellowed with age
  • Replace scatter cushions that 9-year-old dog has eaten because he thinks he’s still a puppy
  • Find way to stop dog eating new cushions that doesn’t involve shouting at dog or saying no (unless I add “learn to say no” to the list)
  • Reply to all the emails that have been marked for reply for the last few weeks
  • Update sons very hectic social calendar so that I feel like I am in control of something that feels sociable without having to actually talk to people.
  • Try to leave horizontal position on bed
  • Put a diary reminder in for every day for the next 25 years reminding me not to have 35 people over for dinner one week after I’ve moved into a new house
  • Phone the doctor and admit I’ve lost my scripts and blood test request form even though they were meant to be filled at the beginning if the month
  • Clear a space in the car so that I can get in. Probably also a good time to unpack the stuff in the car because I can’t use the “I’m in the midst of moving” excuse anymore
  • Find a BB cream that actually does what it says. Even if it is actually a CC cream – in fact find out the difference between BB and CC creams.
  • Develop patience
  • Replace Rescue Remedy that I’ve been drinking like water
  • Stop reading the news
  • Buy groceries and try remember how to prepare edible dinners for the family
  • Complain to carpet people about the “things” that they put at the end of the carpets that look like they have been battered by hail
  • Find out where my curtains are without running the relationship I have fostered with the curtain maker
  • Breathe. Need to write that one because I keep forgetting.

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What is on your To Do list?

Sorry I’m moving into such a beautiful house #notsorry

I suffer (and I use the term very ironically) from white man’s guilt. I was born lucky – white and Jewish in Johannesburg, South Africa with the many trappings of middle class luxury which that brings. I started to feel the guilt pretty much at the same time I was old enough to spell it and it’s never left me since.

I realise every single day how lucky I am to be born where I was and who I was, I know that my innate being has nothing to do with my winning the lottery at birth. Some people are born on rubbish dumps in third world countries, some into hideously abusive situations, others into remote parts of the world with no access to clean water let alone education and the promise of a bright future. I know that underneath it all these people are no different to me – I just got lucky. It’s hardly a huge burden to bear but it weighs on me.

It doesn’t preclude me from hard times and hideous situations and if I was a braver blogger you would know that I had been through those.

But still it weighs on me that I have so much when others have so little.

My husband works hard, so do I. So do people in coal mines and supermarket check outs and thousands of other jobs, but we earn more than them because we were born lucky – we got the education, we got the support and the breaks and the opportunities because of where we were born and who we were born to.

I don’t need to justify myself by telling you which charities we support and how generous we might be because that doesn’t really justify why some people suffer and others don’t.
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This is weighing heavily on my mind as we prepare to move into our big and fancy house. Today I had lunch with my friend Kerri, I told her how bad I felt about moving into such a magnificent house while people were starving. She was kind and reassuring and told me not to deny myself my own happiness. She’s my friend, she knows how much I stress. She said some really wise words which I forgot because I obsessed instead on the negative – the message on my Facebook page from someone who has never met me.

You see, I came home to look at my Facebook page where I had posted a picture of the new house with no intention at all – I was just excited and happy about the move and, as a blogger, I share much of my life with an audience (although clearly not all of it ) . Someone had written something quite nasty referencing my first world problem (do you know how hard it is to choose an exterior paint colour? *tongue firmly in cheek*) so I answered with a smile and came back hours later to see that she had not smiled back. In fact she had lashed out telling me how I had “pretended to be regular but clearly I wasn’t because I was showing off my “luxe” house. There was more to it but her message is now gone so I cannot quote it directly.

I wonder if she realises that the size or colour of my house does not change the person that I am, that where I live or how I live doesn’t make me a better or worse person.

I’m still just me wherever I live and that me is very lucky (and well aware of it).

new house

6 things to be very happy about

6 thingsI realise I have been a little negative lately when talking about my renovation and my temporary homelessness. It’s a bit nauseating considering I am about to move into a beautiful home and most people in the world would wish for “problems” like mine.  But anxiety is a terrible affliction and it doesn’t allow you to choose when and where you should feel like you are falling apart.

In an attempt to counteract my negativity and try and quash my anxiety I’ve decided to focus on the positive – and there’s a lot of it.

  1. We are staying at my sister’s house for another 4 nights (we have been here for 7 already). She and her family have been amazing and kind and generous and it feels a little bit like a holiday at times. Mr Pencil and I are living in her granny flat complete with our own fridge, TV and ensuite.  Little Pencil has his own room in the “big” house, it’s like Southfork (for anyone as old as me that remembers Dallas).  Spending time just being with all of them is just as it should be – it feels very right.
  2. Little Pencil is only marginally happier than Fluffy Pencil to be surrounded by cousins and an amazing aunt and uncle. I fear Fluffy Pencil has found new favourite people and none of them are from the immediate Pencil family. He has always loved my sister and her family but living with them has taken that up another notch or two him. He has not been alone once this week. He is possibly the happiest he has ever been and if he could talk it would be to ask if he could stay here when we move out
  3. Mr Pencil seems way less stressed living in this house, it may or may not be that he and my brother-in-law have been known to indulge in a post work drink or two together. Either way they get on really well and it’s like living with a  friend – except ones that get called out a lot (being a doctor on call is shit – I have realised that).
  4. I have not cooked a meal in forever.
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  6. I am about to move into a simply stunning home.
  7. I am truly and absolutely blessed to have a sister who did not hesitate to take us all in with such grace and generosity even if she is highly allergic to dogs and Fluffy Pencil licks her feet as she attempts to eat dinner. It’s hard to take in 3 houseguests and a dog but every single member of her family have been amazing – even when I have been grinding my teeth with anxiety.

Phew, that feels better

What’s making you feel happy today?

 

Putting my stresses in little boxes

Tonight when I barked at my husband for the second time in an hour he sent me this text

little boxes

I realised, when I sent a  tweet saying “I am so tense I am almost choking on tooth powder created from grinding my own teeth”, that he was right. I needed little boxes. Mostly I need the boxes whinge about my day – so here goes

I woke up at 2am. Not the normal waking-up-to-do-a-wee-at-2am-because-I-drank-a-bottle-of-water kind of wake up. But a proper full on I-am-awake wake-up.  I am living in my sister’s house because MY HOUSE IS STILL NOT READY so going to the kitchen to make a cup of tea wasn’t really on. Nor was switching on the light or howling loudly in frustration. So I played on my phone till 4 am, at which stage I fell into the deepest sleep possible making me very angry when my alarm went off at 5:30am.

At 7am my son informed me that I had forgotten to get him cups for his school project. Yes, apparently it was my job to remember and shop for his assignment (which I will need to tell you about in another blog post). So, being the ever-dutiful mother I went to Coles at 7:15 am.

At 7:45 his friend rang the door bell to come and collect him – that little piece of information telling me his friend was coming over had never made its way to me so clearly he wasn’t ready and I had to shuffle the friend, his mum and their dog out of the house because my sister’s family were still asleep.

At 8:10 Little Pencil realised he was going to be late for school so begged me to take him there although my sister lives so close to the school that getting in the car actually takes more time than walking to the school but he was stressed and so I took him. We got there 15 seconds later and he realised he had left all the stuff I had schlepped to get from Coles at the crack of dawn.  I went back to the school.

I tried to do some work. I was probably tetchy and painful and then I wrote a post that included pictures of Little Pencil as a newborn and I cried most of the morning.  Read the post here

At lunch time I had to meet my brother-in-law to take him shopping. Committed readers will know brother-in-law Pencil suffers from schizophrenia so the shopping journey is sometimes a little fraught… not going to say anymore about that. But, when I took him home there was a truck parked outside his place blocking the road. The back door swung open and there were rows and rows of dead pigs hanging on hooks. Picture how you would react if you saw dead people hanging on hooks in the back of a track – that’s how I react to seeing dead animals.
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The truck blocked my way and the driver was aggressive and hideous, as you would be if you drove dead pigs around for a living, and I had to shout at him with my aggressive South African accent to get into his truck and move. No one feels better after shouting at someone. #truestory  I can still see those pigs hanging in the back of the truck. And it fills one of my boxes of anger with deep sadness.

After dropping off my brother-in-law who had told me a lot of stuff that I couldn’t even pretend to understand, I rushed off to the new house to try and do a load of laundry because we are living out of bags and everything is dirty. I have no idea how to use the ridiculously fancy washing machine (which came with the house)  so I pushed a few buttons and hoped for the best. Apparently hoping for the best does not come with a time frame so I had to leave while the washing was still happening.

Went back to my sister’s house, fought with Little Pencil about homework, gave my sister a lift to the city, raced back home to nag Little Pencil to get ready for Tae Kwondo only to realise that his Tae Kwondo uniform was at the new house. Got around the block on the way to get said uniform when Little Pencil realised he had not sent his homework to his dad to print (have I mentioned that we are not living in any form of order?)  We drove back home and then started again.

When we got to the new house I went to retrieve the washing from the machine feeling rather smug that I had got it all done when I opened the door of the machine to the realisation that I had washed my brand new very dark jeans with everything else including Little Pencil’s blue school shirt. Only problem is that the blue school shirt was white when it got thrown into the machine.

Dropped Little Pencil at Tae Kwondo and got bitten by a mosquito IN MY OWN CAR but I soldiered on and raced home to get some work done.

Mr Pencil came home after picking up Little Pencil at 7:30 and suggested we go get some dinner because I had forgotten about that little detail. He sent Little Pencil to shower and change and that’s when I remembered that I had taken ALL of Little Pencil’s clothes to the new house. All of them. Including his pyjamas,

Look it doesn’t get much better after that but I can’t complain much more because I am exhausted and stressed about not having a proper home and I am in terrible pain from gnawing on my own teeth. Tomorrow is another day.

PS I just spotted a cockroach near my bed.