What is the deal with PMS?!
Nature has a sick, sick sense of humour, people! You go through that sensitive phase when you get your first period and over the next few years you learn to roll with the hormonal tide, develop coping strategies for the two or three days of not feeling quite yourself and you get on with it. No big deal.
But then, then you get really comfortable in your cycle. You think that everything's going to stay the same because you've religiously swallowed your Mercilon or Ovral or Triphasil or whichever version of that magical little tablet you prefer, every morning for the past eight years and you've got it all under control. Until the morning when you're standing in the little clinic in the back of your local Pharmarama, staring at the plastic strip with the absorbent tip you've just urinated on and you see that second line instantly appear. That line like a gloating maroon grin that says "And you thought you were going to get away with cheating Mother Nature, didn't you?".
And then everything changes. For the next thirty-something weeks you find yourself on the wildest roller-coaster you've ever experienced and you sigh with relief when, after witnessing first hand Mother Nature's sadistic streak, you hold the product of this mad process in your arms for the first time and think how great it is that your body is now going to behave itself again, and you get to go back to being your skinny self and to keep this perfect little person forever, and to stop bawling when you see Sta-Soft advertisements on TV. This, my friend, these insane thoughts you're having at this time, should be the first indicator that your brain has been turned to sludge in the midst of your body's own personal hormonal tsunami. But your sludge is incapable of such complex computation and you just don't get it. [And in some cases, women actually repeat all of this before moving on to the next bit!]
And one morning a year or two later, that time of the month steadily approaching, having resorted to nagging, bribery and emotional blackmail in an attempt to get your spawn to eat their breakfast and your husband to pee *in* the fucking toilet and somebody, anybody to please put you out of your misery, there is a moment of clarity: This is the price we women pay for multiple orgasms.
I dunno 'bout you, but sometimes I've half a mind to pay Management a visit and demand my money back.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Monday, March 20, 2006
Turn-Around
My relationship with my daughter is often a source of intense guilt for me, as I find it extremely difficult to deal with her when she's in the middle of a tantrum - which happens pretty much every day. I have found myself, at times, torn between an intense physical desire to remove her vocal cords and overwhelming shame, anger and despair at seeing my little person so frustrated that she's almost literally climbing the walls.
Last night, however, things went differently. David and the kids and I went shopping for some essential household items on our way home from work and daycare, and we stopped at a popular department store which is currently having a massive sale, thinking we'd get Megan a pair of shoes, as the pair she'd worn to daycare had gotten wet and she was barefoot. And it was this shoe-shopping expedition that catapulted us out of our blissful family outing and into the nightmare that is Megan Screaming.
The minute she saw the sandals I'd chosen for her, she flew into protest and demanded that I put them back. I figured, okay, this would be a good oportunity to let her know that she is allowed to have an opinion and can make some choices for herself. So I put the sandals back and asked her which shoes she liked better. There were a few pairs of pink shoes nearby, with Barbie pictures on them and her little eyes sparkled as she pointed to them. So I moseyed on over there and looked for a pair in her size, reminding myself that there may have been a time, long ago, when my own eyes would have been just as bright at the sight of these. However, there wasn't a pair in Megan's size and I felt my blood turn cold as I walked back , emptyhanded, to where she was sitting in the trolley. I was pleasantly surprised when, at first, she didn't kick up a fuss as we left the store without having bought any shoes. It wasn't until we were packing our shopping into the back of my husband's red 1986 Porsche 944 Turbo that all hell broke loose.
I haven't heard that child scream like that for quite a while, and I was reminded last night that I'm very, very grateful for this fact. But as the screeching reached fever-pitch, my porcelain child turning crimson, someone must have flipped that switch in my brain that no-one's been able to find for the last three years. The one that made it possible for me to sit in the car on the way home without having to sit on my hands for fear of throwing my firstborn child out of the moving car....
And when we reached the second traffic light on the way home, I felt a little hand tap my shoulder while my beautiful daughter's Demon Voice howled "Mommyyyy?!"
So I said, "Yes, Megan?". And she screamed, "Mommy, you turn this red racing car around RIGHT NOW!!!!"
And I could only laugh.
Last night, however, things went differently. David and the kids and I went shopping for some essential household items on our way home from work and daycare, and we stopped at a popular department store which is currently having a massive sale, thinking we'd get Megan a pair of shoes, as the pair she'd worn to daycare had gotten wet and she was barefoot. And it was this shoe-shopping expedition that catapulted us out of our blissful family outing and into the nightmare that is Megan Screaming.
The minute she saw the sandals I'd chosen for her, she flew into protest and demanded that I put them back. I figured, okay, this would be a good oportunity to let her know that she is allowed to have an opinion and can make some choices for herself. So I put the sandals back and asked her which shoes she liked better. There were a few pairs of pink shoes nearby, with Barbie pictures on them and her little eyes sparkled as she pointed to them. So I moseyed on over there and looked for a pair in her size, reminding myself that there may have been a time, long ago, when my own eyes would have been just as bright at the sight of these. However, there wasn't a pair in Megan's size and I felt my blood turn cold as I walked back , emptyhanded, to where she was sitting in the trolley. I was pleasantly surprised when, at first, she didn't kick up a fuss as we left the store without having bought any shoes. It wasn't until we were packing our shopping into the back of my husband's red 1986 Porsche 944 Turbo that all hell broke loose.
I haven't heard that child scream like that for quite a while, and I was reminded last night that I'm very, very grateful for this fact. But as the screeching reached fever-pitch, my porcelain child turning crimson, someone must have flipped that switch in my brain that no-one's been able to find for the last three years. The one that made it possible for me to sit in the car on the way home without having to sit on my hands for fear of throwing my firstborn child out of the moving car....
And when we reached the second traffic light on the way home, I felt a little hand tap my shoulder while my beautiful daughter's Demon Voice howled "Mommyyyy?!"
So I said, "Yes, Megan?". And she screamed, "Mommy, you turn this red racing car around RIGHT NOW!!!!"
And I could only laugh.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Student Life
From the moment I registered at university in February this year, to the day I received my study materials in the mail on 15 February, to the moment the prescribed books I had to order and have shipped to me arrived on 25 February, right up until this morning, I have been in a state of perpetual panic.
The final registration date for the year 2006 was 9 February, which is when I registered because it wasn't until then that I was able to get the money together to pay for said registration and without which said registration would not have been accepted. And it was only when my study materials arrived on 15 February that I discovered, to my horror, that I was supposed to have contacted the University before the close of registration to specify which of my semester modules I wished to do in the first and which in the second semester, and that failure to do so would result either in having to complete all modules in the first semester, or to pay the fees a second time for those modules I moved over to the second semester after 9 February.
So my academic year looks like this:
Year modules: ENN 101, ENN 102 (English)
COM 101, COM 102 (Communication Science)
First Semester modules: CCL 101 (Classical Cultures - Greek Myth, Society & Literature)
CCL 102 (Classical Cultures - Roman Myth, Society & Literature)
GEM 101 (German)
GEM 102 (German)
THL 801 (Theory of Literature)
THL 802 (Theory of Literature)
Second Semester modules: -
Until now, I've been worrying about getting through everything and being prepared for the exams, which start in May. But I seem to be managing fairly well, considering I also have a full time job and a family to care for.
Yesterday morning I got up at 4:45, went for a quick run round the neighbourhood then sat down to do a bit of catching up on my studies, having spent the last month finding out that toddlers and hungry husbands don't allow for quiet evening study time. And I've decided to keep this up - the early morning thing. I didn't think I could do it at first, but having done the same this morning [except for the running part], I'm realising that I actually really enjoy the quiet of the early morning, before there are any birds about yet, before anyone else is up yet and while it's still dark enough to make the reading light at my desk create "atmosphere"...
And finally I have that Student Life feeling again, the way it was when I first left school and went off to university with the feeling that I could handle whatever was coming my way. That what I was doing made sense. That I was going to do something worthwhile, something satisfying with my life. That feeling that I was in control and had the power to influence the direction my life was going to take. Of course, back then, it was a matter of weeks before all of that gave way to wild parties, late mornings, missing lectures and drunken dissertations on the meaning[lessness] of life.
This time I've got my shit together, even if it didn't seem that way at the start...
The final registration date for the year 2006 was 9 February, which is when I registered because it wasn't until then that I was able to get the money together to pay for said registration and without which said registration would not have been accepted. And it was only when my study materials arrived on 15 February that I discovered, to my horror, that I was supposed to have contacted the University before the close of registration to specify which of my semester modules I wished to do in the first and which in the second semester, and that failure to do so would result either in having to complete all modules in the first semester, or to pay the fees a second time for those modules I moved over to the second semester after 9 February.
So my academic year looks like this:
Year modules: ENN 101, ENN 102 (English)
COM 101, COM 102 (Communication Science)
First Semester modules: CCL 101 (Classical Cultures - Greek Myth, Society & Literature)
CCL 102 (Classical Cultures - Roman Myth, Society & Literature)
GEM 101 (German)
GEM 102 (German)
THL 801 (Theory of Literature)
THL 802 (Theory of Literature)
Second Semester modules: -
Until now, I've been worrying about getting through everything and being prepared for the exams, which start in May. But I seem to be managing fairly well, considering I also have a full time job and a family to care for.
Yesterday morning I got up at 4:45, went for a quick run round the neighbourhood then sat down to do a bit of catching up on my studies, having spent the last month finding out that toddlers and hungry husbands don't allow for quiet evening study time. And I've decided to keep this up - the early morning thing. I didn't think I could do it at first, but having done the same this morning [except for the running part], I'm realising that I actually really enjoy the quiet of the early morning, before there are any birds about yet, before anyone else is up yet and while it's still dark enough to make the reading light at my desk create "atmosphere"...
And finally I have that Student Life feeling again, the way it was when I first left school and went off to university with the feeling that I could handle whatever was coming my way. That what I was doing made sense. That I was going to do something worthwhile, something satisfying with my life. That feeling that I was in control and had the power to influence the direction my life was going to take. Of course, back then, it was a matter of weeks before all of that gave way to wild parties, late mornings, missing lectures and drunken dissertations on the meaning[lessness] of life.
This time I've got my shit together, even if it didn't seem that way at the start...
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Marital Bliss
This is me in the run-up to one of our Friday Fights. Notice the kids in the background, staying far away from Mommy and Daddy? It's an unspoken rule in our relationship that David and I have to fight/argue/annoy one another at some point on his only day off every week. And then he laughs at me. Because it's funny, the way my body expresses what I'm feeling even if I'm not admitting it. And it doesn't make me want to jump down his throat, choke him to death and then spontaneously combust. Not at all...
Wannabeawriter
I've been trying to work up the courage to sit down and update here for a good few days now, feeling a fraud because I don't know where to start. I have all kinds of ideas and thoughts and opinions and I spend hours and hours reading and feeling things about the things I read and reading things into the things I feel about the things I read, and then e-mailing everyone from my mom to the high school friend I haven't seen since high school, writing them these long, brilliant letters full of all the things I should be writing on my blog instead.
I don't know if it's like this for them as well, but for me, the writing of all these letters is all about the way it feels to have my fingers fly accross the keys, things pouring out of me which, when I look back on them, often end up being some of the best writing I've done.
But then I can't use it, because it's already been given away, because repeating it in a story or on my blog takes away all of the fun of the telling, takes away the essence captured in the original... And I sit in front of my computer screen, fingers on the keyboard, trying to recapture that feeling I had a moment ago as I sat in this very spot, typing that e-mail to my mom, and nothing happens.
So what I've decided is that instead of receiving all these letters from me, the ones that suck all the creativity out of me, that use up all the fresh ideas I have, everyone is simply going to have to read my blog if they want to know what's going on with me.
I don't know if it's like this for them as well, but for me, the writing of all these letters is all about the way it feels to have my fingers fly accross the keys, things pouring out of me which, when I look back on them, often end up being some of the best writing I've done.
But then I can't use it, because it's already been given away, because repeating it in a story or on my blog takes away all of the fun of the telling, takes away the essence captured in the original... And I sit in front of my computer screen, fingers on the keyboard, trying to recapture that feeling I had a moment ago as I sat in this very spot, typing that e-mail to my mom, and nothing happens.
So what I've decided is that instead of receiving all these letters from me, the ones that suck all the creativity out of me, that use up all the fresh ideas I have, everyone is simply going to have to read my blog if they want to know what's going on with me.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Introduction
I don't even know you and already I'm confessing. And that's usually a sign that I'm getting myself into something utterly enjoyable but which I can't even pretend to be equipped to deal with....
Anyway,the confession: I have no idea what I'm doing here. I used to have a LiveJournal and it was pretty and stuff and it kind of sometimes looked as though I might have some idea as to what I'm doing. But the truth is that I don't have a clue, and starting this here thingy is me trying to figure it out. So as time goes on, I may or may not learn how the whole thing works.
And if I do, it's likely I'll be getting all adventurous and trying new things as I go. And if I don't , then any poor, sorry sod who happens to stumble upon this is either going to laugh or cry at my sad little life. The one I try to make sound kind of interesting by letting everyone know that I'm a wife, working mom, student and wannabe writer all in one! Go, me!
And if you've made it this far, thank you.
'Til next time.
Anyway,the confession: I have no idea what I'm doing here. I used to have a LiveJournal and it was pretty and stuff and it kind of sometimes looked as though I might have some idea as to what I'm doing. But the truth is that I don't have a clue, and starting this here thingy is me trying to figure it out. So as time goes on, I may or may not learn how the whole thing works.
And if I do, it's likely I'll be getting all adventurous and trying new things as I go. And if I don't , then any poor, sorry sod who happens to stumble upon this is either going to laugh or cry at my sad little life. The one I try to make sound kind of interesting by letting everyone know that I'm a wife, working mom, student and wannabe writer all in one! Go, me!
And if you've made it this far, thank you.
'Til next time.
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