Nurturing confidence

On the weekend we were fortunate enough to be able to watch our daughter perform in the annual school Instrumental Concert, playing the piano. Her piece lasted all of thirty seconds, and was executed flawlessly much to our smug pride. The ensuing two hours was a long and noisy celebration, with children of all ages and abilities having their chance to take the limelight and show off their “talent”. I was amazed at just how confident these kids were.

One of my aims as a parent has always been to instil a confidence in my children, with performing in front of an audience a top priority, considering it is something I myself have never been comfortable with.

In an effort to provide them with the opportunity to gain experience in performing, I enrolled them in Calisthenics earlier this year. I liked it because it wasn’t hoochie style dancing, and the music was all the old classics and not the latest Pussycat Doll singles. I uneasily overlooked the 6am starts, foundation, lipstick, false eyelashes, hairspray, hairnets, five different costumes, and the pressure to perform, as the girls seemed to love all the drama and attention.

One particular competition day came and the girls both had five different routines to perform. My little Angel was a bit concerned as she had been placed front and centre for the rods routine, and she could not remember what to do. She was so worried about it, and I had to keep reassuring her that it would all be fine, she would remember once she was up there, blah blah blah…. all those things that you say to ease someones nerves, but never truly believe yourself.

Anyway, she wasn’t fine. At all. The time for the rods routine came, and my heart started to pound- I was terrified for her! The curtain went up and I could see a look of worry on her face. The music started, she lifted her rod and all the girls behind copied her. It all kind of went down hill from there. The look of terror on her face as she wildly improvised a new routine, the girls behind attempting to emulate this whole new routine, the song seemed to just DRAG ON. I was beside myself- I wanted to leap on stage and rescue her, fold her in my arms and reassure her that it was all okay- but I had to just sit there and watch as she fought through the humiliation of her worst nightmare.

After the routine was over I went to find her, and she was so upset she couldn’t talk. I cuddled her and comforted her and tried helplessly to make her feel better, fearing that this incident could ruin her confidence in performing forever.

However, it has turned out to be the best possible thing for her self confidence. You see, she got up there stuffed up spectacularly, and SURVIVED. It is easy to get up and do something well and be confident and all that- the real challenge is realising that having a go is the most important thing, and a bit of embarrassment is not the end of the world at all.

Having said that, I have since decided that Calisthenics is not for us. All that pressure- it’s me that can’t handle it! I needed a good lie down after the rods incident…..

Finding my cry

I have had writers block.

Actually, I think it is fair to say I have had a bit of a life block to be honest. The last few months I have not been myself at all, and I have not been able to figure out why. One day I am anxious and jittery, the next- totally down in the dumps. What is going on??? I am usually quite calm, in control, CAPABLE. Why am I Going To Pieces?

I realised things had got out of hand a few days ago when I was briskly walking on the treadmill at the gym, fighting off the urge to cry. Let me clarify, I do not cry. Even at mum’s funeral I remember patting the other funeral goers on the back, comforting them in their time of grief, and wondering why I couldn’t find my own tears. Since way before that day I have barely cried at all, so finding myself on the verge of crying at the gym for no apparent reason caused me great concern.

I took this big problem to my psychologist. Yes, I see one, it’s the latest thing, didn’t you know? Anyway, I said to him with great distress, “What’s wrong with me? I am Going To Pieces! All of a sudden I just want to cry all the time! I think I am depressed! Do I need medication? I don’t know what to do….!” All whilst wringing my hands in misery, swiping my eyes in denial of the inevitable outpour of pitiful sorrow.

He just leaned back and sagely said, “Shereen, your mum died. It is okay to be sad. You need to cry some time you know, why do you fight it? Go with it, see where it takes you.”

Shaking my head in denial I tried to convince him that I don’t need to cry, thankyou very much. Terribly inconvenient and totally self indulgent. I don’t have the time for grief, it is going to have to just go away and leave me alone. I am STRONGER than that.

The very next day, whilst driving home from the morning school run, I was all on my own, listening to the radio and losing myself in my thoughts. As usual, my thoughts drifted in their usual fashion… bouncing around from one thing to another, and I found myself remembering the day mum died. As soon as that memory entered my mind I felt myself almost consciously pick my mind up and place it elsewhere, somewhere safer, more benign, where I wouldn’t have to feel the pain.

Usually, I would have sighed with relief. Phew, that was close, I almost had to relive that painful memory! But this time, I gently redirected my mind back to that terrible day. I turned down the radio, I allowed the emotions and feeling of that to day wash over me, through me, and I felt a lump form in my throat and all of a sudden tears began to run down my face. They just kept coming, coursing down, dripping off my chin, dropping onto my chest, and at the same time I was in wonder…. I am actually crying!

I cried for mum, who died too young. I cried because she was so sick for so long. I cried for the moment where I watched her take her last breath. I cried for the grandmother my mum couldn’t be, for the Nana my kids will never truly know. I cried for the big hole she has left in my life, and for the big presence she was when she was here. I cried for the girl I was who lost her mother way too early, I cried for the woman I am today, trying to be a good mother whilst missing my mother so much it hurts. I cried, and cried and I cried, and I marvelled at the fact that I could finally grieve my mum in the way she truly deserves.

When the tears dried I felt a sense of relief, and peace. And I found my thoughts drifting to my next blog post, for the first time in months. So here I am. Finally.

The Man Hangover

I have discovered that the only thing more pitiful than a Man Cold is a Man Hangover. 

Awesome Hubby attended a work dinner on Friday night, departing cheerily with the assurance that he planned to only imbibe five or six drinks.  It IS a work do, you know.  Got a REPUTATION to uphold and all that.

Well, soon after midnight, I heard the sound of keys jingling, aimed in the general direction of the lock hole in the front door. 
*fumble fumble fumble*
*keys drop on the floor*
*muffled cursing*
*fumble fumble fumble*
*door eventually swings opens with a crash*

Awesome Hubby sneaks noisily down the hallway and enters the bedroom, emitting toxic alcohol fumes. I asked him how his night was, in the way you do when you are trying to act interested but really just want to go back to sleep- “Higorgeous…..(pauses, yawns, groans) howwasyournight?….zzzzzzz…wha?? ohyeahsorry, wasitgood?”

“Good, good. Talk tomorrow. Shleeping on the coush tonight *hic* ,” was the slurred reply. Straight away I was onto him. He was drunk! And I am about to suffer a MAN HANGOVER!

In the morning I awoke and made my way into the lounge room to check on Awesome Hubby. He was awake, lying on the couch, covered to his neck with a quilt. As I walked past him, only his eyeballs moved. There was a green tinge to his pallor, and an air of self pity radiated from him. He managed to croak one word.

“Coffee.”

Rolling my eyes I decided it was in everyones best interest to comply. I placed a steaming cup into his hands and waited for it to work it’s magic. He laid back on the couch tragically, and looked at me, searching for sympathy I am sure. THe next word to emerge was thus…. “Panadol.”

Until lunch time, he remained on that couch with a haunted look on his face, that I can only surmise originated from pure terror… Oh lord I feel queasy. Did I make a fool of myself? Was I really talking to the Head of Department sometime late in the evening? What did I say? Oh crap…… WHY DIDN’T I STOP AT FIVE DRINKS????

Eventually the green tinge dissipated slightly and the air of self pity abated just enough for him to venture gingerly and somewhat sheepishly from his post on the couch to the shower. At this time I felt that I no longer had to feign sympathy and Awesome Hubby now had to Suck It Up. He submitted to my (gentle) teasing stoically, and even attempted to play with the kids before retiring to his post on the couch once more.

Ah, the Man Hangover. I imagine it will be quite some time before it visits us again.
*smug chuckle*

A Trip Down Anxiety Lane: The Insomnia Chronicles

OK, I *guess* you could say that I am not the calmest person around.  In fact, I *may* have been described as highly strung on more that a few occasions, and *perhaps* it is true that I live with a commentary inside my head that *sometimes* has more to say than I would like. 

This story started a few weeks ago now, the week before I was due to start uni.  I came down with an odd virus that made me feel faint, incessantly headachey and just unable to function.  But what weirded me out the most was that I didn’t have a fever of any kind.  I. just. felt. wrong. 

Trying to push through it when I felt so awful made me realise how isolated I am.  I have a vast, loving family who are always willing to help, but they are all over 30 minutes drive away.  Awesome Hubby works an hour away.  All of a sudden and for no apparent reason I began to wonder… am I depressed?  Maybe I am not sick after all, and I am just depressed.  For some reason this niggling suspicion sparked a massive, humbling, embarrassing, enlightening and downright baffling few weeks. 

Firstly, I visited my GP.  I walked in after a tense wait in the waiting room, and blurted out to him “I think I have a virus but I am not sure……”  He took my blood pressure and pulse rate and kicked into action.  “Right!  Let’s get you on the ECG!  Are you having chest pain?  Do you see a cardiologist?  Your pulse rate is 136!  You might need medication!” 

Well, it seems I was not ready to expire at that point, and was actually having a rather spectacular anxiety attack.  Beautiful and well timed.  And my GPs (justified) response just added fuel to my anxieties.  I have a dodgy heart!  I need medication!  Then there will be side effects and I will never be the same again!  I have anxiety!  HOW WILL I PARENT MY KIDS??   

After that I found that my heart rate just would not calm down.  And my mind kicked into overdrive and I stopped sleeping.  Oh, I lie, I didnt STOP sleeping, I could only sleep MAXIMUM two hours a night.  I would lie there all night unable to still my mind and stop my heart from yammering away like a freight train.  And overriding all thoughts was one thing…”What’s wrong with me???”  The more I couldn’t sleep the more anxious I became about how I would be able to function the next day.  As they say- a vicious cycle.

I visited the chemist, stocking up on heartburn stuff, valerian, sleepy aids and Brauers calmative, none of which worked in the slightest.  I still lay awake for a majority of the night trying desperately to sleep and just not being able to.

I visited the GP again, and walked out with a prescription for a sleeping tablet, and a warning not to take them too much or I will become dependant.  Another anxiety to add to my stockpile.  In desperation I took the tablets a few times in order to sleep, only to find my eyes springing open and mind kicking back into action at 3am, the minute they wore off.

I visited a hippy healer who claims to cure anxiety in one visit.  He was very interesting, pointing out to me that anxieties are formed due to negative responses to situations in ones lifetime, and that it is in our control to change our perceptions and stop allowing these constructs to rule our life.  The creative visualisation thing that came after did not really work for me, as much as I wanted it to.  As much as I wanted to believe that visualising away an anxiety would be an instant cure, I just couldn’t accept it and walked away as anxious as ever. 

I visited a naturopath.  He conducted tests and assessments and recommended a variety of bloods to be taken through my GP.  I walked out with a variety of potions and tonics designed to help me sleep a little better….. only to achieve two hours sleep that night- again!

I visited my GP who huffed and puffed about the tests the naturopath recommended.  I insisted, and asked for a referral to a psychologist.  I brought up my insomnia, to which he recommended warm milk, warm shower, soft music.  NOT HELPFUL!  By this stage I have been getting two hours of sleep a night for two weeks.  I AM FRIGGING EXHAUSTED!!  DO YOU REALLY THINK I HAVEN’T TRIED WARM FREAKING MILK AND HOT SHOWERS????

I visited a Chinese Herbalist and Acupuncturist, who informed me that my heart is “very faster” and my body is running very hot, and my blood is weak due to having kids and not supplying my brain enough.  An hour and a half of acupuncture, suction cups on my back and an expensive container of VILE tasting Chinese herbs, I began to feel an improvement, more calm….  although I STILL COULD NOT SLEEP.  

I visited my cardiologist, who gave me the all clear heart wise, advising common sense approaches such as relaxation and exercise.  The former seems impossible the latter seems unlikely.  Too tired!  He also suggested Horlicks before bed.  SO off to the supermarket I go to stock up on Horlicks and sleepy tea.

I visited a psychologist who pointed out that I talk fast, leave sentences unfinished, and need to learn to speak to my emotions. 

I visited my Chinese herbalist for another stint of acupuncture, which involved lying on my back with pins coming out of my forehead, my ears, my chest, my stomach, my wrists, knees and ankles.  Left with another two boxes of chinese herbs. 

About this time I received a call from my GP.  It seems that those blood tests he didn’t see the need for actually has revealed a Vitamin D deficiency, which is linked to sleeplessness, depression and anxiety.  So a Vitamin D supplement has been added to the sleep aids, the Chinese herbs, the multivitamins, the Horlicks and the Sleepy teas.  Oh, and my white blood cell count shows that I have been fighting a virus after all. 

Another visit to the chemist and finally after three weeks of crippling insomnia I have found a natural sleep aid that WORKS.  I can sleep again!  By this stage, I had begun to worry that my sleep was broken.  It was such a relief to be able to SLEEP!

With all these professionals on the case I am beginning to feel better and calmer, although there has been a lingering worry that this anxiety thing is bigger and stronger than me.  But a well timed phone call from my wonderful friend Nives has whipped me into line once and for all, and she said to me all the things I needed to hear in order to get me to take responsibility for all for all this shemozzle.  She rocks! 

Also, Nana K who pointed out quite rationally that my life involves a son that doesn’t sleep, a crappy rental that is too small and dark, a house that hasn’t sold in a year (but has now….yaaaaaay!), a mother who died after a long and horrible illness, a change in relationships within the family, a new school…… change, change, change!  Who knew that it would come to a point where something had to give?

I also need to thank my inlaws, my sister, my friends and my Awesome Hubby for being so supportive and non judgemental.  I am definitely getting back to square one, once and for all.  The only negative in all this is I have had to make the call to defer uni.  I am disappointed but committed to the task of finding peace for myself before starting that phase of my life.

So after this long and gushy post that is so not what I would normally write, which may not make sense- hey, three nights of sleep isn’t going to restore me to my former literary genius!- I am going to publish it.  Finally, I know I am going to be just fine, and that I am in control of this after all.  And hey, what’s the point of claiming to be creative if I don’t have a brief foray into mental quandary?

Creative and motivated!

The alarm went off at 6.31am, and I rolled over in confusion.  I haven’t woken to an alarm in a number of years!  For what reason would I have set my alarm to wake me, and why oh WHY is it on some cheesy AM station?  Hitting the snooze button, willing to put the whole alarm incident down as a big mistake, I nestled down into my warm covers with contentment…only for my eyes to snap open a second later in shocked realisation.  I know what today is!  Today is the first day of the rest of my life!

Jumping out of bed I raced for the shower, psyching myelf up for my first day at uni.   DEEP BREATHS, Shereen, you are going to be okay!  THe warm water sluiced over my panic stricken face, and for a moment I considered returning to my warm cocoon, ready to live in denial for a little bit longer.  Who needs to step outside of their comfort zone anyway?  I really LIKE my comfort zone!  It’s….comfortable.  Comfortable works for me. 

I got out of the shower and dressed in my carefully laid out, slightly-funky-with-a-mature-edge outfit, hoping to strike the right balance between ‘worldly’ and ’still got it’.  Ignoring the butterflies in my stomach I dressed and breakfasted the kids, before hugging them all and leaving them in the capable hands of Awesome Hubby. 

The drive there was marred by nerves… I don’t know anyone!  What if I can’t find the classroom?  What happens if I really don’t like the class?  What if I am not a writer after all?  Oh lordy, what have I gotten myself into?? 

I arrive at uni and park the car, stepping with trepidation to what feels like my execution.  Why did I decide to do this?  My kids need me at home!  With every step my doubts rise, and I begin to formulate my plan of excape.  I can withdraw.  I don’t really need to go.  I can just go home and put this all behind me.  All the while as I fought and bargained with myself, I was getting closer and closer to my daunting destination, and before long I found myself outside my classroom standing as part of a diverse group of students all wearing the same 8am I-need-coffee looks on their faces.

The door opened and we all filed inside and I found myself seated in a group of twenty.  Yes there were many young things with their trendy hair and super styled clothes and leopard skin flats, but there were a few older than me too. 

The lecturer breezed in and the seminar got under way, and with every word my trepidation lifted and I felt something remarkable happen.  An inner light switched on.  Every fibre of my being was absorbed in what that lecturer was saying, and I felt that unrequited thirst for knowledge beginning to be satiated.  THIS is where I am supposed to be!  I feel like I have found a little oasis of knowledge that is just for me, that will sustain the part of me that has been hungering for so long. 

The three hour class passed before I knew it, and I left with my mind zinging and buzzing with ideas for my first assignment.  I feel like I have stepped over a chasm into a land of change and opportunity, and that all I will learn and achieve from now will fulfil me as a human being.  And the fact that I have to read magazines and websites for homework makes it an even sweeter deal!

So from this day forward, when I am reclining on the couch with a mag and a cuppa, I am working- very hard!

Cold feet

I am having a massive crisis of confidence. We all know I am due to start uni this week. The reason we all know this is because I have been shouting it from the rooftops (and blogs…and forums…and facebook…), that I am going to uni, and I am going to be great! I have announced to the world that I am making this big step, this massive life change, strutting my stuff with my chest puffed out, acting like I am ALL THAT.

But now I have cold feet, and I am scared.

There is a new little voice competing with the usual voices in my head, saying ‘What have you done? You can’t go to uni! You will need to study, to work hard… you don’t have the time! You don’t have the talent! What were you thinking??’

I don’t know what I was thinking. OK, I like to write stuff. I even think sometimes that I am a bit good at it. But writing stuff on a blog read by loving but biased friends and family is a bit different to putting my stuff ‘out there’ to be critiqued by strangers. What if it turns out that I really am not all that good after all?

Not to mention that I am not used to writing on command. Currently I sit at the computer, listen to the voices in my head and write it down, then take all the credit. Yes, it sounds crazy, but it is true. I do not make words happen, I just listen to whatever it is that is swirling around in my mind and put it onto paper. But I do not think my lecturers are going to want to know the random things I think about. But will I be able to write about stuff that really matters?

My instincts are telling me to run, RUN, put an end to this nonsense! But I don’t want to let nerves, self doubt and an intense fear of public speaking rule my life.

So on Friday, 8am, I will be sitting in that lecture theatre, heart pounding, probably with a stomach ache, possibly feeling light headed and slightly nauseous… but I *will* be there. Because unless I take this scary step all I will ever do is dream.

A Fictionish Story

This is a fiction story based around real events- there was a holiday, there was a hippy campervan, there was a slightly harrassed but loving mother… the rest is elaborated, exaggerated and/or downright fabricated!

I reckon I have worn a trench between the campervan and the ablution block today. Back, forth, back, forth….back, forth. Three kids with different toileting body clocks certainly has ensured I don’t get a very restful holiday break, that’s for sure. This time, however it is a laundry trip. Who knew that I would have to do washing whilst on holiday?

As I load the big, boxy caravan park washing machine with our clothes I pause to reflect on how this break is not really what I had anticipated. Isn’t getting away supposed to be relaxing, cleansing, good for the soul? Instead it really is business as usual- cooking for the family on a stovetop a quarter of the size I am used to, referee-ing various spats and squabbles, bathing, toileting and otherwise attending to my family’s needs.

But it is for the kids. These are their memories, the defining moments of childhood that will now be carried into three very different futures. I remember with great fondness days such as these with my parents, when I was a child, and they are my favourite memories, especially now my mum is gone. It never occurred to me the work involved in delivering these cherished memories.

Sighing, I wipe my brow and attempt to smooth the lines beginning to etch their way into my forehead. I prepare to walk my trench trail again, back to the campervan, the squabbles, the family holiday. I feel the weight of motherhood on my shoulders, wonder why the tug of love at my heart means I have to give away so much of myself. So much.

My trench trail leads me once again past a quirky little campervan that has caught my eye each time I have trudged by. It is painted with bright, hippy designs, and I am intrigued by the couple who seem to be living inside. They appear to be in their mid thirties, and they appear so…free. Although I look down at my feet each time I walk by, I have noticed that the woman is comfortable in her skin. Her hair is loose, she wears no bra, no shoes- she oozes femininity. Sometimes she dances, rather badly, to a song playing on the radio, and I admire her ability to really live, be in her skin, in the moment.

This time she and her partner are playing Trivial Pursuit by the campfire. They are laughing raucously and I remember a time where I used to laugh like that. What happened, where have those raucous belly laughs gone? It’s is like they have dissolved somewhere. As I approach their camp they appear to finish their game, and they settle by the fire, beers in hand, when they catch my eye just as I quickly look away.

“HEY!”

I pause, surprised when I realise the woman is calling out to me. Slowly I turn, thinking I must have dropped something, but remember I left my washing basket back at the laundry, wasn’t actually carrying
anything.

“Wanna beer?”

I open my mouth to explain that I can’t, I don’t drink thank you, that I really am in a hurry, I am a mother, you know…. but found myself walking toward their campfire, sitting down and accepting the cold bottle. I realised I was sitting stiffly, bolt upright, and I had to force myself to sink into the chair, emulating the relaxed style of the woman next to me.

I took a swig of the beer, a vile bitter taste that I have never liked and stared into the flames, in silent contemplation of what it is like to just BE. No-one asked my name, nor did I offer. I kicked off my shoes and scrunched my toes into the grass and drank my beer, reflecting on how unlike me it is to be this spontaneous. How irresponsible! But for that moment I allowed myself not to care. A brief moment in time for me. That is all, nothing more, nothing less.

In that moment I actually noticed the rugged beauty of our coastal surroundings, heard the laughter of my kids in the distance as they kick a ball with the kids they just met at the campsite near ours, saw my beloved husband watching on, laughing as they play and tustle. Future memories happening right now, as I sit still and watch.

I had thought I was selfish in wanting a moment to myself this holiday in order to find joy, but joy was always there…I just hadn’t sat still long enough to notice. I almost want to laugh at the simplicity of it all. I catch the eye of the woman by the campfire, and smile in gratitude for inviting me to just sit. Something so simple, yet so pivotal. I am not sure she understands, but it doesn’t matter. For once I don’t feel that I need to explain.

I finished my beer, savouring the bitter tang and stood up to go, hugging that moment to my chest like a cherished secret, a reminder that there exists a facet in time that is mine and mine alone. Resuming my walk along my trench trail, I return to the nurturing folds of my family feeling refreshed and more importantly loved, not only by them but also by me.

The Lunchbox Nazi Gets a Thermomix

Yes it is true. After over a year of wanting this wondrous machine I have relented, splurged, TREATED MYSELF to a Thermomix.

My Thermomix aka Thermie is changing my life. It (I almost want to say ‘he’- Thermie is like a new member of the family) is a revelation, a sensation, a GASTRONOMIC PREPARATION CELEBRATION. Each morning I wake and wonder with excitement what I can make in Thermie first.

I must admit though our relationship did not start off well. After an intense week of waiting for delivery, finally the day came and I picked up my new gadget with excitement. I unpacked the boxes like I was five years old and opening a present from Santa- with barely contained joy and anticipation. There Thermie was, all shiny and new, and I couldn’t wait to take it for a spin.

I threw in all the ingredients for a chocolate custard, pressed a few buttons and WHAMMO! The most amazing chocolate custard in minutes! I felt like Willy Wonka, with a you beaut machine producing splenderous chocolate treats with the press of a button. When the machine started beeping uncontrollably I whistled for an Oompa Loompa to come and attend to the malfunction, when slamming back to reality I realised I was not in fact Willy Wonka, but someone with a brand new, very expensive machine that appeared to be broken.

Awesome Hubby began huffing and puffing and after an intense discussion we eventually came to the conclusion that Thermie was defective prior to my touching it, not as a result of me touching it. Much to my relief. So the next day Thermie was rushed in for an Emergency Repair, and that day marked the start of a truly beautiful relationship between Thermie and me.

Tomorrow is the one week anniversary of Thermie joining our family, and in that time I have whipped up butter, strawberry jam, breadcrumbs (from my homemade bread), biscuits (including grinding the almonds), banana cake, orange muffins, meatballs (incuding mincing the meat), soups, tuna pasta, beef curry, scones (from the buttermilk that came from making my butter), custard (vanilla and chocolate), pizza rolls, ciabatta style rolls, olive foccaccia, three loaves of bread, grated parmesan, playdough, pulverised sugar and nuts for baking…. I am in Wholefoods Heaven and we are all going to get fat!

The other day I was dropping my daughter off to school and the teacher came over with an expression somewhere between total bafflement and complete awe. She almost seemed a little tongue tied in my presence. She dropped her eyes and said “Shereen, yesterday I saw what was in Cupcake’s lunchbox, and I have to ask you… are you Super Mum?”

I controlled my simultaneous mirth and pride enough to ask nonchalantly “Oh what DO you mean?” Totally fishing for compliments, of course. She said to me “That custard, that pizza roll…. I need to know…. how did you do it? So professional! All home made! I cannot believe it!”

I briefly considered perpetuating the illusion that I really am some sort of Super Mother effortlessly producing a plethora of wholesome meals and treats, but decided to bend her ear for fifteen minutes on the joy and excitement of my beloved Thermie.

*sigh*

I love my Thermomix!

I’m STAAAAARRRVING!

Nothing drives me more bananas than when, not long after a meal, my kids whine with at me, “Muuuummm, I’m staaaaaarrrrving!”

Straight away, in righteous indignation, I respond with “You are NOT starving! You don’t even know what it feels like to be hungry! I will take you to a third world country one day…. THEN you will know what it means to be starving!” I have even been know to launch into a diatribe about how lucky they are to have access to services and infrastructure that many kids the world over cannot even perceive of. Usually a glazed look and dutiful nodding follows, and in frustration I lament about what I do as a parent that results in a complete lack of understanding of the world and its realities. I mean, I am smart. I am socially conscious. Why are they so blissfully unaware of just how lucky they really are?

This morning, after my usual spiel in response to their impending demise by starvation, I send my kids off to play, and prepare to commence my usual daily domestic duties. I open the fridge and consider the contents and sigh dramatically. What *will* I make for dinner? Today has been sooooo busy! How do I get time for anything? Life is just so HARD sometimes! I mean, I have my three children home all week, I HAVEN’T had time to go shopping, and it looks like I will have to whip up SOMETHING…. but what? My fridge is full, but I don’t feel like anything that is in there- and having been so busy my vegies from last weeks shopping have gotten kinda old… better throw those out.

*Sigh* I feel so tired today. I haven’t been able to go to pilates in aaaaaaagggeeess, and forget shopping at Garden City. I haven’t been able to get something new to wear, FORGET taking the kids to a busy shopping centre to buy fashion necessities. UH UH, noway.

*sigh* My life is just so HARD!

Catching myself mid-thought I am ashamed of myself. How is it that in attempting to eke out a significant existence my needs are so shallow? How can I teach my kids to appreciate their lot in life and have a balanced world view when I too have no idea what it is like having to live a life each day battling to obtain basic life needs? They may not know the meaning of starving, but I do not know what it is like to have to face my starving children and have nothing to provide them either.

Sometimes I feel like life can be such a battle, but for what? A battle to have money for more stuff? For enough time for leisure? For more ‘me’ time? Why is it that what we have is never enough, given that there are so many people battling in this world just to survive, fighting for their childrens right to eat, drink- or just live?

Sometimes I am ashamed that we don’t know how lucky we really are.

Dental torture

Today I had to go to the dentist. I hate the dentist, in fact I am terrified. It is right up there at the top of my most feared list, right after public speaking and karaoke.

I had a 90-minute appointment, which I was absolutely dreading. This would be the final long appointment for what is the second root canal on this same tooth, courtesy of a festering cavity ravaged by pregnancy hormones. After the hours and hours of time I have spent having treatment on this tooth you would think I would be somewhat at ease with dental proceedings by now, but no, I have found my thought processes run pretty much the same way each time.

Usually the freak-out starts well before I arrive at the dentist, culminating nicely into a full blown stomach ache with a light headed kind of feeling whilst I am sitting in the waiting room. And my inner dialogue (like that? It’s Eckhart) is saying quite rationally “OK, I am sick, that’s it, cancel it- you are going to have to reschedule!” I sit there making small talk with the receptionist, appearing totally at ease, betrayed only by my stiffly crossed arms and a jittering right foot.

When I am called into the room, the chair, I feel as though I am walking to my execution. I force myself to sit down when all my instincts are shouting “RUN, RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!!!” The bib thing is clipped on, the chair is slowly going back and I start to feel queasy. Is it too late to back out?

The dentist brandishes a massive needle and I try pretend that I am fine with her stabbing me in the gum. And then the numbing sensation begins. My lip. My cheek. My nostril. My chin. Oh my god, she has INJECTED TOO MUCH!! My head is going numb! I think my vision is going black! I can’t breathe! She has anaesthetised my optic nerve, my nasal passages! I am BLINDED, I am SUFFOCATING!!!!!

Convinced I am going to die, I wonder if I should say something. BUt of course my mouth is full of instruments and a dentists arm up to the elbow. Not to mention the wierd sucker thingy that sounds a bit like someone hawking back mucous. I begin to feel sick.

Oh my goodness, I think I am going to vomit. A wave of nausea distracts me from my death-by-anaesthetised-nostrils, and I ponder the logistics of being sick whilst receiving dental treatment. Envisaging some sort of fountain scenario, I realise that my heart rate is about double that of a normal healthy adult. Possibly even triple.

Oh crap, now i am having a heart attack! A heart attack at 31, what are the odds?? I always knew I wasn’t long for this world, though I thought I would go by cancer of the belly button, or something equally obscure- maybe karoake induced cardiac arrest. I picture myself on stage, like a rabbit in the headlights, keeling over dramatically, clutching the microphone to my heart in demise. It strikes me as incredibly funny.

Oh no, I am going to laugh! And I might inhale the dentists instrument! Death by dentist- I knew it! Quick, think of something not funny! THINK OF SOMETHING NOT FUNNY!!!!!

The dentist asks me if I am okay. I assure her I AM FINE. She asks me if I need the toilet. I tell her I don’t. And I didn’t until she asked me. Now I really, really need the toilet.

The dentist continues digging around in my mouth, and I become convinced that I am starting to feel it. I wait for a sharp stab of pain, tensed in anticipation. Yes, I can definitely feel something! It is not my imagination! Eyeing the clock I wonder how much more torture I can bear. Begin to wonder whether death by dentist is such a bad idea. I JUST WANT THIS HELL TO BE OVER!!!!

And eventually, after what seems like a decade, it IS over. I rinse my mouth, dribbling minty water down my chin on the numb side, and leave the dental torture chamber with an overwhelming feeling of relief, suppressing the urge to break into a frantic run. I stand, shell shocked, blinking in the sunlight, with a completely numb face and a throbbing tooth- oh the irony! If it was someone else it might even be funny.