A much ado about poo


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Since Oogie (no. 3) was born 19 short months after Puppe (no.2) who was 21 short months after Boo (no.1) I have often been heard to remark that three is SO much more than just two plus one. I have been a mother now for going on 10 years if you take it cumulatively, but I never cease to be amazed at all the fantastic moments each child has, and I hope I never do.

Now Oogie, being the third child, ran at eleven months and walked at twelve. I’m really not kidding! It seemed that the day we brought her home she was already focusing on what her big sisters were doing and she decided, “Yup, that’s going to be me, and sooner rather than later, so shape up mom!” And it really has been that way with her. She took to solids like a star, bubbling her way through copious amounts of bright orange purity, but always reaching for whatever her sisters had on their plates. Her pencil grip (and she is already clearly left handed) is as good as her older sisters and at 23 months she tells us what she wants, and heaven help us if we don’t just jump to it.

This pint sized princess is the boss of the household and boy does she know it.

So, she potty trained quite early (I thought), and with no intervention from us. One day she literally said wee wee and got onto the potty. That was that, no more wee nappies and I thought, woo hoo, the end of nappies is in sight! One smallsnag though..

She would not poo in the potty or toilet. If it was a number two she would come up to me, Smoo, or whoever was closest and say, “Put my nappy on, need to make a poo!” At first I thought it was cute, and tried to encourage her to do it in the potty, but all of my Magda channeling (Bridgit Jones -” In the potty, in the potty!”) didn’t make the slightest difference. In fact, it lead to tantrums, snot, and screaming (that was just me) and I began to become concerned, what if this is a major problem, echoes of Freud’s theories started bouncing round my head, could this be an indication of problems to come? Bribery, star charts, even chocolate were offered but nope, no poo in the potty.

Frantic, I turned to my favorite resource, GOOGLE, honestly, what did we do before this gift of the modern age to mothers? I vaguely remember my dad looking things up in our old World Book encyclopedias, but Google is my fail safe!

Thankfully, mommy bloggers are, as a breed, open and honest and I soon discovered I am not the only one with poo issues. Freud smoid!

The advice I found was not to force the issue, but let her come to it naturally. She had mastered one aspect of the calls of nature, she’s a smart kid, she’ll get there.

So, we carried on buying nappies and when she asked for one checked briefly that she didn’t was to try the potty, but really left the decision up to her.

This evening, after dinner I settled the girls to watch a Saturday night Barbie movie treat and was catching up on some blog reading when Oogie came through:

“Put nappy on mamma, need to make a poo”
“Ok baby, but don’t you want to try the potty?”
“OK mamma”

And off she went to the potty, sat down…and did it!

Yup, houston, we have lift off! Well, I don’t think the Beatles ever had praise and adulation like she did. The big girls even left their movie and ran into the lounge shouting, “Yay Oogie, you are such a big girl” they high-fived her and insisted on hugs, and I even heard Boo say, “I’m so proud of you Oogie”

The smile on her face was priceless, she knew what she had done and that this was a big moment, and boy, did she milk it, running around the lounge shaking her bum bum and singing “poo in potty, yay!”

What a moment, what a girl and there was more to come. She fell asleep on the couch and woke after an hour, “need to wee wee mamma”, climbed off the couch, pulled down the pull ups and saw that man about that dog! Could it be that in one night we may have not only been able to eliminate the poo nappy but the night night nappy too? Keep your fingers crossed for us!

P.S – lots of poo talk here, some things only a parent can get excited about!

Negative Charge


Why do we always approach things from the negative perspective? What is it that stops us celebrating the good in favor of lamenting the bad? I am just SO guilty of this. In a recent conversation with a colleague we discussed complaining and how it has really become a national sport. I myself, would definitely be a contender for gold, how about you?

Case in point: Yesterday my experience at my local Pick and Pay:

Get to the bakery counter to buy some rolls for dinner. Noted that the shelves were practically empty and they didn’t have the rolls we liked. Herumphing and complaining loudly to GG that they really should have more stock I wait impatiently tapping my foot while the tortoise working the counter inches her way along it to me to find out what I want. I have chosen a portuguese bread and as it is the last one am muttering that it better be fresh. I barely notice how friendly the tortoise is to my kids, but rather stand tapping my foot waiting for the ordeal to be over.

Hmmm, negative much? A quick paradigm shift and this is how it could have gone:

“Oh dear, no rolls, but there is a nice looking portuguese loaf. The last one, I better grab it, shame the lady working the counter has obviously had a long day, but wow, look at her energy playing peekaboo with my kids! Yum, instead of pork steak rolls we can have the steak with salad and a nice slice of bread, right kids, let’s head to the checkout and go home to make supper together”

Not only would the above have improved my mood, it would also have allowed me to enjoy the moment of a tired, probably underpaid, overworked employee getting just a little bit of joy by interacting with my kids.

So, in the spirit of this, I have challenged myself to think up five instances of good service which could have been overshadowed by the negative and give props to a few people:

1. Dischem Nicolway – a busy Sunday and I use the wrong card and need to reverse it. No problem for the staff, they cheerfully reverse the transaction, accept my apologies and in no way make me feel like the moron I am.

2. Local petrol station – always cheerful and friendly, always greet the kids and always polite

3. Security guards at my office – never complain when I have forgotten my access card (often) and greet me happily while opening the gate for me.

4. Christopher, the one legged beggar at the corner of Jan Smuts and William Nicol. I occasionally give him food or a few rand, but even when I have nothing for him he has a smile and some comment on events. (This guy was SO hurt by the Oscar Pistorius saga, a post on that to come)

5. Peter, the security guard at the school, stands outside in all weather with a smile on his face guarding access to the school, knows all the kids names and always has something nice to say to them all.

Phew, actually, it was hard to think up just five things, but that is probably because I don’t take note of, or mention the positive often. I am not saying I will always do this, and there are enough things that get my goat to fill this blog for years to come, but every now and then I just need to take a breath.

So, challenge time, one thing, just one, that could have been a negative experience, find the positive and post it in the comments section. I dare you!

Keep Calm and be positive!

Bad Mommy Moments


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We have had an insane few weeks, kids with ear infections, chest infections and general grumpiness have ruled the roost. Add to that the fact that Smoo and I have both had pretty hectic work schedules and the sum is a fairly worn out family teetering on the brink of madness. Yup, I really do think my family could be even more insane than what we are.

Today turned out to be the proverbial straw which not only threatened to break the camels back but would actually draw and quarter it.

The morning started off like most normal mornings. I woke up with Oogie in bed with me, fine, that’s where she went to sleep so that was normal. I then looked over and noticed that the other rumpled form in the bed was not in fact Smoo (who had been there at some point in the night) but Boo. Actually the realization that my eldest had again crawled into my bed during the night came when I pulled the duvet the hide under it from my alarm and a little voice said, “Hey mommy, stop it, you are stealing my blankie!” Hmm, ok, so two out of three kids are in my bed and no hubby, first place I looked I found him, the top bunk of the beds next door. It seems that when Boo decided our bed was a better bet for sleep he just swapped over preferring the single top bunk to our queen size cramped with children. No problem, its actually quite comfortable, I spent the previous night in it.

So, up and at em! All three monkeys dragged themselves through to the lounge for their morning dose of milk and high energy cartoons and as they don’t normally attend school on a Thursday I didn’t have to worry about the usual school routine of: Where’s your bag, brush your teeth, what do you mean you can’t find socks, exactly which pink shirt will make you happy, etc.

I schlep my bleary eyed self into the shower and get ready for work, I know I have a busy day, and one that required both heels and lipstick due to all the meetings scheduled.

Dressed and heading in rote fashion to my coffee cup to inject a bit or much needed energy into myself, I notice my phone display is on. Oh crap, the dreaded missed calls from the nanny, the day before a four day weekend, urgh, I know what’s coming…

Turns out my psychic powers are still undefeated as when I phoned her she gave me a long story about being in clinic having been up all night vomiting. Ok, so granted these things happen, but they seem to frequently happen before long weekends, they also only seem to happen when I have a major day at work planned, Smoo is busy and GG has plans. Ergh, what to do.

6:45am – wake up Smoo roughly demanding help
6:50 – two out of three girls dressed and rubbing sleep out of their eyes
6:55 – all are dressed, I am packing school bags while Smoo supervises teeth brushing
7:05 – we are out the door and into the car
7:10 – we leave home cheerfully reciting our THRASS, eistedford poem and counting

Shew, so far its all coming together and while they was a fair bit of drill sergeant ordering from my side we managed to arrive at school relatively unscathed by the mornings surprise rush.

And then, dooom (sorry Brigit Jones, I think it sounds better when I say it), I remember it is holiday program at the school and each day they have a special activity, usually something that requires some prep from mommy. Crapola, what is it today I think as I frantically scan the colorful spreadsheet outside the classroom door.

Teddy Bear’s Picnic.

Doooooooom, we didn’t bring Teddy’s or food and the girls have now figured that out by talking to their friends.

Time for some fast talking, reassuring the girls I will make a plan I duck out of the school to head to work, headset plugged in and phone working overtime.

Great, GG can take them each a picnic, there won’t be teddies but my mom packs a helluva picnic so that will make up for it.

Breathe. Drive. Get to work.

Everything prepped for my meetings and suddenly interrupting the sacred quiet of worksheet time in the office the theme song for Sons of Anarchy blasts out. (There is no daughters of anarchy so this was the best alternative as a ringtone to alert me to the school calling.

Teacher: I don’t know if this is going to make or break your day, but Oogie has just projectile vomited her porridge all over me and herself.
Me: Crap! Erm, crap, um, ok, sorry am just thinking of what (or who) I can juggle to get her.
Teacher: I think it could just be that she is a bit annoyed at being here, (euphemism for throwing great big snotty tantrum) so I will keep an eye on her but if it does happen again she will have to go home.
Me: (tears are coming but I will hold them back) Thank you, I will make a plan if I need to.

Onto the phone tree, Smoo can take leave if he has to, sorted.

Phone call from GG: Well, the picnic was a small one at 9:30 and I got there at 11 so no need for me to leave it, will bring it round tonight.

Counting up those bad mommy moments? I sure was!

Anyway, managed to overcome some major hurdles at work and leave 20 mins early to get to the school. Lights were out and traffic was horrible, par for the course, I can get through the rest of the day.

Fetch the girls, they all survived the day with no instantly recognizable problems from being picnic deprived, Oogie looking fairly cheerful with the tell tale red eyes that tell me the great big snotty tantrum went on for a while, but all are ok.

Smoo makes boerie rolls for dinner, GG brings the picnics and the girls feast on cheese sarmies, cheese curls and milky bar buttons washed down with a barbie juice.

I wash the day away with a beer (I had forgotten to put the wine in the fridge ok? Unforgivable I know but I’m not freaking super woman).

Star charts are done, the girls head off to bed, I watch some Cougar Town reruns ( I am SO Ellie) and that should be that…except its not.

Callee has a fever, won’t settle, won’t stay in her bed, neurofen paed, now she’s delirious, stealing my pillow and telling me alternately that she does / doesn’t want me.

She settles, I begin to snooze, drifting into dreamland where coffee rivers turn into wine at twelve, wonderful…

Ripped from my doze by hysterical screaming from the girls room. Rush there, Puppe is beside herself because there is a spider next to her bed (not real, dreamed) stomp on imaginary spider, get told by Oogie that her sister is naughty for waking her up and settle Puppe. Two minutes later she is knocking on my door: want to sleep by you.

Well, I give in, she is now on Smoo’s side of the bed, Oogie on my side and there is a bit of space for me in the middle. Smoo will have to take the bottom bunk tonight.

Now, I can’t sleep and am wondering if the wine is cold yet!

Thinking about it a bit more I may have to change the title of this post, however the idea of the shock reaction of any one searching for bad mommies (you know, the kinky kind) and coming across this post makes me smile so I will probably leave it as is!

Acceptance


I have decided that I actually couldn’t give a rat’s ass if I never fit into skinny jeans again. I accept that my body will never be bikini ready (ok fine, it never really was), and that it is quite possible that my mommy pooch although getting smaller, will always have a place in my pants. So what? If I’m healthy and happy I need to accept that I am the way I am and just live with it. Yes, I will probably always wish I was thinner and investigate all the latest diets, but while I am as I am, I will be happy and accept it! For now that is.

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So, in that spirit, this is me, as I am, with only a little editing!

I am woman


I am a woman. I am a daughter.  I am a mother. I am a sister.  I am an Aunt. I am a niece.  I am a South African.

I am for all women, young, old, rich, poor, educated, uneducated, whatever their circumstances.  When one is hurt, we all bleed; when one is raped we are all violated.

What happened to: You strike a woman you strike a rock? Or does this not apply in post-apartheid South Africa?

Are we too ashamed of those women who have climbed up the political ladder only let their sisters down with their own collusion with corruption and eagerness to ride the gravy train? 

Where are the women who fought for equal rights in this country, who brought light and hope into the lives of so many?

Where are we standing now in defence of our gender, defence of our daughters, mothers, aunts and nieces? Why do we stand by while this violence is executed daily on our innocent sisters?  All women are my sisters and we all need to stand together to stop this hurt, this pain, this blatant abuse of our sex.

We live in a beautiful country which is stained by the blood of our sisters and yet after our initial protest we merely assist in cleaning up the stain and waiting until the next event which hurts another one of our kind.

As women, we are responsible for raising soldiers and scholars, presidents and kings, but we are failing in our ability to raise real men. The perception in South Africa that a woman is just there to be taken as and when a man wants her needs to be ended and it needs to be ended today.

Rape statistics from all over the world indicate that rape is not about lust or about sex, but it is about a man’s desire to exercise his dominance over a woman, over the weaker sex.  In South Africa, it is my belief, that rape is about a man’s belief the he is superior to women and is entitled to any woman that takes his fancy, whether she is willing or not.  He is the man and will have what he wants, when he wants it.

Rape is not a government issue, or something that is only happening in our current administration, but it is something that has happened throughout time, but we can all do something about it.  Raising awareness, educating all the men in our lives, positively influencing everyone we can. We need a Police Service we can trust which women can go to if they feel threated or have been hurt, somewhere they know they will be taken seriously and the offender will be arrested and not allowed out on a small amount of bail or a bribe. We need laws which take rape more seriously and we need to find a way to make this happen.

We cannot sit and blame the government for all the rapes as it is the responsibility of each and every citizen of the country to stand up and let everyone know that we will not accept this any longer.  If we can stand together as one and show how we abhor this treatment of women, surely then we will have the influence to admit into law harsher punishments for those who transgress against us.

Finally, our president, has recognised the major crimes being committed against women in South Africa and has given his voice in support of women, let’s forget his past alleged transgressions for now and not dwell on what was, but rather use his backing as much as we can to raise awareness.  We can hope that his words on behalf of the injured penetrate the minds of the mad who commit these crimes, but we cannot rely on it.  We need to do something ourselves.

Ladies, it is time for us to wake up and mobilise against the disease in our society that is harming us.  If the whole nation could unite behind our country in support of our soccer team, then surely the whole country can unite behind our women to support us in our fight?

What can we do?

I do not know how to put this idea into effect, but it has been floating around my head for a while.  Does anyone know / have a contact for someone who imported all the SA flags we had sticking out of our car windows during the world cup?  My thought is that we all have black flags as a symbol of our mourning for the hurt caused to women. I need help to turn this into something which is not only a powerful statement but that can help.  Maybe there is someone who knows how to get some funding to have the things made and then we can organise for them to be sold and profits go to a women’s shelter or something? Can we start a discussion as to how we could go about actually doing something on this page?

 

 

Budgeting Woes


Yesterday’s budget speech really got me thinking. Now, don’t be impressed and think that I possess the mental capacity to sit through the entire thing as Mr Manual read out his decisions in that monotone baritone of his, oh no, I have relied on the write ups on various news channels as well as the  fabulous explanation by Lindsay Williams on the 5fm morning show.

Anyway, the point is that it got me thinking, which in itself should never be a bad thing, however the things it has me thinking about might not be viewed as good things to think about by our current administration.  I use the term current administration to avoid myself going off on a tangent about our corrupt officials who find every which way to spend the countries money which does not benefit the citizens of the country.  Oops, there was a tangent coming on there but I managed to catch myself before it was too late.

I have managed to drag my mind back to the topic at hand.  What exactly do I pay tax for?  The general explanation is that tax is paid by countries citizens in order to pay for the expenses that a country incurs. I have decided to take a look at what those expenses might be and how my tax money is contributing to them (or not as the case may be).

Things my Tax money is meant to do:

  1. Security – now, this comes in the form of a police force if I am not mistaken.  However, I have to say that over and above what I pay in tax I have to pay for private security as well.  So, because the police force actually doesn’t assist me in any way and I pay extra for security I think the portion of my tax that goes towards the police force should be reduced.
  2. Roads – I pay for these anyway.  The tax added onto petrol is in addition to my PAYE contribution.  Equally, should I begin to use certain highways I will not be expected to pay extra for the privilege of using them? Hmm, I think that the portion of my tax allocated to roads should be reduced.
  3. Schooling – I pay for this as well. The government does not offer free schooling to me, even if I send my children to a government school, if I want them to go to a decent school where they have a chance of at least a mediocre education I have to pay, this is because I actually earn an income.  If I didn’t work or earn then school would be free (paid for by people like me by way of taxes).  If I want my children to get a decent education the fees will be even more as I would have to send them to a private school.  With this logic then I feel that the portion of my PAYE given to schools should be reduced.
  4. City Parks – I am sure a certain amount of our tax has to be used for the upkeep of council land. I live opposite a potentially beautiful park which is dangerous due to the fact that it is not secure or maintained and therefore we don’t use it.  If I want to take my children to a park it is generally one I pay extra for, or one that is sponsored by a private entity.  I therefore think that the portion of the PAYE I pay should be reduced.
  5. Medical care – I pay in excess of R4000 per month to ensure useful and appropriate medical care for myself and my children.  I do not go to government facilities, and in fact I was told by a clinic that I do not qualify for government inoculations for my children because I go to a hospital clinic and not to a shack in the middle of nowhere for my inoculations. So, if I want to benefit from my tax payments for medical care and inoculations I have to go to unhygienic facilities which would require me to take a full day off work each time I needed to see a doctor due to the queues, which then means that I would not be earning sufficiently to continue supporting the country’s economy.  In light of this I feel that the portion of my PAYE allocated to medical care should be reduced.

There are numerous other things that the government would have us believe our tax is paying for.  Adequate housing for the disadvantaged for example, I have to work to put a roof over my head, why should I pay for someone else, and even if I did agree with funding other peoples lifestyle I do not see  many of these RDP houses actually being built, so is the money really going there?

We obviously pay our presidents salary, but I resent having to pay for all of his wives. In a country where polygamy is not legal, he has circumvented the law (surprise surprise) and used a tribal law to allow him to have more than one wife.  In my opinion we should only be paying for the one wife he is allowed by the actual laws of our country.  Similarly, why should I be paying for government officials to have blue light escorts, fancy houses, gas guzzling SUV’s unless they are actually doing something for me?

I know that this is not an idea world, and that theoretically we do have to pay tax to help support our country; however I also feel that I do have a case to stop paying tax when analysed as above.  If tax is to support our country, and we are part of that country, but nothing is being done to support us, why should we pay tax?

My most recent Woolworths experience


I just thought I would share a recent experience at Woolworths.

I have received the standard, we are giving this our urgent attention email in response, and will keep you posted as to what happens, has anyone else experienced this?

To whom it may concern,

 

I work in the building next to the Woolworths Food in Parkwood.  Corner Welles and Jan Smuts.

I regularly shop at this Woolworths, this can be verified by my Woolworths Shopper Card, number ****.

If you look up my transactions at this Woolworths you wills see that I spend between R50 and R100 per day on average 3 days a week.  You will also see that Woolworths is my preferred shop when I am in Cape Town or at home over weekends.

I never carry cash.

Nine times out of ten, when I shop I use my husband’s credit card for the financial transaction. This is a chipped card requiring a PIN number to be entered in order to authorise a transaction.

Today, in the Parkwood Woolworths I was informed that it is company policy not to allow this.  I then asked Refilwe who said she is the store manager, how this can be store policy given that I use the card in their store so often, over the last two and a half years, and I have never had a problem with it before?  She responded that it is store policy.  Again, I asked, how this can be so if I have used the card on so many occasions without having a problem. Again she merely responded that it is store policy.  They processed the transaction and Refilwe exited the store to chat with her friends outside.  I was waiting for someone and Refilwe looked at me in an insolent and challenging manner and said in the most sarcastic tones possible :See you again soon madam, so which I replied she most certainly would not.

I fail to understand how store policy can be one thing one day and another on the next.  Is this purely because the card had the Mr prefix before the name and someone bothered to check this time?  If it is store policy that you may not use someone else’s card then surely you should be asking for identification prior to accepting any transaction?  I have used my husband’s other card previously which does not have the Mr prefix,  is this ok?  Are you basing your supposition that a card does not belong to someone because of their gender?  What if I was a man who looked like a woman? Where are you drawing the line?

Pin Chip technology was brought into this country to prevent the amount of Credit Card fraud which happens by anyone being able to just swipe a card.  If my partner has given me his card and pin number then I am authorised to use it.  If I were to draw money from an ATM using that card it doesn’t check my gender, it checks the pin number.

By this policy you are implying that the Pin service is fallable and I should be concerned about using any card in your stores?

I would like to hear from you regarding this.  I shall not be patronising this store again until I understand your alleged store policy and find out why there is such a lack of consistency.

 

Regards

Sisterhood – they are doing it for themselves!


I was thinking the other day how much I would like to be able to give my kids a detailed account of their lives and things that happened while they were young.  Imagine one day being able to pass on a book filled with wonderful stories about all the things that they experienced when they were younger.  Do you remember all the fun things, auspicious occasions, things that scared you or excited you from when you were young?  I certainly don’t.

I know that most moms (sadly not me) keep a record of firsts, first teeth, first curl, and first day at school etc. but what about the actual stories of things that happened during their growing up years. Are these meant to just be confined to our shaky memories or do we document them.

So, clearly I was having myself a MEGA blonde moment as I didn’t even think about my blog for a moment.  I know I have been neglecting it for a while, and make a solemn promise to try and keep up with blogging fairly often, but it then occurred to me that this is the absolute perfect thing. The blog will be around forever, and I can share the delightful (and gross) moments I have with my kids and one day they can read it all online, or I could even print and bind it and offer them a book of their lives!  Fabulous.

So, in the spirit of this I felt I should quickly recount an amusing occurrence from the other day.  We had had one of those busy, busy days.  My folks had come round for homemade pie and quiche that we had spent the day before baking.  That was a serious Nigella moment as Smoo was holding Oogie all the way through my baking experience and both Boo and Puppe were up on stools giving me advice as to exactly how to roll the pastry and how much filling to put in each shell.  Each time I lifted the rolled pastry Puppe would chant; “Please don’t break pie, please don’t break” and then utter “ah man” every time my delicious flaky pastry failed to make it in one piece to the pie tin.

So, a day of riotous laughter, the first real nice sunny day in summer, kids running around like crazy things – “in my panties mommy, I don’t like wearing my trousers” was had, and we all had a blast.  Around four o clock my lovely, lovely Smoo offered me to go and have a lay down.  I, of course, what am I a complete moron? Grabbed this with open arms and disappeared to the bedroom.

Not five minutes into my well-deserved snooze and I hear the hysterical crying of Puppe.  Dragging myself up from duvet town I slumped along the hall to find out what was happening.  Well, apparently Oogie had wanted the toy car, and Puppe decided this was just not on so she calmly pushed her off it.  Smoo then told Puppe off and the hysterics started.  After about 15 minutes of her freaking out I decided to rather just take her to snooze with me.  I was hoping she would just calm down and have a nap, but, as you all know, the best laid plans…..are always contradicted by kids!

So, Puppe comes and curls up with me, sobbing her little heart out, with the most heart-breaking sound, it was a while before she could speak and eventuality calmed down enough to enter into a conversation with me.

Me: Baby, why you crying?

Puppe: I don’t like Daddy, he’s a big meanie

Me: Why is daddy a big meanie?

Puppe: Because he made me go to my room

Me: Why did he make you go to your room?

Puppe: Because (sob) I (sob, sob) was (huge sob) nau (sobsobsob)ght(mega sob)y!

She then went further into hysterics and I just couldn’t calm her down.

Me: Baby, please stop crying, it’s over now

Puppe: I can’t, she isn’t coming

Me: Who isn’t coming

Puppe:  I want Boo Boo, I want my sister

Me: (Yelling) Boo, please come here.

 

So, the dutiful older sister that she is, Boo came along and picked Puppe up.  Guess what, the tears stopped, the sobbing ceased and they played for the rest of the afternoon.  The power of the sister hey!

Weekend Wisdom


The world is full of pearls of wisdom, you can’t open your facebook news feed without being bombarded by motivational quotes and encouragements. Our H R officers sends out an email motivational quote every Monday (does she not realize payday is enough of a motivation for most of us???), and generally people are always telling you: “You can do it” or “Go get them” along with encouraging back slaps or stinging high fives.

My personal pearls of wisdom come from my children, and really, they are all I need.

A few of the things I learned from them this weekend are:

Hiding in the curtains is the best hiding place in the world – no one will ever find you there.

If I can’t see you, you can’t see me.

Morning milk isn’t proper milk unless it has chocolate in it.

It’s REALLY easy to wrap dad around your little finger.

Bath time is boring without plenty of bubbles.

You can put your pants on two legs at a time.

Princess dresses are always proper attire.

The top bunk is the best place to rough house.

Pizza and fish fingers is a nutritious breakfast if its a party.

If you are pretending to be a baby crocodile its ok to bite mommy’s ankles.

No bottle tastes as good as one with cartoon characters on it.

Toast where the butter has melted doesn’t have butter on it.

Cats are really little lions.

Mirrors can take pictures.

Medicine tastes better with chocolate.

Chocolate money is the best pay cheque ever.

Why have pretty panties if you have to wear them under stuff?

Lipstick makes great eye shadow.

And many, many more.

Here’s to all the weekends of wisdom I have coming, and to learning a little from them every day. Hmmm, does Woolies accept chocolate money as currency?

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