Difficult Days

I am grateful for frustrating difficult days, after a bout of complaining that is.

They push me out my comfort zone, engage passionate debate, intentional action and motivates change, in order create pockets of excellence and growth. Or maturation as my mother likes to say.

I allow the frustrating moments to happen once, then I need to do something about it or stop complaining.

Complaining without action is clutter resulting in complacency.

Frustration without focus is stagnation resulting in disengagement.

Turn the Negative ranting energy into motivation for improvement or turn away.

Mood. Tired. Tooth. Timings. Myth.

Mood

Yesterday I was a moody, short- tempered bitch. All the “little things” that don’t usually bug me, really annoyed me yesterday. But!!!!! But it was only a day. A brief blip in the bigger scheme of things.

Why did the little things feel like big ass gigantic pain in the arse type things?

Tired

I’ve been sleeping but I think I’m still playing catchup on the NYC trip. (More about that another time. I’m still digesting the enormity of the experience) The kids have taken to sleeping in my bed from bedtime. Kids. With an “s”. Plural.

Tooth

Ava has been alternating her “allergy/ this time of year induced midnight coughing fits (where a different remedy seems to do the trick each time), with a nose bleed, a sore tummy and then her first tooth fell out.

When you are tired your resistance is lowered. When you are tired the little things irritate you. When you are tired you can’t make good decisions.

Timings

Aiden’s Broadway show week. It’s awesome and fun and exciting for him. It’s a scheduling nightmare for me. The kids are allowed (or rather encouraged) to arrive late to school, and they finish early with no after school sports (hello… help.. hyper kid, small house, bouncing off walls). He needs to be rested, fed and dressed with a white collared shirt. A clean white coloured shirt with makeup on and at school by 5. Then collected from the classroom by 7.30. (Which is supposed to be Ava’s bedtime)

What this means is that Ava needs to be school by 8. Aiden at 9. Me technically at 8.30 but 24/7 would be more accurate. Aiden needs to be collected at 1. I send Jean on foot. Aiden complains but still, at least it’s some way to expelling some energy. And sunlight exposure.

I pull a Mother Hubbard stint and try leave work at 4, be at Ava’s school at 3.45 and home by 3.30. because Aiden wants me to put the makeup on and drop him at school. I know I’m late before I’ve left. Apologies is how I start every whatsapp message. Then when we are all back home after 7.30 the fun and games begin. No I mean literal fun and games.

Aiden is on a post-play high and Ava wants to rein-act the entire play. Scene by scene.

8.30 comes and goes.
My sense of humour goes.

It’s after 9 by the time we are all crammed into my bed, me in the middle so I can’t stick a foot out of the duvet for temperature control.

Tickle me.
No tickle me first.
Can I hold your hand?
No I want to hold your hand.
Shhhh.
No you shhhh.
Stop taking all the duvet.
I’m noooooot.

Myth

Of course this work week is flat out ridiculous too. I’m still catching up on the 4 work days I missed even though I worked until stupid o clock the week before I left. The only conclusion I can draw is that my “daily” work load doesn’t actually fit into a work day. Not all emails carry the same time and effort weighting. Catching up on work post-holiday is like trying to find the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

A myth.

I’m starting to wonder if my daily life also doesn’t actually fit into a day, that not all tasks carry the same time/effort weighting, and that waiting for a “normal” week is also a myth.


Processing…
Success! You're on the list.

Sitting on a rock

Sitting on a rock

Sitting on a rock at Waters Edge.
Contemplating life.

Its beauty.
Its cruelty.
Its unity.
Its disparity.

Feeling equal parts helplessness and hopelessness, anger and apathy.

The foundations of the home I hold so dear to me is crumbling.
The country that chose me, and in turn I it.

There is an ache deep in my heart. The kind that is begging to hear that everything is going to be okay. “Fight or flight” is on everyone’s mind at the moment, everyone who has the means for flight that is. And that’s okay. It’s a reaction that occurs in the presence of something terrifying.
This week was terrifying.
As a woman, a mother, a South African – I am terrified.
I am also tired.
Tired of hopelessness.
Tired of apathy.
I’ll admit to it. The usual story with every horrific crime is where did it happen? If it’s not in our back yard or affects our daily life or is not specifically relatable, it’s not our problem.

Uyinene Mrwetyana’ tragic death transcended the usual excuses apathy afforded and has mobilised the fight we all have inside of us. Every single one of us has those mundane, yet necessary errands to run. This week, Uyinene Mrwetyana must know that she has transformed the landscape of mundane to extraordinary.
A simple errand has ignited a movement.

My pride is bleeding out, but my patriotism is not dead.

#enoughisenough #enough #southafrica #uyinenemrwetyana💔#southafricanwomen #stopvıolenceagaınstwomen #istilllovesouthafrica