Of stories and namings

We have a routine that we stick to in the evenings with Jesse-Lee:

Supper.  Bath.  Bed.  Bedtime Story.  Lights Out.  Two songs.  Kiss.  Hug.  Happy.

That way, she gets her 10 hours of sleep, and we get our 10 hours of peace.  In which I do my happy dance pull on my stretchy pants and raid the pantry cupboard, eating all manner of treats that we don't usually allow Jesse to eat.  

It's a win-win situation really.

Long before bedtime she already starts asking which story I'll be reading to her that evening. I love to surprise Jesse with new and amazing stories that will set her imagination alight and pull her into dreamland thinking happy thoughts.

The night before last was no different to our norm.  The bedtime story was new to Jesse (the one where Jesus raises Jairus's daughter from the dead).  When we got to the end of the story, there was a picture of Jairus and his wife hugging their daughter, while Jesus looks on.  Jesse immediately piped up and asked, "Mommy, what is the little girl's mommy's name?"  I answered that I didn't know.  Upon which she stated categorically:  "Well, I think it should be Strawberry Deck."

I shudder to think what my grandchildren will be named one day.

Thankfully that's at least 52 years in the future.

I'm nothing if not optimistic, y'all.

Even Jesse's teddies get forced to read her books!

Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Crazy Sexy and Things That Bite At Night

Well, what a good, solid navel-gazing session that was on Friday. Let's hope we don't go there for a long time again. (I just know you're all breathing huge sighs of relief right now - YAY! no more infertility issues for a while! It just might be safe to return to Char's blog!) I so hear you. And I agree. But I must tell you, I feel SO MUCH better for having vented a bit. And thanks for all the awesome comments you left me. I only read them a little while ago - I didn't trust myself to check my emails or my blog for a few days.

.

But what a swift kick up my derrière I got when I watched Oprah on the weekend and realized what an enormous ungrateful sop I am really... I usually record all of the shows during the week, then sit down at some stage and do some catching up while the dirty dishes attract flies and cockroaches stacked in the kitchen sink. So I snuggled into my favourite couch with a cuppa and pressed play on my nifty pvr (I think some of you called that teevo?). The show was called Dr Oz: A Special Report on Death. I know - just makes you wanna go out and buy a copy of the show, huh? But seriously - if I watched that show once this weekend, I watched it fifty-two times. Dr Oz interviewed a lady named Kris Carr and I was bowled away by her exuberance and total passion for life. And get this - she is diagnosed with stage four cancer. Since she was diagnosed, she has created the documentary Crazy Sexy Cancer for TLC. And then went on to write the book Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips. What an AMAZING woman! I just couldn't get past something that she said when Dr Oz interviewed her for Oprah...

"I think that life is just too sweet to be bitter," she says. "Once I was able to change my focus, desperation led to inspiration. Once I was able to do that, I looked around me. I made so many changes and I thought, 'This is an awesome life. I mean, honestly, I don't think anybody has a better life than me. When people ask me 'How do you live your life with the knowledge of cancer?' I say 'I might not ever be able to get rid of it, but I can't let that ruin my life.'"

Hello. Wow. What a paradigm shift. The Oprah website says:-

Kris says the way she has reacted to her cancer is the way everyone should evaluate their lives. "I think just go for it. Life is a terminal condition. We're all going to die," she says. "Cancer patients might have more information, but we all, in some ways, wait for that great permission to live."

I am so going to buy her book. I could use some of her enthusiasm! And would you know it - she blogs! Could she get more perfect? I wonder if she'd like to be my new best friend for ever?

Seriously. I mean - she has CANCER! I'm not even dying and I was moping about so much that I wouldn't have objected if I'd known my funeral was imminent. I have to stop moping. There is so much to LIVE for. Life is worth living. Not just existing.

.

I choose to be a tigger, not an eeyore. (Quote: Randy Pausch, the other interviewee on that show that day. Click on the link to watch the awesome talk he gave.)

---

Before I go and try to make friends with Kris leave a comment on Kris's blog, I just have to tell you about my going-to-bed incident last night. I did my usual pre-bedtime routine (I'm a creature of habit, y'all) then as I was pulling apart my bed (continental cushions, spare pillows, quilt, etc.) I heard the strangest crackling sound. It sounded like static electricity. Mmmm... wonder what could be making that sound? Continued pulling pillows off the bed. Then, as I was removing my extra pillows I heard the sound again. And guess what it was? An ENORMOUS spider web from my pillow to the bedside table. Oh my word! And, where there be spider webs, there be... yip: Those Icky Leggy Things That Bite At Night. And leave enormous welts all over your body. More than once. Out came the trusty DOOM spray, and I proceeded to fumigate everything. Which apparently causes said Icky Leggy Things That Bite At Night to come out of their hiding places. But not die.

.

I had to photograph it, because you wouldn't have believed me if I had to tell you how big this thing was. Behold the Bugg(er).

And you wonder why I have trouble sleeping! Grrr... Gives me the hippy creapies just thinking about it!

Just in case...

The kids are GONE! Hooray! Just as well I don't have a video-cam connected to my p.c. because if I did you'd see me shaking my booty over here. And, believe me, that aint a pretty sight. What with my wobbledy butt and my grey hairs, etc. (not on my butt! On my head! - Just in case you were overdosing on the eggnogg there.)

.

But we are freeeee... well, sort-of free-ish. I am still at work, back in my office, sorting through paperwork, catching up on the admin I wasn't able to do when the delinquents kids were still here, but I should have it all wrapped up by tomorrow afternoon, and then it's HOOOOOLIDAY! Happy days. I already have a brand new novel lined up for those lazy summer days when I'm draipsed into the hammock on our stoep (that's South African for patio - pronounced like "woop", but with a "st" instead of the "w"). It's called "World Without End" by Ken Follet. You can read an excerpt here. It's the sequel to my fave book of all time: "The Pillars of The Earth". And you can read an excerpt of that one here. Oh, and just in case you were wondering where you'd heard of that book before, Oprah just added it to her "Oprah's Book Club" November 2007 selection. Probably because she was sick and tired of getting a letter a month from me recommending it for her club. The least she could do to thank me would be a first-class ticket to her show. I'm just saying! c",) Haha. Just kidding. But I really wouldn't mind if she did. I might be able to squeeze it into my Christmas schedule. Oprah, if you're reading this, you can contact me by posting a comment. (You know, just in case!)

.

Anyway, ya'll... here's wishing you a wonderful day today. I'm going to wrap up this office of mine a.s.a.p. so I can go home and get tucked into my new book.

Christmas Wish List

There's a book I really want to get my hands on. It came highly recommended by Jennifer Saake, who is the author of Hannah's Hope. And seeing as I loved loved loved Hannah's Hope, I think I should try to find it. It's called Rain Dance and it deals with infertility. It might take a while for me to lay my hands on the book, seeing as I am now living in deepest darkest Africa and all. Thought I'd share my desires with you, just in case any of your are compiling your Chrissmiss Pressie Lists. Just in case. You know. Hint hint. Nudge nudge, wink wink!

Kitties & Sickies

I am sick at home with the flu. Again. I've been out of action since Saturday morning. I finally set aside my disdain for all of the medical fraternity on Monday morning (only at my boss's threats to drag me to the doc, if it meant he had to toss me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carry me there kicking and screaming, which would have been mighty fun to watch since the advent of my weigtier middle, et cetera insistance) and went to get some meds. And a jobba* on the toeshie too. My boss's son's friend (only a little guy about pre-teen aged) just died from this flu on the weekend. Another middle-aged man in town (named Frenchie) also died on the weekend, also from this flu, so my boss aint taking any chances. Now, who's to say that taking one on the butt is so bad? I (almost) didn't even feel that one. Lucky for the nurse whom I'd accused just seconds before that I'd heard about her penchant for using butts as dartboards me. As you all know, I just luuuuurve getting needles stuck into me. Anyway, I must say though, that having this flu bug has given me lots of bonding time with my kitties. They love me. I just know it. They come running whenever I call them, they purr on me and smother me with loves and licks and adoring stares. Here's a pic of sicko me, holed up under my fave blankie in bed, chatting to my sister on my cell, book balanced in my lap and my kitties loving on me. All that was missing was a cappuccino. Otherwise? Pure bliss, baby. Sicko and all.

Above: Cassy on my shoulder and Jazzy on my book

Above: Little Jazzy

Above: Little Cassidy

Little Sleeping Beauty! (Jazzy)

---

*jobba = South African for injection, pronounced like "jaw" + "bu"

Hope Schmope

I was reading a book last night – not any specific book on infertility or anything, just a novel. A Mariann Keyes one. I like her writing. Very snappy. But anyway. One of the characters in the book had two miscarriages. And when I read it I was surprised to find a kindred spirit in this character. This fictional person who lives in the mind of the author. The experience of the character echoed my own experience so intimately and really reverberated within me. And, it’s weird, but it made me feel so normal. So, like – wow – it’s ok to be defective! Yes, yes, I know it was only a fictitious character in a novel, but it really rang with me. I felt the same way when I read the novel “So Close” by Tertia Albertyn. That novel really impressed me. Before I read it, I had this warped impression that I had to pretend to be OK with being infertile. That I couldn’t talk about it, otherwise people would think I was faulty. Which wouldn’t be entirely untrue… but I didn’t want people to think that of me. If you know what I mean. It’s OK for me to think I’m faulty. But I don’t want other people to think I’m faulty. You know. So anyway… reading Tertia’s book was the instigator that gave me “permission” to start being honest about what infertility really feels like. To be able to say to myself and others “infertility really sux” and not have to pretend you’re ok one hundred percent of the time. It showed me that I’m not (totally) insane. That what I was feeling was normal. Well, “normal” for us infertiles. I wasn’t alone. Which was the best part for me. Not that I would wish infertility on anyone, mind. But it’s just nice to know I’m not alone.
.
If you’re also infertile, or a friend of one, or married to one, or know someone who knows someone who’s infertile, I heartily recommend that you read Tertia’s book. If you’re a Christian, bear in mind this book isn’t written from a Christian’s perspective… so you might find an expletive or two hundred in it.
.
But you see, now I’ve totally digressed again. What I was trying to say is that reading that novel last night reminded me how funny it is, the hopscotch that us infertiles play. Wait, that’s a bit arbitrary and random. And painting all of us with the same brush. And of course, we’re not all alike. If we were we’d all have seven children. That being my dream, and all. But, nope, we’re not all alike. I need to remind myself of that sometimes. So, let me rather say – it’s funny the hopscotch I play. The mind games and the silliness and the obsession and the imbalance and the grrrr-ness of it all.
.
Even now, I still find myself thinking like an infertile. Making sure I eat just right… and after I should have ovulated, I don’t drink (too much) coffee, I avoid the stinky cheeses, etc… you know, that whole “just in case” schpiel. Which inexorably lands up being one mammoth binge session when, alas, I’m not preggy. Again. I mean really, I’ve only ever been pregnant once in my entire life. And that was a total disaster. So, just why I would base my eating plan (or lack of it) for the rest of my days on a “maybe” that only once ever became a “yes” just shows the extent to which this silly billy’s desire prompts her to go. And we’re not even trying anymore. I’m going to have a hard time breaking this hoping habit. Sometimes, I even deliberately avoid doing the funky-monkey around ovulation time so that I won’t have a reason to hope. Because that two-week-wait is just totally disgustingly horrible for me afterwards. Better to know there’s no chance, than to hope. I hate hoping. It destroys me.
.
Which just makes me even MORE grateful for my angel of a friend, Marie-Jeanne. It still totally astounds me that she’s willing to do this for us. Granted, our plans came to a grinding halt when we moved to Dundee, because communicating from Belgium to South Africa via dial-up just aint viable… Another reason I can’t wait to have our wireless installed!!! Then we can start planning again. And “hopefully” soon, I’ll be able to announce Robin’s departure for Belgium so that they can do the artificial insemination, and we can be expecting soon. Imagine! Yippee! I can’t wait. I can’t wait. I can’t wait.
.
So, the pressure is off of me to reproduce. It’s glorious! Please excuse me while I make myself an enormous cappuccino and devour a bowl of stinky cheese.

Bookses

I don't mind admitting that I'm a bit of a nerd bookworm. Love books. In fact, if I hadn't married Robin I really wouldn't have minded marrying a book. OK maybe not. I'm just saying. I really love books. Just yesterday I bought two new ones. Marian Keyes books. Side-splittingly funny ones. Although she does use God's name in vain now and again. So I read them with blinkers on. I tend to do that quite a lot. Seeing as lots of the really funny, entertaining authors aren't God-fearing and all. My love for reading sometimes overrides my better judgment. Which probably isn't a good thing.

.

But anyway. About the books. I discovered a really nifty site last year some time that makes the most amazing things. It's called Shutterfly and you can upload your pics to the site for sharing with your friends etc... but more importantly and most definitely more exciting too, is that you can create books there. Literally! Talk about fodder for Char's imagination! And so I spent a few days drooling over my keyboard losing sleep while I uploaded my pics and edited my book then ordered two copies, a big one and a smaller one. (It was a wedding gift for my cousin, for whom I also did her wedding photography) And then it arrived! Yay! I am so chuffed with how it came out! Luvvit.

.

If I earned dollars and not rands I would be ordering books for all my friends and family. Alas, I am but a poor, hard-working South African, earning measly ronts and wishing I'd win the lotto. Until then, I'll drool over my little photo book.

.

P.S. Yes, I deliberately smudged the background of my pic because the kitchen is a teensy bit filthy I didn't want you all to be jelly tots and covet our family kitchen. Haha!

An excerpt...

Am reading one of the funniest books I've ever read. It's called Spud - the Madness Continues... by a South African author, John van de Ruit, and it's the second instalment in the Spud series. I think he's only written two so far. The first one is simply Spud. And the second one is even better than the first one! I'm going to transcribe a few paragraphs from the second one below for you guys. I won't need to sing it's praises once you've read a portion of it yourselves. Side-splittingly funny!

.

1991

Town Hill (The Beginning...)

Tuesday 15th January

.

13h35 Dad sat back in the driver's seat, surveyed the road in front of him, and then screamed so loudly that the keys fell out of the ignition. Once the screaming had died down a long and disturbing silence descended on the infamous lime green Milton station wagon.

.

Dad had been playing his Carpenters tape at full blast and hadn't felt the terrible shuddering as our un-trusty old Renault chugged up Town Hill towards school. Suddenly, halfway through the second chorus of I'm On Top of the World, an earthquake struck the green machine. The back right tyre was so flat that the rim was sticking through the rubber. Dad did his usual whistle, nodded at the shredded tyre, and announced that we had a puncture. He then grinned at me and said he'd been changing tyres since he was 'knee high to a grasshopper'.

.

With a skip and a whistle he popped open the boot with an unhealthy creak and lifted up the carpet cover. His eyes glazed over and his lips moved without making a sound. Sensing a nasty turn of events, I moved in to get a closer look. Instead of a spare tyre there was a crate of Castle Lager. On top of the beer crate was a faded handwritten note that read:

.

Pete you old crab stick, hope you don't mind but I needed the tyre. Here's
some jungle juice to keep the old engine purring. Frank.

.

And then it said:

.

PS Will return it by Monday.

.

Underneath the date was written:

24/7/1988

.

Dad cracked open a Castle and reread the note. He didn't seem at all concerned that Frank had borrowed the spare tyre for a weekend and hadn't returned it for two and a half years. In fact he seemed to be far more impressed that the Castle Lager still tasted good after spending nearly three years in the station wagon. My father held out the beer can like it was the Cullinan Diamond and said, 'The taste that stood the test of time.' He then grabbed two six packs, returned to the driver's seat, and switched on the Carpenters again.

.

13h45 Dad drained his beer and crushed the empty can on his forehead (a skill he has perfected since New Year's Eve, when the same stunt ended with Mom rushing him to Addington Hospital for stitches). My father burped loudly, shouted, 'Gesundheid!' and immediately cracked open another beer. In a voice that could have grilled a steak, Mom instructed Dad to put his beer down and find help. Dad clearly wasn't picking up Mom's mood because he spread his arms out and said, 'We must trust and believe that help will fund us.'

.

Mom then said that the only thing that would find Dad were divorce papers.

.

Dad shook his head and grumbled to himself. He then grabbed a six pack and started striding up the emergency lane of the freeway. Mom jumped out the car and ordered my father to leave the beers behind because she said they make him look like a Cape coloured. (This wasn't helped by the fact that Dad had been using Instant Tan over Christmas instead of sun block.)

.

Dad returned to the car and offered Mom fifty bucks to go and find help. Mom was appalled that Dad thought so little of her that he would bribe her in an emergency. After more shouting and some serious haggling, a bribe of sixty-three bucks was agreed on.

.

Mom strode out into the truck lane of the freeway, waving her arms above her head, and soon managed to flag down a PPC cement truck. After some lengthy discussions she drove off in the truck with a sweaty man in a white string vest called Larry. Dad looked at me, shook his head and muttered, 'Women.' He drained his Castle and began singing sadly along to We've Only Just Begin.

.

I opened my new shiny red diary.

.

Year................1991

Name..............Spud

Comments......The Madness Continues...