Becoming more

Writing this blog’s about me page, triggered thoughts of what it is that defines us. I’m still not sure. I know that I am more than being somebody’s mother or daughter or wife. But to a woman these things are important in much the same way that males define themselves by their jobs or hobbies.

Furthermore, how are we changed by experiences? Do experiences like having a child with CP or having a loved one die change the way we are or do they merely change the way we react to certain things?

I know that I react to adversity by anger. It is the way my father reacted and it is the way Marco reacts. So, I believe that it is a genetic trait. If we don’t get angry, get worried. It means our spirit is broken

In a way, anger has been my saving grace. Anger has kept me going. But anger can also take on a life of its own – demanding precious energy – until you don’t know why and at whom you are angry anymore. And until you think to yourself that you can finally understand why somebody would pick up a machine gun and start shooting randomly. Then you know that anger has served its purpose and that you need to let it go.

I always thought that I’m a pessimist. It turns out I am really an optimist. I had hope for Loren – that he could live a GOOD life – right until the day he died.
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Having kids tend to change us per se and many people will tell you that it is not always for the better.

Mostly I feel that having kids is a humbling experience. Sometimes I feel stripped to the bone.

I changed in many ways. First of all were the physical changes:

I’m carrying 10 kg more in weight, my hair has greyed, my face has new lines and my skin sag. I have aged. Talking to a close friend recently she pointed out that I was beginning to walk with a stoop. I used to carry Loren as if I was trying to fold my body around him to protect him and the habit has remained.

Bit by bit all my ideals have been sacrificed. I wanted homebirths, breastfeeding, being a SAHM. I wanted kids free from chemicals. I wanted home schooling, family meals around a table, little or no TV. I wanted – most of all – to protect my children from hurt. And at this – which is the most important ideal of all – I failed most miserably of all. My parents have brought me up to believe that you can achieve anything if you just work hard enough. I know now that that is not true. Sometimes you can work at something with everything you have and you still fail.

So, how has that changed who I am? I’ve become less sure of myself. I am more fearful. I have less energy. I cry more easily. I’m more apathetic. I’ve seen the worst side of everyone close to us as a family and in some instances my trust in people has been shocked beyond belief.

But there are not just negatives. I am also softer, less inclined to judge. I appreciate the good things more. I have learned that there are truly good people out there. I know that I am strong because I’m weak. I know that I can survive anything. I have finally learned to live in the moment. I’ve become humble. I’ve become grateful for the sum total of my experiences – good or bad. I’ve learned to go with the flow.

In many ways I‘m still the same. I still dislike unfairness. I cannot understand that people follow the pack blindly and I will never just accept the status quo.

I miss feeling invincible. But do I want to be exactly the same person I was before? Certainly I’d like my figure back! And if somebody could take away this deep aching sadness, I’d also appreciate it…
But overall? No.

So. Here I am.

Amazing

It is a difficult time for us: Loren died six months ago, last Friday (the 26th) and his second birthday would have been on Monday (5th of November).

On Friday I sat in front of my PC at work, feeling rather sorry for myself. I was even crying a little. But then I thought that I’d better dry my tears because I also didn’t particularly want to explain why I was crying to a library user. And sure enough, I’d just cleaned up my face, when a man walked in. I know that he is one of our staff members from one of the other regions – located in the neighbouring city – but I could not even recall his name.

He re-introduced himself and reminded me that I helped him with information on a previous occasion. I expected him to ask for help with finding building plans, but he stated talking hesitantly. He said that God sent him to me. About an hour before, he knew that he had to come and see me. God showed him my pain, he said. And God knows that I think He has abandoned me, but He hasn’t.

The man said that, not knowing me, he asked God what kind of a person I am and God showed him that I battle with a spirit of inferiority. (True, but I have learned to hide it very well.) God wants me to stop that, because He has made me and He made me a very gifted person who is able to live very closely to God.

The man was called by his colleagues to travel back to his office, so he shook my hand and disappeared.

To say that I was bowled over, is to put it mildly. I have never shared anything of my story with this man. I didn’t even know his name. So, how did he know that I needed to be comforted right at that moment (actually an hour before I really needed it)?

And there was light.

We’re back at work. My breastpump and I…

Magnus is staying with Anna and NOT taking kindly to the fact that he’s expected to take his milk from a bottle. I know the drill: Marco did exactly the same ( he disliked a bottle so much that he started taking his fluids from a sippy cup by nine months and ditched the bottle altogether by a year) and they tend to make up for their unenthusiastic feeding from the bottle by catching up at night. Groovy. Fortunately I’m able to go home teatime and lunchtime to feed him. So, things work out fine. And it will only be until he starts on solids – which I generally delay until they’re around six months old. After that I will feed him just before I leave for work and then only at lunchtime.

A word of unsolicited advice to working mothers wanting to continue breastfeeding: Buy the best breast pump you can afford. One that pumps both sides at the same time is far better value for money, because it is faster and fools your body into thinking it is feeding twins – increasing milk supply. I have the Medela Travel-in-style and it has paid for itself over an over again. I’ve used it for all three children and with Loren I had to pump all feeds until he was nine months old. After I managed to burn out the motor by using the pump straight from the power supply of the converter in the car, we had a special battery built to accommodate Loren’s suctioning machine and the breast pump. And with these two pieces of equipment we could even fly on a commercial airline such as SAA.

Except that the lights in the library were not working on Monday – my first day back – I also had a nasty head cold. To say that I was not amused would be an understatement. You see, I knew that the lights were out of order as I had to come into work during my maternity leave to help with the odd thing. And I reported it straight away – more than a month ago. The caretaker of the building said that she did report it to the electricians and shrugged her shoulders. I phoned up the electrician myself who apologized profusely and promised to send someone straight away.

I went home. There was no way I was going to work in semi-dark while I was also feeling sick.

So, Tuesday morning I came back and it was still dark… I phoned again. The electrician nervously explained that they think that the equipment in the distribution board was…..stolen. I exploded. But they are working on it, he assured me hastily. I grumbled and stayed at work. Fortunately it was a bright sunny day – unlike Monday – and I could see better.

Wednesday dawned and still no lights. I phoned the Occupational Health and Safety officer. He advised me to contact my supervisor and demand an office with lights while the problem is being sorted out. It is against the Occupational Health and Safety Act to work in conditions like these. The only problem with this is that I cannot run the library from elsewhere in the building…Late yesterday afternoon two very perplexed electricians came to see me. They were being accused of stealing the equipment from the DB board. Finally I realized that they are talking about a DB board not belonging to the library. They were in fact looking for it on the wrong floor…. I pointed them in the right direction and within minutes the lights were working again.

And finally, a story about one of the little workplace tussles that makes working life so rewarding….

I get two local newspapers delivered at work in the morning. These papers are kept in the library and are meant for everyone. Security holds them for us until we come in to work. A couple of people in the building – mostly people holding managerial posts – get their papers (paid for by the work) in this way. For years now, I’ve put up with people stealing my paper. If there’s one short, the security guard invariably gives the library paper away to make up the shortage. And I was getting fed-up with this.

Tuesday morning I walk into the building only to be confronted with a missing paper again. So, I reach over and take somebody else’s. The security guard stops me and tells me that my paper was taken by my supervisor (a lovely man with whom I have a very good working relationship).

I tell him that that is not my problem. I’ve paid for a paper and I want a paper. If he allows people to take mine, he can explain to the person finally left without one. The security guard (a huge Zulu-speaking guy I happen to have a lot of respect for) and I glare at each other. When he sees I’m not budging, he nods stiffly and lets me go. Later on he phones: My general manager is now without a paper and she wants either mine or my supervisor’s. I tell him to tell her to take my supervisor’s paper. I haven’t heard a word from either of the managers, but I expect I’m not very popular right now.

Strange, but this morning when I arrived at work, my newspaper was where it belonged.…

No wonder adults behave the way they do…

The pre-teen nephew of a friend calls his mother to one side and confides that his sweat is starting to smell…different. He seems a bit worried, so his mother asks his father to have THE TALK with him. You know, the one where you explain about hormones changing and all these new “feelings” and such.

A while later his mother overhears him telling his younger brother that his sweat stinks because of his morons* changing…

*“Moron” is an outdated term used to describe a person with the learning capability of a 7-12 year old. (These days we merely use it to describe somebody doing something we personally disagree with.)After having Loren, I am very aware that it is impossible to arbitrarily gauge and label a person’s intelligence and very wrong. If for no other reason, the fact that most measurement of what we term IQ requires the ability to communicate in some way and that some kids with disabilities will never physically be able to communicate. But definitely because a lot of people who would have been capable of achieving a great deal are treated like they do not exist simply because they cannot communicate their understanding and thoughts and other people are believing the label.

I personally do not use the term moron, except for those things that course through my veins making me impossible to live with, of course! But I do call the doctor (surgeon!)who said my son is mentally retarded when he was eight weeks old a complete
fool. **The scary thing is that I just may have believed him. Fortunately I didn’t.

** fool – exhibiting a want of judgment or discretion
See, I can also do a footnote of a footnote like Terry Pratchett!

Books

Jodi tagged me to write about books that have had an impact on me.

I could read before going to school. My parents taught me the concept of sounding letters and one day things just….clicked. From then I read everything I could lay my hands on. Instruction leaflets, the back of cereal boxes – you name it! I remember my dad taking me to the library to join as a six-year-old. Every Friday, instead of letting us take the bus home as usual, my mother would drive into town to fetch us from school. My mother ran all the errands required to manage a busy farm and left most of the afternoon free to take us to have music lessons and visit the library. We could take out seven books between us and I started reading in the car on the way home already. Usually by the end of the weekend I’d run out of reading material. Fortunately there was also the school library during the week…

So, how many books have I read. No idea, except that it must be thousands by now. Obviously getting married and having kids both curtailed my reading habits somewhat, but I’m honestly easier to live with when I can read and Dirk is a quick study!

I don’t belong to a book club, but may consider joining one when my kids are bigger. Recently a local book shop has published a list of the 101 books to read before you die ( reader voted). I’ve read about 40 of them.

Most recent book I’ve bought:

We don’t often buy books, but when we do we tend to go overboard. Our latest purchases were
An Afrikaans biography about the life of songwriter Koos du Plessis,
Momtails – non-alcoholic cocktails for mothers and children by Rocco de Villiers,
An Afrikaans book about the first five minutes after death.
Toddler Sense and
Sleep Baby Sleep both by Ann Richardson..

Book I’m, currently reading

The witches trilogy by Terry Pratchett. His sense of humour is completely irreverent. You could probably etch metal with it. And his footnotes have footnotes – which is kind of how my mind works anyway.

Five books that made an impact on my life.

Why not let the books speak for themselves?:

Cry the beloved country. Alan Paton.

” Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear …”

Faith like potatoes. Angus Buchan.

“The seed for a great miracle lies not in difficulty, but impossibility.”

Ended beginnings. Claudia Panuthos & Catherine Romeo

“But there is another way we choose to look at Malcolm’s coming and going; not merely as a loss, a baby lost forever, but as a complete life lived as fully as possible.”

The little prince. Antoine de Saint-Exupery.

‘Goodbye’ said the fox. ‘And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.’
‘What is essential is invisible to the eye,’ the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
‘It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.’
‘It is time I have wasted for my rose–’ said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.
‘Men have forgotten this truth,’ said the fox. ‘But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose.”

The alchemist. Paulo Coelho

“When every day seems the same, it is because we have stopped noticing the good things that appear in our lives.”

“Only one thing makes a dream impossible: the fear of failure.”

” When there is no turning back, then we should concern ourselves only with the best way of going forward.”

The great Gatsby. Scott F. Fitzgerald

“I am careful”
“No, you’re not.”
“Well, other people are, “ she said lightly.
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“They’ll keep out of my way,” she insisted. “It takes two to make an accident.”
“Suppose you met somebody just as careless as yourself.”
“I hope I never will, she answered. “I hate careless people.”

I’m tagging Kathryn at Ryntales and Jacqui from Terrible Palsy to write about the books that have had an impact on them.

Grace

Whenever I would like to complain about my situation, I only have to look at these photographs. They were taken on our week’s holiday last week at Natalia and San Lameer on the KwaZulu Natal South Coast.

This phenomenon always signifies to me God’s ability to focus his grace on humankind. I often dwell on the harsh lot of the world and forget all about the grace…

Magnus at 14 weeks. Very serious on this photo. But actually the kid is a marvel. Always wakes up smiling.

San Lameer is a holiday resort. It consists of “villas” – definitely Mediterranean in character – on lush green indigenous sub-tropical land. The first photo was meant to capture Marco feeding (highly illegally, I’m sure!) the wild geese. The next was the view from our patio over the manmade pond.

Good guy, bad guy…

The week before last had been a bit of a disaster. Not only did my car attempt to elope with a red Opel (long story), but my neck decided that three pregnancies messing with my lower back and spine and my habit of sleeping with my body folded around a sleeping baby while my head face the other way was becoming a bit too much for it and it was going AWOL. Two visits to a body stress release therapist later and it started behaving itself. Now at least I can turn my head to the right again.

One late afternoon Marco Magnus and I returned from dropping Jenny off at the taxi rank. As we stopped in the undercover parking at our house, Dirk phoned on the mobile phone to let us know that the alarm had gone off at the house and that the alarm company phoned him at the office.

I had three choices: Backing out of the electric gate – leaving us open to hijacking. Staying put and waiting for the alarm company to send out armed security guards. Or going into the house and checking things out myself. By this time, I had already surmised that nothing was wrong. Nothing looked disturbed and the dogs were both there, looking completely at ease – which they would not have been if there had been an intruder in the house. Sometimes the alarm goes off because of geckos running over the passive infrared or because of our cats jumping up on furniture.

I decided to go into the house to check. I left the kids in the car – locking it and forbidding Marco to follow me, asking him to look after his brother. I unlocked and went to the alarm control panel to check where the alarm had been set off. I peeked through a window and saw that there was no sign of forced entry. As I rounded the corner on my way back to the car to fetch the kids, I nearly walked into a strange man. It scared the living daylights out of me, but fortunately I could immediately see that he was from the armed security company. He’d let himself in through the electronic gate. He offered to walk around the house just in case. It was then that I heard Marco crying. I ran back to the car and found him next to Magnus. As soon as he saw the armed security guard, he started screaming again. It was then that I realised that he thought the guard was the burglar and that he had been trying to protect his baby brother against the guard.

I felt like a dog. My poor poor child. What I should have done was wait in the car with them. I held his trembling body in my arms and explained about the uniform and that this man was the “good guy”.

I’m always torn between not wanting to freak Marco out but making him aware that there are bad people and showing him safe places in the house where he can hide should somebody break in. I guess that is a part of modern-day parenting no matter where you live. But it is also a fact that South Africa is particularly bad compared to many other places in the world.

So, what do you do? Do you warn your kids against bad people or do you try to preserve their innocence as far as possible?