So Close

It is so much easier being superficial.

I spoke to my little brother (v handsome chap, lives in London) on the phone a while ago. He is getting married next year and is busy with his wedding preparations. He recounted a conversation he had with his fiancé. My sister’s kids are going to be part of the wedding ceremony, the ring bearer and flower girl or whatever. (I never had any of those things; I had a husband-to-be (Marko) and a wife to be (me), that’s all. V simple wedding, no bridesmaids, best men, ushers etc. Sister is much more romantic and traditional and likes that kind of stuff.) His fiancé worriedly asked whether I would be offended that my kids wouldn’t be part of the ceremony. He quickly reassured her that I am fortunately as superficial as he is and it takes a lot to offend me.

 And it’s true. I am very rarely offended.

 People often start their email conversations with me with “I hope this wont offend you but…..” or “I hope I haven’t offended you….” and I am always a little bemused as I wonder whether I am not perhaps missing something. I am hardly ever offended. I simply can’t muster up the required amount of indignation to be offended over (what I consider) arbitrary things.  And actually, how can I possibly be offended when the person clearly never meant to cause me any offence. If you don’t mean to cause offence it is highly likely you will offend me, I promise you.

 I sometimes secretly wonder if I am not missing something. Perhaps I am superficial.  Why don’t I get highly offended and terribly indignant more often? I try to dig deep and find hidden meanings or secret slights that I could take issue with. But I seldom find any. I really don’t mind what you say, as long as you do it with caring and with class.

 It is not a free for all, and some things do piss me off, hugely. If you are going to be a nasty cowardly bitch and say nasty things then I will get angry. I will get pissed off and stomp my feet, but I wont be offended.

 I’ve thought about this. I’ve searched for issues that could possibly offend me. How about women’s issues, and how sexist advertising adds to the general degradation of women in society? Ummmm, no. If some stupid wanker decides to buy a car because the advert had some half naked woman on the car, well then, isn’t he the asshole? That shit doesn’t offend me, it just makes me laugh. Swearing? Fuck no! What else? Religious stuff? No. Politics? Even bigger joke. Most of the stuff either makes me laugh or makes me want to punch someone, but I just can’t seem to get hurt (?) / upset (?) / indignant (?) enough to be offended. Cross, yes. Hurt, sometimes. Offended? Not really, no.

 I don’t know. Is it me? Should I care more about ‘stuff’? Am I missing something? I am not terribly convinced. From what I have seen, it is far easier being slightly oblivious / superficial / thick skinned (what is the term used to define someone that isn’t easily offended?) than it is to be easily offended*.

 (*And being a ‘slightly oblivious / superficial / thick skinned person’ whose blog is read by quite a few easily-offended people, it certainly leads to some very hairy situations indeed!) 

Naming the offspring

Kellyn (The K is silent), fellow blogger and another one of my friends in the computer wrote a fun post about names / naming your kids (with a follow up here). I am glad she did because I remembered I actually wanted to talk to you all about this a while ago. And then I forgot. Am v forgetful lately, I wonder why?

 What were we talking about again?

 Oh yes, names.

 Apparently, I am in the minority here. I never had a kid’s name ‘saved up’ for when I had a kid one day. (Or perhaps I did and I have just forgotten? Could be.) I can’t believe how many of you did/do. Is that how you decided to name your children? Based on your favourite name that you had saved up since you were little? Or did you go for fashionable names? Trendy names? Or was it because of family traditions? Or did you simply just hate your child – JOKING!

 How did you decide?

 When the time came to think about names I made a decision that felt right at that time in my life. I didn’t expend a huge amount of energy or emotion on the decision.  I had a few names I liked, but unfortunately I kept using the names up along the way. Gallows humour, sorry. One thing that both Marko and I wanted was strong, simple names. Marko and I are simple people; we are not particularly romantic, or trendy, or ‘out there’, so Maddison or Thorne wouldn’t suit us. And we weren’t going for that quaint little habit that some Afrikaaners adopt of combing the first names of the mother and father to create a unique and particularly horrible first name for your new child. Terko / Markia just didn’t sound right.

 It is actually quite fascinating to me how much emotional investment people put into naming their children. It’s just a name. I must say that I have never got upset that someone ‘stole’ my name. I never had any names to steal.

 But what do I know? I still think it is totally hysterical that you all make such a big fuss about giving your child a second name. I don’t have a second name, neither does Marko but due to YOUR influence, we’ve given Kate and Adam second names.  Although I don’t think too many people know what their second names are.  Second names are just not a big thing here. I am not sure if my SIL even knows… Tanja, do you know what K & A’s second names are? Does any one here know? A prize for those who do know. 

 How did you / will you decide to name you children?  Did you put a lot of effort into choosing the names? Was it an emotional decision? Do you / did you have a name ‘saved up’ from when you were little?  Will you give your child a second name, and if so, will you ever use it besides filling it on the official forms?  And finally, do you have more than one i or two y’s in your name?  If so, we can still be friends, but I can’t promise to say your name out loud.  Yes, I am talking to YOU, Bryttyni.

Husband staying, dogs must go. Salad spinners for all!

Apologies to those who put in the kind offer to take the 1x Free Husband off my hands.  After much thought, I’ve decided to keep him. He does have his uses, and although he can annoy me beyond compare, I am rather fond of him. Will keep him.

 However, in his place I have three never-been-used salad spinners (unwanted gifts, unopened, in original packaging) and 2x (two) dogs to a good home.  The dogs (1x nancy boy and 1x slightly overweight with a skin disorder, both useless as guard dogs), have lovely sunny dispositions, are especially welcoming to strangers and have tendency to bark at night (at Big, Scary things like bunnies and field mice) at 4:30am in the morning, waking up the entire household, resulting in daughter thinking it is morning-time and refusing to go back to sleep. This barking at night thing doesn’t happen terribly often. Only every second or third night.  

 Did I mention that the salad spinners are new?

Free to a good home

1x husband: Hardly used, as new.  Comes with original packaging and remainder of factory warranty.  Collector’s item.  

Yes, count me in for a salad spinner and a set of those cute microwavable containers

You all know of the many asshole’ish traits I possess, they are many and varied:  I procrastinate terribly; I think that by not checking my bank balance my overspending wont seem as bad; I am convinced that whatever is wrong with me is actually that dread disease you mentioned last week; I get full of angst of some potential slight that I might or might not have made against someone else; I over analyze every single thing, getting myself all worked up about something that is actually really minor in the grander scheme of things…. The list is endless.

 Here’s another:

 I am too embarrassed to say no when people ask me to buy something.  Even when they don’t actually ask me outright, I feel so obligated that I end up spending money on things I really don’t need or can’t afford.  I am any Tupperware party hostess’ wet dream.

 I hate going to those types of things because I ALWAYS end up buying things that I absolutely don’t need. Why I don’t know. Out of guilt? Embarrassment? I don’t know, but I feel compelled to be the perfect guest and buy that bloody salad spinner. (I’ve just eaten their asparagus quiche and lemon meringue pie, how RUDE not to buy something!)

 The young chaps who hawk those black plastic rubbish bags in the car park get dollar signs in their eyes.  They recognize a sucker when they see one. I’ve bought those rolls of 40 35 bags for three weeks in a row from the same young guy who was leaving for a sports tour THAT VERY NIGHT and all he needed was to sell these LAST FEW ROLLS so that he could have enough money to go.  I want to say no, but the poor thing! All he needs is a few more bucks to go on the sports tour!  How can I deny him that? Even if the bags are shite and keep tearing. And even if he still hasn’t left on that sports tour three weeks later.

 I went to the homeopath a few weeks back.  There wasn’t anything really wrong with me but a friend at work suggested I go see this guy. I felt too embarrassed to tell her that I didn’t really want to go (she was trying to help!), so I went.  Even though he charges a fucking fortune for his consultation.  Then, after he diagnosed me as having Nothing Really Wrong, he suggested an array of really bloody expensive herbs and potions made up of bat shit and mosquito urine, which would apparently make me feel even better.  It seemed churlish to say no. So I ended up spending over a thousand bucks (SA currency!) on an appointment and pills I didn’t need or want.  I still haven’t taken them. Because, well, there isn’t any thing really wrong with me. Except stupidity when it comes to money. En daar is nie pille vir verstandt nie.  (There aren’t any pills to address stupidity)

 I hate myself after doing these things, I have terrible buyer’s remorse.  Every time I do it I swear that I will never do this again.  I try and convince myself that 30 seconds of squirmy embarrassment at saying no is better than weeks of self-ass-kicking moments of castigation.  And yet next time I am at a Tupperware party I will be hauling out my cheque book and buying yet another salad spinner and set of microwavable containers. 

 I don’t know why I do this.  Well, I think I know why. It is because I feel so sorry for the person. The poor thing! They went to so much effort, inviting me to the party / suggesting the homeopath / asking me to buy their 40 35 rubbish bags (double insult – not only do the bag suck, but there really aren’t 40 bags on that roll!)  How can I say no? They were just trying to be helpful / kind / entrepreneurial, their feelings will be hurt, I can’t do that to them.  And really, it seems awfully rude to say no when someone is offering you something.

 Yes, I’m an asshole. I know.  I’m trying my best to change, but it is a long, slow process. There is so much work to be done.

Advanced maternal age

Lots of help.  Gorgeous results.

Enormously grateful.

Do they owe the sisterhood anything?

Let me share with you a fact that you might not be aware of. Your fertility declines, fairly rapidly, after the age of 37. After the age of 40, your chance of conception falls to 5% per attempt. After 44 your chances are even less. And that is not even mention the rate of genetic abnormalities.

So many women don’t seem to realize that age has an enormous affect on your fertility. It doesn’t matter how much you ‘take care of yourself’, or how good / young you look, your fertility declines after the age of 40 and especially after the age of 44. 

 Women see other older women having babies – high profile celebs seem to pop out babies left right and centre. Look how easy it is for them, surely we can wait too. I am only 38, I have LOTS of time to think about having a baby. Except, well, you don’t. Your eggs have an expiry date, that is the sad truth.

 What the poor woman in the street doesn’t realize is that many of these older women who are having babies after the age of 40 have done so with assistance (fertility treatment) and often with the use of donor eggs.

 Now, let it be known that I am a huge supporter of donor egg as one of the wonderful ways of creating a family. Donor eggs afford so many women a fantastic chance at becoming a mother, a chance they might not have had. Women who donate their eggs to infertile couples are my heroes, I don’t care why they do it, altruistic reasons or not. I came very close to doing a donor egg cycle myself.  It was absolutely part of my plan. I just wanted to be a mother, I didn’t care about DNA.  And of course, there is absolutely ZERO doubt who is the mother in any of these situations – the mother is the person who gets up at night to sooth the crying baby, and who kisses the boo-boos away. 

 Yes, many of these babies born to older celeb moms are from donor eggs. How do I know that, well because I know that after the age of 44, the chances of getting pregnant with your own eggs is really slim. I know that, many don’t. And that makes me a little cross. 

 I think it creates a false sense of security, a false sense of how much time an older woman has left over in which to start trying for a family. It makes me want these older celeb moms to come out and be honest about the fact that they needed help to conceive, that it isn’t easy to get pregnant on your own after 40. I think they are doing women all over the world a great disservice by pretending all was easy and fine and unassisted.

 And yet, do they owe us anything? They have the right, just as we do, to be private about who and where and when they conceived. Many of us (quite obviously ME excluded) don’t go around telling people ‘oh these were IVF / donor egg babies’. Why should they? That is private stuff, right?  Except that not telling, pretending that you didn’t have help not only seems dishonest, but it is as if there is something to be ashamed about, and there absolutely isn’t.

 So, I am torn. A part of me wants them to be honest about the fact that conceiving naturally in your forties is not easy, and the other part recognizes their (and their children’s*!) need for privacy.

 What do you think? Do you think these older celeb moms owe us any form of honesty about how difficult it is to conceive later on in life, or don’t they owe us anything?  And when you answer, would you mind telling me whether you are infertile or not, I would be interested to hear if that affects your answer or not.

 (My dear friend Orange and I were supposed to blog about this together, but having zero impulse control she went ahead and did it without me.  Tired old ‘ho that she is. Go read her post as well before you give me your answer)

 * I have a high profile friend whose children were carried by surrogate.  She doesn’t speak about it. Not because she is ashamed or wants to keep it a secret, but because she says it is not just her story to tell, this affects her children too. When her kids are old enough to be able to process what all of this means, then it is up to them and her to tell or not tell.  I totally understand and respect that.

 

Hey….um, You!

The kids are at the stage where they repeat every thing we say.  Good for growing that ever increasing vocabulary, bad for swearing. Looks like I will have to replace ‘fuck’ as my favourite word soon.  Fuck! Damn!

 This whole parrot behaviour has raised yet another little parenting dilemma that I never anticipated: What the fuck heck do I call Marko?  Well, besides “asshole”, but that is my private love name for him.  I mean what do I call him when I am calling him?

 When I am not yelling “hey asshole, get your ass over here”, I usually call him by his name.  As one would. All good and well, except Kate is now calling him Marko too.  She knows he is “daddy”, but she has recently found out that he also answers to the name Marko. So she walks around calling “Marko, MARKO”. Marko is not amused.  Well actually he is, because it is very cute, but he really would prefer being called “daddy” by his kids.  We aren’t into that new age shit of calling your parents by their first names.  Hell, I don’t even like my kids to call other grownups by their first name.  I am old fashioned that way. 

 I really don’t want to call Marko “daddy” when I am calling him.  I don’t mind referring to him as “daddy” when I am speaking to the kids, but calling him “daddy” as his name seems creepy.  I know a couple who have grown up kids and they STILL call each other “mom” and “dad”, even when the kids aren’t there. That is just a little off to me. 

 Today Adam locked myself and Kate out the house and stood crying behind the security gate because he couldn’t get to us.  So I had to stand there, watching both of them on either side of the gate, and yell to Marko to come and save us.  Naturally he chose to ignore the first 37 calls because apparently, while he can hear me whisper to my sister on the phone when I am trying to have a moan about him, he can not hear me yell at the top of my voice when I am calling him from a few meters away.  I told the kids that we need to call daddy to come open the door for us, and started with calling “daddy”, but I couldn’t bring myself to yell it loud enough and with enough irritation, and so resorted to “Marko” in that clipped, annoyed tone I am so good at.  Kate promptly joined in and started yelling “Mark-ko” with me.  He heard that.

 What do you do? What do you call your husband when you are with your kids, yelling to him from across the yard?  Do you call him by his first name or do you call him “daddy”?  Or are you the perfect wife and you never yell?   

It's a shitty job....

......but someone's gotta do it. 

What really goes on inside that cubicle maze.

Friday lunchtime.  Me.  With a glass of pink champagne in hand. Another tough day at the office.

Following your heart. A question.

I am not sure how many of you read the comments section of the blog posts, but there are very interesting things happening in the comments section on two totally separate posts. Although I am NOT saying you can compare these two situations, at all, I would like to raise the debate a level and ask the following:

 Does following your heart, giving in to your passion, mean you can’t or shouldn’t be held accountable for your actions?

 On the one end of the spectrum we have a blog reader* who posted this comment in response to my heartbreak about Steve Irwin’s death:

"Okay, here's the truth... most folks i know here in the U.S. think that Steve Irwin was a total asshole for jepoardizing his life and leaving behind a wife and two kids b/c of his thrill seeking." 

 Then on the other end of the moral divide we have Rachel. Who had an affair with someone’s husband. And who responded to my “Would you look away” post with the following:

"About six months ago I began a love affair with the husband of an up-and-coming blogger. Initially, I resisted the temptation to read her blog, but curiosity got the best of me; I had to know more about this woman and what (if anything) she was saying about me. For months now I've been reading her and her sisters' blogs . She usually keeps the negative comments about me to a minimum, but her sisters, who are younger and a little further detached from the situation, can get pretty nasty; upon discovering my presence, one actually devoted a whole series of articles to disparaging me."

 Rachel felt that the vitriol directed at her was “BS”, the name-calling unfair. They didn’t know who she really was.

 You can’t compare these two situations. Not even close, and I am sure there are many who would be upset with me by mentioning them in the same breath. But I want to discuss this notion of following your heart.

 So let’s remove the individuals from these stories. Let’s instead look at circumstance and ask whether following your heart negates any accountability to others. And whether you have accept the risk that goes with the reward.

 If you are following your heart to work in a job / industry / situation (let's say a racing car driver, or a stunt man) where there is inherent danger on a daily basis, are you putting your family at risk too? And if you do, is that ok? Because, after all, all you are doing is following your heart, doing the thing/job you love?

 And if you follow your heart by falling in love with someone who belongs to another, knowing you are going to hurt people along the way (and possibly be hurt yourself), is that ok? Because, after all, all you are doing is following your heart, being with the person you love?

 If we raise this debate above the individuals concerned, can we, should we, say that following your heart exempts you from the consequences of your actions? And if consequences do follow, are you allowed to cry unfair?

 I am not going to post my opinion because I don’t want to cloud the discussion either way, other than to say that I think Steve Irwin’s death is a great tragedy, an enormous loss not only to his family, to his community and his country but the entire world.  I admired and respected the man enormously. I mourn his passing.

*(I’ve removed her name and contact details because I don’t want anyone harassing her via email. Actually, please don’t do that to anyone, no matter what they say on this blog. Some people have sent threatening emails to people who they consider my enemy or who they have taken issue with, and that can not be condoned. Threatening anyone is never on.  Let's try and keep it clean)