So Close

Which car should I get?

I am in the process of buying a new car, which is proving far more difficult than I expected!  It is such a big (expensive) decision and I am really struggling with making a final choice.  My choice is surprising limited, but perhaps it is because I am looking for a car that is both practical and sexy (<-- bit like me), two things which apparently don't go together in a car.  But I will not be deterred, after all if I can do both, then so should my car.

I want a car that is relatively powerful, relatively fast and relatively spacious. I have a budget of R350k, and these are my choices so far:

1. VW Touran: Pro - affordable & spacious. Con - boring old fart car, ZERO sex appeal
2. VW Tiguan: Pro - spacious and sexy. Drives really beautifully. Con - bloody expensive (way above budget)
3. Merc C180 Estate: Pro - stylish, sexy'ish, big boot plus I can get a v good deal on the car.  Con - smaller inside than the MPVs. But can a station wagon be sexy??
4. Honda CRV: Pro - everyone seems to love them.  Con - Don't need 4x4 and my husband and father don't like them. Still need to test drive one myself.
5. Toyota Verso:  Pro - Affordable. Con - very, very boring car
6. Toyota Fortuner: Pro - ideal in terms of space.  Con - drives like a tractor
7. Renault Scenic: Pro - great in terms of space.  Con - service is so shockingly bad, I am not sure I can put myself through that ever again.

Out of my price range are the X3, the X5, Q5, Q7, Toureg, Volvo XC90 etc.

I am leaning towards the Merc. Any suggestions / opinions? 

Elderly Gym Barbie

I went for my first session with the personal trainer (PT) on Wednesday, the one who is "used to working with the elderly" - it was fantastic.  The PT is a really, really nice woman.  She is annoyingly gorgeous and has a revoltingly hot body, AND she is a lovely person. And clever!  She is a qualified attorney.  Clever, pretty and smart!  And used to working with the elderly, WHAT A WIN!  Marko is very excited and wants to know whether he can have a 'personal session' with her (he is also used to 'working with the elderly', being married to me).  I said fine, as long as it doesn't involve me. 

The first session was just a fitness assessment (hideously unfit) where I had to do as many sit ups as I could in a minute (one), how many squats (two) or whatever they are called etc.  She then took a few measurements and wrote it all down on a sheet.  And then she weighed me.  Amazingly I had lost 5 kgs since I joined the gym, which just goes to show - just by joining a gym, you can lose weight, even if you never actually go.  WIN!  I only have 10kgs to go (I think that converts to about 22 pounds or 14,000 donuts). 

It was definitely the right decision to sign up with a PT. There is no way I would have gone if left to my own devices.  Who knows, I might even get to like this whole exercise / being fit thing.  Maybe.  First proper session on Monday.  I'll be there, leotard and legwarmer a-ready. 

My BFF Zsusie's husband hates the gays more than the infertiles!

Remember Zsuzsanna, the mail order bride married to that epitome of godliness, the very tolerant Pastor Steve?  She who wrote about me with so much love (and I dare say a dash of lust), pretending to hate me, calling me names like 'freak', 'monster' and 'vulgar' when it was BLATANTLY clear she secretly wanted me? Well it looks like her and her hubby Stevie hate gay people more than they hate those of us who do IVF!  There is a pecking order folk, and I've just been moved up a rung. 

Hey, I just noticed Zsusie is on Facebook, I wonder if she would want to be my Facebook friend? 

My little nerd rebels

My husband likes to say that I was a nerd at school, something I vehemently deny.  But although I would never admit it out loud, there is a possibility that I might have been somewhat nerdy at school.  Actually, thinking about it, I was probably a little on the nerdy side.  I never smoked at school, all the cool kids did. I didn't have many (any) boyfriends, all the cool girls had the cool boyfriends.  (Remember when the naughty kids were cool and the good kids were like, SO uncool?  How silly is that.) Hell, even when I did drugs in my wild twenties, I did it responsibly.  I kept my managerial job throughout, never stole money from my mother’s purse or sold my sister's bike for drug money. Mostly because my sister was grown up and didn't have a bike and because I wasn’t staying with my mom. So yes, perhaps I've always been a bit on the nerdy side.  In a really, really cool sort of way.

Among other less fortunate traits my kids have inherited from me (not caring about dress sense, favouring comfort over style etc etc), it appears my kids have inherited my nerdy side.  Last night, after lights out, they took off their PJs!  Which in itself isn't a very naughty thing to do, but it is winter here so it was kind of naughty.  This morning when they woke up I asked them where their PJs were and they replied with a grin that they had taken them off the night before.  "But don't worry mom” they exclaimed, “we kept our vests* on!" 

That's my children!  Go ahead and be rebellious, but make sure you keep your chests warm.

*We can them vests here, not sure what you call them? Long sleeve underwear thingies you wear in winter to keep your bits (chest/arms etc) warm. 

Dear perky breasts, happy 2nd birthday to both of you

Domestic ménage à trois - It's like a threesome, only better

Stop reading now if you are feeling particularly strung out, over worked and under resourced because I am about to tell you how wonderful my life is.

My life is wonderful. And you know why? Because I have a Rose.  Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE should have a Rose. Just not my Rose because she is my Rose and you can't have my Rose because then my life would fall apart which would be very unwonderful indeed. But if there were more Roses around, then you should totally have one.

Imagine, if you will, having someone who loves your children as much as you do.  Who has exactly the same parenting approach as you do.  Someone who takes care of your children exactly as you would want them to. (And because she has more patience than you, sometimes even better than you do!)

Someone to share those amazing yet special-only-to-you stories about your children - the funny things they said, the clever things they did.  Someone who could be described as the perfect spouse (she even cooks!) except you don't have to have sex with that person - IT DOESN'T GET ANY BETTER THAN THAT!!

As I have mentioned before, the kids regard Rose as part of their family (as I do as well, of course).  They have a mom, a dad and a Rose and we all live together.  We've questioned them before about what exactly a Rose is in their minds, but they don't understand the question.  A Rose is a Rose?  Rose is Rose. Simple.

We are so lucky to have Rose in our lives. If life were perfect, then everyone would have a Rose like mine. Thank you Rose, for all that you do for us and for being part of our family xxx

Once a cry baby, always a cry baby?

One doesn't like to label one's child.  Labels can be very limiting at best and destructive at worst.  And even though I know I don't always succeed, I try my best not to label my children.  No one wants to grow up being known as 'the naughty one', 'the slow one', 'the one-most-likely-to-become-an-axe-murder', or in our case 'the one most likely to cry his way through junior school, high school and his wedding!!'

Please tell me that a sensitive, needy, cry baby has the potential to turn into a normal person who doesn't cry EVERY FIVE MINUTES?  Please?  Because if this continues, I am not sure the child in question will ever find a spouse one day.  That whole cry baby thing is barely tolerable in a four year old, but is extremely unattractive in a grown up.

Oh wait, I have to interrupt this post because SOMEONE is crying AGAIN.

I am now typing with that someone on my lap.  

I'd love to believe this is just a stage. A delayed reaction to Max's arrival, but to be honest it has been this way since he was born. Sigh.  Love the child dearly but he can be DAMN HARD WORK.

Exercise for the elderly

When I am not pregnant, I am quite 'good' about eating well.  I don't eat junk food, I don't splurge on cake and chips. But when I am pregnant (all 7 times), I let my hair and all other body parts down. It is a free for all, and like a bargain shopper on Sales Day, I go crazy. 

Which is all good and (s)well, but it does make the 'pregnancy weight' rather hard to lose.  The weight relating to the actual pregnancy (baby, placenta, a kilo or two of water) is easy. Comes off within a few months.  The 17,000 donuts I ate:  takes a bit longer.

And of course, as one gets older, the lardy ass is harder to get rid of.  Do I regret those extra 16,999 donuts that I ate but didn't really need?  A little, I suppose.  But you know what, you are only pregnant a few times (you know, like SEVEN times) in your life and you might as well enjoy it.

Anyway, so now I sit with an extra kilo or ten that I have to get rid of.  And because I suck at denying myself life's essentials like wine and chocolate, I decided that my next best bet would be gym.  So I joined a gym.  As you know.  About two months ago.  I've been twice - once to do that godawful body fat assessment thing *shudder*, and a second time to swipe my card. To keep up my membership.  Oh wait! I've been a third time!  I signed up for swimming lessons for my kids! (Yes, my kids are four and they are only now getting swimming lessons. I suck)

Clearly that strategy (sign up at gym/never actually go) wasn't working for me, so on the advice of a good friend in the computer, I decided that I would sign up for a personal trainer.  If in doubt, throw money at the problem.

I called the "Personal Training Manager" at the gym to find out more about signing up with a personal trainer.  I told her I am a 40 year old working mother and I would like someone who would understand what my specific requirements are.  I said I was not interested in a spotty 18 year old beefcake with big biceps and a small penis.  Ok, I didn't really say that small penis thing, but don't all those beefcake gym boys have small penises?  From all the steroids they take?  No? Well, it doesn't matter. I don't want a young guy (or a small penis). I would prefer a woman, and someone who is a bit older than 12.

"Well", says the sweet sounding Personal Training Manager from the gym, "then I would recommend Maryka".  Oh good, I say.  Why would you specifically recommend her?  And then she replies, and I quote:  "She is used to working with the elderly"

Hahahaha!!!  OMG, I nearly peed in my 2-sizes-bigger elasticated-waistband pants!  "The Elderly"!!!  SHE IS USED TO WORKING WITH THE ELDERLY!

Oh dear.  I am an elderly 40 year old, mother of three.  Life really is over, isn't it.  Now forgive me, I think it is time for my lie down.

(In the Personal Training Manager's defence, based on her accent, I think she is Afrikaans and might have been translating directly from Afrikaans - but still, it was bloody funny.  I had such a good laugh)

Enough

I've just come online (looooong day) and seen all the back and forth.  Firstly, thank you for your wonderful show of support.  Thank you for 'getting' why I reacted the way I did.

The blogger has emailed me again, apologizing again. I'm fine. I was very upset by it, but I am fine now and as much as I appreciate the fact that you are being loyal and looking out for me, it's enough now.  The point has been made and I don't want any one to persecute her. You are welcome to comment on my blog about issues of copyright and plagiarism or whatever, but please dont email her or leave negative comments on her blog. Yes she did wrong, but two wrongs don't make a right (one of my father's favourite expressions) so lets leave it now. Ok? I want to move on.  Happy thoughts!

PS thank you for caring about me. I am very fond of you xxx

Why I am am angry

Firstly, people asked me how I find these things out - my readers email me with a 'heads up'.  It's the only way I know people are plagiarizing my stuff.  I suppose I wouldn't know otherwise.

Then, to the people who get up in arms because my readers react the way they do - I have two things to say:  firstly, I can't and don't control what my readers do or do not do. Just like I can't control who plagiarizes my work.  Secondly, believe it or not, I actually SLEEP sometimes and can't be monitoring the Internet 24/7.  And here's a little heads up - there is this thing called a TIME DIFFERENCE between our countries, so while you are getting all riled up, I am sleeping which is why I am not responding to your email or comment RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND.

As you can tell, I am still cross.  Not very very cross or very very upset, I am not weeping into my handkerchief or gnawing at my wrists (or plotting revenge), but I am cross.  I lay awake this morning and wondered why. Why did I respond so strongly?* (usually I am too scared to 'upset' other people by calling them out, even those who do me wrong - how pathetic) 

The woman who copied my life with pics of my kids, I felt sorry for her. She was lonely.  The woman who copied my personality (by using my blog posts about my personality) - well, she didn't mean harm I suppose.  See, they copied the happy parts of my life, and somehow I don't mind sharing those. 

But what got me about this one is that this woman copied the sad parts of my life, pretending they were her emotions.  And the sad parts of my life were very, very sad.  I was raw, broken, finished.  I ended up in a psychiatric ward one afternoon because the pain of my sadness was almost too much to bear, I thought I was going to go mad.  And for someone to copy that, to pass it off as their own and have people feel sorry for her feels like it is trivializing what I went through.  Trivializing my son's death.  And even worse, deceiving people in the process. You've taken 5 years of the most painful part of my life and trivialized it by cutting and pasting and pretending it's yours.

(And yes, I saw the apology this morning.  She apologizes for not using quotation marks and attributing the work.  I don't care about that. I care about the fact that she is trivializing my pain by faking it as hers.  And that is why I am cross.  But I am moving on, promise. I will stop being cross in about 20 minutes or so. I've wasted enough time on this already.  Off to work I go.)

*Yesterday was a bad day. Firstly I had a good friend fail her 7th donor cycle. That is beyond unfair. Secondly, one of my best friends found out she miscarried a perfectly healthy fetus on her 11th IVF. Total mindfuck. Thirdly I met with a couple who sold their car to finance their fifth donor IVF. And then I had some asshole try and pull a nasty trick on me (not related to this).  And then this.  I guess that is why I reacted so strongly.

Edited to add:  The blogger in question has just emailed me to say sorry. Let's just leave it. As I said, I've wasted enough time on this already. Yuck. Just when you think you've recovered from all the pain you went through in the past, you get a lovely little reminder.