So Close

It was not the cat

Last night at about 2am I was startled awake by what sounded like someone strangling our cat. It was a half cry, half screech. It was particularly concerning as we do not in fact have a cat. Neither do any of our neighbours. 

Just as my heart-rate settled, I heard the sound again. This time I sat bolt upright.  

As I sat up, Marko sat up too and said "What's wrong?"

"I think I hear one of the children crying" I replied

We both sat there listening..

"It's probably something outside" he said, "go back to sleep".

I was still under the influence of my sleeping pill so the mind was a big foggy, but I knew I heard something. I played it back in my mind. Suddenly it seemed familiar, I had heard similar sounds before.

"Maybe it is coming from your nose" I said helpfully.  (Marko's snoring has been particularly, um, LOUD recently.)

"Maybe it is coming from your butt" he replied, most unhelpfully as he turned on his side and went back to sleep.

The noise was not coming from a cat nor was it coming from my butt. Thankfully, neither was it any of the children crying. It WAS actually coming from his nose/throat/snoring organ. Next time I am going to stay awake and record it so that I can use it as my ring tone for my cellphone.  

Men! Can't live with them; can't sleep next to them either. 

To Whom It May Concern

Guess where I am! I am in a lovely hotel with my husband for a romantic night away. Unfortunately for him, I am (a) at my laptop working (and taking a quick break to blog) and (b) full of coughs and snot.  And as we all know, there is nothing particularly romantic about snot.  Although truth be told, this was not about a romantic night away but more about using the opportunity to have a rest and catch up on some sleep. Alas, that didn’t happen either as my dear husband’s phone went off at 6am this morning. It was his boss. And by boss I mean He Who Thinks My Husband Should Be Thinking Work 24/7.

I spoke about surrogacy (<-- need to talk to you about surrogacy!) at an event recently and the lovely organizers gave me a gift of one night’s stay at a really lovely hotel – the Protea Colossuem in Century City.  What a gorgeous hotel!  Seriously.  The hotel is stunning – Marko is raving about the decor.  Very mod.  He loves that type of thing. I love that it is spotlessly clean and everything is working as it should.  Plus all the staff are super friendly and efficient.  Really is a gorgeous hotel.  Highly recommended.

Thanks Protea Hotels and the Singer Group for the night, you have an absolute jewel in your crown with this hotel.

Moving on, I must share this with you – I am a letter writer.  I write letters to companies complaining (or complimenting) them on their poor (or excellent) service.  Which means that I am officially old as that is what old people do – write letters.  The next thing I will be writing letters to the newspaper complaining about The Government.

Funny aside – my dad phones me the other day to ask me for a word – (he was struggling to find the right word. He would have asked my mother, but my mother has done a Shirley Valentine and skipped off to go lie on the beaches of Thailand with her second and third favourite daughters for 2 weeks).  I gave him the word and asked him why he needed it.  He said he is writing to the bank (the Bank) to give them feedback.  Oh, I ask, what happened?  No, nothing happened he says, he is responding to a question they sent him saying “How would you rate our service?”.  I think they were looking for an answer from 1 – 10.  Instead they got a 10 page lecture on how they don’t have any loyalty to their customers anymore and do they know that he has been a customer of the bank for 40 years etc.  Poor bank. I do hope they reply to my dad’s letter.

So I write letters. In fact, on reflection, I have not only turned into my mom (“go take a headache tablet and lie down, you are not dying, you will be fine in the morning”, I have turned into my dad too.  I wrote a letter on Wednesday, because I was very cross.

On Wednesday I had to have my car serviced.  I absolutely HATE having to have my car serviced as it is a royal waste of my time and it always takes longer than they say it will.  After five years of traumatic service experiences and lots of letter writing (with little or no response) with Renault, I swore never to get another Renault again – purely because of their extra effing useless service. And I loved my Renault.

I bought a Toyota Fortuner and on Wed it had its third service.  I wont go into the long story about the experience (although I could just reference my letter dated 13 April 2011 – Re: Poor Customer Service), suffice it is to say that my car was NOT finished on time, that this made me late for an appointment (which is an absolute sin in my eyes, I am a stickler for being punctual) and that the car was not cleaned.

So I wrote a letter to management, sure that I would either get some insipid response or no response at all. Was I wrong!  The first thing the next morning I got a call from both the general manager at Barloworld Tygervalley (Hilton) as well as the service manager (Grant).  They emailed me to say how sorry they were and have arranged to have my car collected from my home, have all the things sorted out and they will give me a courtesy car sorted out while I wait.  I love the way they manned up to the complaint and didn’t try to fob me off. 

In the customer service experience, It is not really that you have fucked up, it is how you address and resolve the fuck up.  Toyota Tygervalley did an outstanding job at that.  They have my loyalty.

I am going to talk to you about surrogacy in a separate blog post because I must dash  now. Bottom line – we need surrogates! Badly.  If you love being pregnant and you have the passion to help other people, please, pretty please consider becoming a surrogate mom.  It is the most rewarding, beautiful, generous, amazing, spiritual thing you will ever do.  More information to be found here:  www.surrogacy.co.za

Right, off to be romantic with my husband. I hope he doesn’t mind the occasional sniff or cough (knowing my husband, he will be so happy to get ANY romance, he wouldn’t mind if I was bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound to the leg, as long as he was getting some romance.  Poor deprived chap. Oh well, his fault, he wanted three kids.  Oh….sorry – my mistake, it was ME who wanted three kids.)

Marko playing with my iPad while he waits patiently for me to get off the computer.  

 

When DH means Darling Husband more often than it means Dick Head

Let's talk about my husband, we haven't spoken about him for ages.  There was a time where he was a regular feature but like the rest of the characters on this blog, he has been given no time on stage for a long while.

I have about 20 minutes before I go wake the kids, so this will have to be a quickie.

There are a lot of people who either quietly or publicly give me stick for writing about my husband on my blog.  They feel a mixture of horror, shame and pity that I could write about my poor, long suffering husband on my blog.  I am sure they must be thinking 'what kind of a wussy, pushover guy he must be to (a) allow that shit and (b) be married to someone as full of shit as Tertia.  To them I would like to say this: don't.  Don't feel sorry for my husband. My husband is THE strongest person I know.  Before I dated Marko, my longest relationship was only a few months because 99% of the VERY few men I dated (was practically a VIRGIN when I met Marko at the ripe old age of 30 - Hi Dad, Hi Marko) allowed me to totally dominate them, turning all mushy and mooshy.  Which I find very unattractive and so had to dump then.  The pattern for all my relationships was three months: the first month of the chase (I'll get that guy, watch me), the second month of intensity (OMG, he is so divine) and the third and final month of WTF have I done (he is such a wuss, grow a spine dude).

With Marko, the 'OMG he is so divine' part just never ended. All my girlfriends kept saying "but when?? When are you going to dump him??"  And I kept saying "as soon as he turns into a wuss and starts irritating me".  Which, after 10 years of marriage, he has not yet done. Chances are, I have met my match times a million and although he does and can irritate me immensely, it is never because he is a wuss.

Marko is everything I admire and like in a guy.  Maybe with a bit less stubbornness and a bit more listening-to-his-wife, but the best bit for me, the part I love the most about him, is that he is always on my side.  Always.  Besides all the other bits I love about him (like being handsome, clever, strong, sexy, sometimes fucking annoying), the part I love most about my husband is that he is everything you would want in a best friend plus everything you would want in a family member.  He has always got my back, always.  

shit is has been 20 minutes already and I haven't said all I wanted to say. rats and damnation.

Ok, so now I am going to have to conclude with the two main points I wanted to make:

1.  Please do not be concerned about Marko's feelings when I write about him on my blog.  Firstly, he occasionally reads my blog so I can hardly write about him behind his back. I write knowing he is perhaps going to read it. Secondly, I would never write anything that would cross the line. Our line.

2.  When I write that he is being an asshole, there are two truths that you mustn't forget:  (a) He IS being an asshole at that particular point but (b) it doesn't matter because I still love him very much and no one (besides me) is perfect. 

Oh, and the last thing is this:  I never knew this was possible (seeing as my longest previous relationship was only a few months), but I actually love my husband more now that I ever did before. I thought that as marriages goes on, the 'love' you feel forever other fades a little. I was wrong.  Perhaps you might have slightly less sex (Exhibit A:  My husband with a tight pinched expression, weeping quietly into his hands) but you love and like the person so much more.  I really do love my husband, perhaps not in the same way as I see some people do (we don't hold hands when we walk down the road, we don't lie entangled on the couch in front of the TV, we sometimes call each other assholes), but I love him in the best way possible for me.  He makes me feel safe, secure and protected. I love that he loves me so much, and I love him as much back. And of course, it does no harm that he is damn handsome as well ;-)

And now I really must go.  Have a lovely day xx

PS I was going to write this on Sunday but he was SUCH an industrial strength asshole on Sunday that I was too busy working out where I would hide the body parts after I dismembered his body with a blunt rusty machete.  

PPS I am now late, and it is all your fault

A boot and a bottle of deodorant.

Last night Adam said he wishes there wasn't ever a mothers day because he is so cross with me. I can't even remember what it was that I had supposedly done wrong.  My list of transgressions is extremely long. It is my fault he tripped, it is my fault he hurt himself, I am a horrible mother and not his friend because I wouldn't let him have 'something nice' to eat.  Something nice = something sugary.  Whatever.  I am waiting for the kids to say "when is KIDS DAY?" so that I can tell them what my parents told me (and which used to frustrate me endlessly) "everyday is kids day, buddy".

So it's Father Day today.  Another one of those Hallmark occasions that infertiles dread.  Mother's Day sucks because it symbolizes everything you want and don't yet have. Father's day sucks because its ok if you are hurting, but it kills you to see your husband hurting, even though they pretend not to be hurting.

And yet, here we are - Marko is celebrating Father's Day as a 30-something* father to three kids, married to the best wife he could ever have dreamed of having. That right there should be enough gifts and blessings to last a life time.  But because apparently it is not the done thing to offer one's blessings as one's gifts, the kids and I went to buy the gifts they chose for their father.  Adam chose a can of deodorant (because dad loves his deodorant) and Kate wanted to choose a boot. One boot. Why, I have no idea.  Sometimes Kate and Marko clash a little as they are both equally stubborn.  The boot might have been a revenge gift.

I hope Marko likes cheap chocolate as we bought two cans of deodorant (they were on sale - WIN!), a chocolate tool set and three chocolate boots. I persuaded Kate that it was a win-win situation, Marko could get the boot she wanted to buy and she could eat the chocolate afterwards.  We aren't big on gifts in this house.

Marko is a great father. He is not perfect (like me), but not everyone can be.  However, luckily (for him) his good points far outweigh his minor character flaws. The kids seem quite fond of him. I think I'll keep him around for a bit longer.

On a more serious note - I am immensely grateful to spending this father's day with my father.  This month a year ago, my father suffered two heart attacks (scary), open heart surgery (very scary) and a stroke (absolutely mind-numbingly, earth-shatteringly terrifying. Terrifying). At the time I didn't know whether we would be spending another father's day together. Today I am so grateful to be spending it with my happy, healthy, amazing father.  I love you daddy, very, very much.

PS Max and I are watching the Baby Einstein DVDs I thought I finally was rid of four years ago. It doesn't get any better the second time around. 

*It was Marko's b/day yesterday. He is heading rapidly towards 40. Oh how I will laugh and laugh when he hits 40.  After teasing me mercilessly for years, it will be payback time. Heh.

Terrible quality pic below. Of the three camera's I have in the house, only one is working. Very annoying.  Anyway, here is Marko and his brood on the couch watching TV this morning.

The husband and I

Marko did a lovely interview for Sarie magazine (May edition - story on the husband's experience of infertility).  This is the photo they used for the story. (The magazine version is much nicer - bit of a touch up here and a bit of shading there.) 10 years and 3 kids later, still alive happily married. 

Terms and Conditions Apply

4 years ago, in a sudden flash of genius that was part brilliance part madness, I had the seemingly brilliant idea of giving my husband 6 pieces of paper with the words "one free pass" printed on each of them. It seemed liked a really good idea at the time as he is very hard to buy gifts for.  However, one key flaw of my idea is that I had not specified the terms and conditions of the offer.  I foolishly though that my husband would use the tickets for things like a night out with his wife, or a home cooked meal (clearly not cooked by his wife), a back rub etc.  However, Marko had only one type of free pass he wanted, and he used all the tickets for that one thing.

Another major error was not collecting the tickets after use.  After the 17th appearance of a rather worn looking ticket, I began to suspect he was reusing the same ticket over and over again.  Cunning man.

Finally, I had forgotten the all important issue of an expiry date.  No 'special offer' is offered for an unlimited period of time - that is hardly special is it.

My mistakes of the past came back to haunt me last night.  While scratching around his cupboard looking for something, Marko found the well-used last remaining free pass and stuck it up on the light switch.

We had a good laugh about it, what an industrious chap he is. 

Which made it even harder for me to explain to him that unfortunately the offer was only valid while I was in my thirties.  It had unfortunately expired Nov 2008 on my 40th birthday.

Which goes to show, it really is so important to read the fine print on everything nowadays. 

The Talk aka Marital Performance Appraisal

Last night Marko and I had the Talk.  You know the one - the discussion that has been brewing for a while.  The one that starts off heated and defensive, and after two hours of dissecting and discussing, working through the various layers of resentment, hurt, misunderstanding etc, you get to the bottom line.  We told each other what we needed, what we felt was lacking, and then we spoke about how we could make it better. A marital performance appraisal of sorts. Two hours later we were both tired, but very pleased that we had open up and talked through the stuff that had our backs up for a while. 

Our bottom line is luckily an easy enough one to fix.  We just leave it too long to fix when things go off track a bit.  The way it usually works is as follows:

• I get busy through the normal stresses of work/kids/life
• I run out of time to do everything that is needed of me
• I need to borrow time from somewhere, I can't take time from the kids or the work (I get no time anyway, so none to take from there) so I borrow time from Marko.  Marko's time.
• He doesn't say anything, and gratefully assuming that silence means if not consent, then at least acceptance, I steal a little more of his time
• Marko starts feeling unloved and slightly resentful. He gets quieter
• I get resentful that he is being resentful. Doesn't he understand how tough things are for me? How stretched I am.  I pull further away from him
• He gets more resentful
• I get more resentful
• By the time a few weeks have passed, the tension between us unbearable.  There are no screaming matches, no heated debates.  Only the stony silence, occasionally broken up by the pointed comment or flippant remark.
• This goes on until one of us (me) can't take it anymore and then we eventually we have the Talk. 
• We uncover all the layers (you said, I said, you did, I did not) until we realize that it is the same issue that we always have - that although we do love each other very much, we don't spend enough time loving each other in the way we need to be loved. You know that whole "Five love languages" thing?  Well, yeah.  His are quality time and physical touch, both of which are the bottom of my list of love languages. Mine are words of affirmation and acts of service.  Both of which are at the bottom of his list.  Which means that if we don't make a conscious effort to love each other in the way the other person needs to be loved, they wont feel loved, no matter how much we think they know it.

Anyway, it was a good, albeit exhausting chat.  I really am going to make a determined effort to spend more time loving my husband the way he needs to be loved.  And he is going to do the same for me.  Things are MUUUUUCH better this morning.  We have gone back to affectionately calling each other 'my darling asshole' and blowing kisses at each across the crowded room.

And tomorrow I am going to tell you how posting this note on Facebook sparked a heated debate among my followers about sharing, over-sharing and crossing the line.

The vicious cycle of long term relationships

Partner A needs/wants some attention*

Partner B is too tired/stressed/busy to give required attention

Partner A tries again

Partner B responds as above, with a slight tinge of irritation

Partner A tries again, this time with more urgency

Partner B responds as above, now with annoyance

Partner A sulks

Partner B gets resentful

Partner A sulks some more

Partner B gets even more resentful (and thinks to herself 'that sulking thing is VERY unattractive, there is no way I am going to give you any attention if you are going to be a sulky susan)

Eventually Partner B realizes that she is never not going to be tired/busy/stressed and decides to give Partner A some attention. A great time is had by all.

Partner A is very happy and full of the joys of spring.

Partner B thinks to herself - well, that was actually quite pleasant. Why didn't I just give him some attention in the first place! Will I never learn.

Rinse and repeat.

*You are welcome to substitute 'attention' for any word you wish.

Dear Husband

Marko doesn't regularly read my blog.  He reads it a few times a month, which makes it very difficult for me to have a big moan about his as I never know when he will read it. NOT that I have anything to moan about, oh no! He is the PERFECT husband and not AT ALL a pain in the arse. (love you darling, mean it)

Anyhow, he read it the other day and came across the Nekkid post (about getting undressed in front of the open blinds) and said "I see most people agreed with me in the comments".  I said "no way!  Most people agreed with me!"  It was so funny - I was totally convinced that most people sided with me and he was totally convinced most people sided with him. Just shows you, you see what you want to see. Unless you are my neighbour, in which case you apparently see all.

Poor Marko is sick.  Well, the kids have been sick'ish (snotty)* and I just knew Marko would get sick too.  Not meaning to point fingers, but one of us (him) always gets sick when the kids get sick and the other (me) has a MUCH stronger constitution.  *cough*

Yesterday I went to the pharmacy and ask the pharmacist for some medicine for Man Flu. So he said "for what?" Man Flu, I said.  "What's that?"  It's when men get all sick and pathetic and act like they are dying.  He thought it was hilarious.  Although he did try and convince me that it was a real sickness once I explained what it was.  As if, buddy!  Now hand over that 'woe is me' medicine.

Of course Marko forgets to take the medicine to work today so I can just imagine how much whimpering and snivelling must be going on at work. Poor buggers.

It's Marko's birthday tomorrow.  He is still not nearly 40!  My little toyboy.  I would bake a cake, but my mother borrowed my flour yesterday.  She sent me this rather ungrateful text message a few hours later:

"Flour full of weevils.  Expired 8/08"

Not sure what her point was? Told her to just pick them out.

*It is soooooo difficult to try prevent the kids from sharing their snot with Max. I don't want to get all paranoid and not let them close to him, but they keep wanting to smooch him with their snot infested little faces right on his.  A sick, snotty baby is no fun.  Actually, a sick snotty anything (husband/baby etc) is no fun. 

Right, off to buy a homemade cake from the shop.  Later dudes.  xx

It is his lovey

So, a few of you noticed that Marko had his hand in his pants while he was sleeping? 

After I posted that pic and started reading the comments, I suddenly had a "oops, have I over-shared again??" moment, so I called Marko.

Me:  So, I posted that pic of you and Adam on my blog this morning

Marko: Ja?

Me:  Well, you have your hand in your pants. Are you ok with me posting the pic?

Marko: I have my hand in my pants?

Me:  Yes, you know.  You know how you always have your hand in your pants when you lie on the couch watching TV?

Marko: No?

Me: Yes you do! You told me it keeps your hand warm?

Marko: Oh, didn't realize I do it. Fine, whatever.  But in future, do you think you could ask me BEFORE you post a pic rather than afterwards.

Orange is right, it's his lovey. And it keeps his hand warm. Or whatever.  Perhaps if I had some of what he had, I would also want to 'keep my hand warm' with my lovey. 

PS it is our ninth wedding anniversary today.  I got coffee in bed this morning.  I didn't have the heart to point out I haven't had coffee in the  morning for the last 8 months.  No gifts, obviously. Or cards. As we don't do that stuff.  As my husband said to me this morning during our brief but meaningful hug: "nine long years" ;-)  He's my lovey. I do love him quite a lot.