Cameron, on rain:
“Mom, this big rain is God having a big bath. Tell him to stop splashing. He needs to stop being preposterous and start having little baths”.
(it’s been raining for two weeks now, i have my own theories on why but, this is Cameron’s. teehee).
Dear Tertia
Thank you for this post.
Thank you for making me feel okay about not being good enough.
Thank you for making me feel okay about worrying about dummies.
Thank you for making me feel okay that it’s better that there are no tears for mama and child.
Thank you for your courage to share your life with the world.
It is you I thank every day, mama Tannie T.
Thank you for inspiring me to keep writing.
Thank you for reminding me that the decisions Cam and I make for our lives are ours, and not to be influenced by anyone else, no matter who they are, or what they say.
I am mama, and I know the best way for my daughter and I.
Thank you for making me feel brave enough to admit that yeah…
Nappies were gone by 2; bottles were gone during 3, dummies are going. but they’re not gone yet entirely.
(on that note, Cam has told me that she’ll give them up when I give up smoking. eek. she’s a smart one, that one).
And, swimming lessons resume again next year. But that’s not my fault or Cameron’s.The important thing is that she is brave enough to begin again.
Thank you for writing that post.
Of every single one of yours that I have read (and yes, when I found you, I read every archive and every post so I can proudly say I have read every single one)… this one…this one had me entirely.
Thank you.
From one rocking mama to another, thank you for being you.
You know, audience of twelve, I’m not just a mama.
The truth is, I’m a proud aunt too.
And the thing is, my eldest niece is not only a cousin, she is also Cam’s truest, best friend.
The happiest moment of my life as a mother was, one day earlier this year, watching Cam and NB walking up the driveway to school, holding hands and talking.
It made my heart warm. You know, as a single mom to a single child, one of my biggest worries is that Cam may feel alone at some point in her life.
But, I’ve never had to truly worry about that. NB is just five months younger than my Cam. And they hold each others’ hands all the way through life.
Dear NB,
Thank you for being the cousin to my Cam that you are. Thank you for being the best friend to my Cam that you are. Thank you for making me so proud. Thank you for all your love for me. From your littlest moments at birth, to how you have grown into a graceful, gorgeous girl…I am proud of you. You have shown me immense love, and your little heart is just full of radiating joy.
Every day I am thankful for the time of your birth. Every day I am thankful that your mommy and daddy created you in love and gave me the greatest joy.
Every day I am inspired by your courage and your grace in life. Thank you, precious girl.
I am an aunt to two children. Two beautiful children, who bless me so much.
Today, on NB’s birthday, I smile. Today my eldest niece is four.
Today I wish for her all the joys in world. Today I wish for her only love, only absolute glee in every day.
Today I am thankful that I am blessed to be an aunt.
Happy birthday NB.
I love you.
About a year ago, I took a hiatus from blogging.
In fact, I took a hiatus from everything. It was what I would term the worst time of my life. And I’m not being dramatic.
Today, in conversation with Cam, I realised and was informed that we were okay. Really okay. Sure, what happened is not over, it never will be, but my daughter wins through.
This short blog post is a thank you to those people (and they know very well who they are) who held our hands at that time and still do so today. All the way.
My heart in gratitude to you,
Cath
When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love has always won – Ghandi
Last night, Cam said, as I put her to bed:
‘mommy, you are the gift of my life. you are the only mother i ever wanted, and i love you’.
The truth is, Cam, I’ve had the two biggest presents of my life come to me on other people’s birthdays.
The first was you… you born on your day of birth. You are the greatest gift of my life. Thank you for choosing me to be your mama.
The second was…given to me on my best friend’s birthday a few years back. They know exactly who they are.
Every day, I am thankful for the greatest gifts of my life, given to me on other people’s birthdays.
Thank you.
I’ve not seen Camster properly this month. With all the to-ing and fro-ing and flying around, tonight’s the first night we are home together, properly.
She’s walking around in her mermaid costume, telling me how much she loves me.
Tonight, she said…
“mommy, i didn’t miss you while you were away. you were in my heart all the time”
In everything that’s going on right now, in the world at large and the flurry of deadlines, meetings and general trying-to-stay-afloat, my daughter leaves me breathless.
Thank you, Cameron, for choosing me to be your mama.
Over here. And I’ve decided to enter…
Angel asked if we could write something about an old wive’s tale about parenting, and it’s relevance today.
Heh. Too easy for me. I’ve reviled against a million of them in my parenting life, and been slated for it numerous times.
I am so okay with that. I always go with my gut, and it turns out I’m right.
So, as a mom who recently made a big move in her parenting life, I’m going to up and confess something…
For most of her life, Cam and I co-slept.
Yep.
Wanna know what’s apparently worse?
I freaking loved every moment of it. It felt right to me.
Wanna know what’s, apparently, even worse?
I told her she could sleep in my bed for as long as she liked, until she decided she wanted to sleep in her own room.
Do summon the parenting police, immediately. Send them round to my house and get them to arrest me immediately for allegedly creating a dependent child. For allegedly creating a child without a sense of her own self. For allegedly creating a needy child. For allegedly doing something wrong. For allegedly leaving the decision-making powers for my kid’s life in her hands.
Why? Why is it allegedly wrong?
Because parenting books say so. Apparently.
Oh, wait. Here comes the funny part. Cam is independent. Stubbornly so. I can’t even pour her her own juice now – she insists on doing it herself.
And guess what? Guess what, Parenting Police?
Every time Cam has progressed from a baby to a pint-size person, she’s told me she’s ready to.
When she was ready to dump the bottle, she told me.
When she was ready to ditch the night-time nappies, she told me.
When she was ready to choose her own clothes every day, she told me.
When she was ready to get herself dressed, she told me.
And, a month or two ago, Cam turned to me and said
“mom, I want to sleep in my own room now”.
And so, a week later, she moved in to her own room.
Nary a peep of a concern from her part. For me, now I have all this unoccupied space in my bed. And often, late at night, I sigh to myself and wish for a cuddle.
So, Parenting Police and Parenting Myth-Mongers, tell me where the damaged, dependent child you told me I’d have if I didn’t shove Cam into her own bed, the moment you said so?
Oh right, that’s right. It didn’t happen.
*poof* – there goes your myth, your theory and beratings.
Instead, we have a real life, a real love, and have thrown the parenting books into the bin.
Lastly, here’s what we say to the Parenting Police…
there you were.
at the end of a hard day, i was back in the proverbial saddle at work, fighting fires and trying not to grimace but, to truly smile.
you jumped off the swings at school, ran towards me, the word “mama!” leaping from your lips.
your eyes sparkled as though i was the easter bunny, christmas father /that’s your name for him/, the tooth fairy and the birthday fairy, all rolled into one.
you kissed my face and i knew.
i knew i was home.
so, we went home, into my room where presents waited for you.
my favourite word to hear is mama.
my favourite person is you.
i’ll be under the radar and quiet. for at least a week. i may or may not blog. depends really. don’t be hurt by that.
sometimes i need a little cath time. this is cath time.
be good. don’t fight. love each other. make peace with the fact that you are only as much as you can be. don’t let people tread on you. ignore destructive commentary. love the compliments. honour each day. remember to say please and thank you. make sure you get your chocolate rations in, every day. laugh. listen to children. always listen to children. they are more honest than you could ever hope to be. they’re the courageous ones. remember that. they’re untempered by real life, yet. don’t let anything or anyone keep you down. shit is bound to get you down, it’s the staying down that’s the problem. This picture is for you.
And, Cam. Cam. Mama loves you. You and your gorgeous hugs. You and your stellar smile.
You and the brightest eyes. You bounded out of bed this morning and said
“mom. you’re going to catch a plane. i want a big box of different coloured earrings from cape town. that’s my present. tell aunty sue so that she can remind you”
i love you munchkin. i love you my Campai. this will be the longest time ever i will be away from you.
remember what we know about Mommies and Camerons…
They Always Come Back.
And, as moral fibre reminded me, and which i wear proudly on a shirt,
Don’t Let Anyone Fuck With Your Dreams.
“Mom, look, Ariel’s going to marry Prince Eric and he’s defeated Ursula the sea witch and now they’re going to live happily ever after”, Cameron said, eyes all-bright and beaming at the prospect of yet another animated fairytale coming to its conclusion of sweethearts and rainbows.
I’m stuck questioning myself in this myriad of fairytales. I have always said that I would raise Cameron honestly. Protected from the nastiness of underbelly of life, as best I could but, honestly nonetheless. So how do I tame this wild belief in fairytales and demon-slaying princes?
The truth is she’s far too young to be jaded by my cynicism. My heart breaks though, when I think of the future. Of teenage crushes and the emotional crushing that beckons beyond that. Of love notes passed under desks and then crumpled into the bin once the infatuation passes.
How do I temper this fairytale mind? I don’t live the fairytale life. True, we’re happy as our little family of Mama and Cam, prancing around and singing ABBA loudly, whilst pigging out on ice-cream with sprinkles.
But the thing that sticks in my throat, beyond Cameron’s DVD collection, is my own collection of love stories and soppy chick flicks. There’s a moment in Love Actually that sums up the extraordinary thing. What’s the extraordinary thing, I hear you ask? It’s that moment where that man of your dreams, or flavour of the week, does the extraordinary thing. In Love Actually, it’s when Keira Knightley is serenaded by flashcard by her husband’s best friend at her front door. In Bridget Jones, it’s when Mark Darcy rescues Bridget from an impending doom in a Thai jail.
That’s the extraordinary thing. Every great love story has it. It’s when the Prince searches the country, desperate for his glass-slipper mate.
But, to me, the thing is. The thing is, that being swept off your feet often means you lose your ground. Sure, I’ve had my fair share of extraordinary things happen in my life – I have been incredibly lucky and blessed in that department. But, real love? Enduring beyond the extraordinary thing? Can I really tell my daughter that it does exist?
The truth is that I can’t answer that question. To me, the extraordinary thing has to be lived and loved every day. That’s enduring love. That’s the love I see between a friend of mine and her husband. That’s the love I want for my daughter, one day, when I let her out of the house. The extraordinary thing should be every day.
Maybe I’m setting impossible standards for my child. I’d like to think I’m not but, life experience shows me that I might just be. I’d like to think I’m promoting an attitude of not compromising herself for anyone else. I’d like to think I want to set the bar so high, that her prince (or princess, I’m not fussy) is truly worthy of her immense and awe-inspiring love.
They better be. Or else I’m setting my stun-gun to “annihilate”.
