About a year ago…

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

the gifts of my life

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.

Cammertime

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.

So Angel’s Running a Competition…

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…

my favourite word is mama

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.

catch you soon.

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.

Dear Cameron, On Love

“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”.

Dear Prudence

This has rung through my head all weekend. Whilst Cam and I went to the movies, jumped around under the sunshine, ran around the garden, rearranged our house  and laughed with friends divine.

The truth is, something that weighed upon my heart. Something that worried me for myself. I realised in the midst of work insanity and the constant undertone I always feed myself of not being good enough…

That I am good enough. That I am capable. That I am.. That I am me. With or without hinderance or design. With or without a sparkly shoe upon my foot.

I remembered that I have the capacity to be sad and not have to blame anyone for it.

I remembered that I have the ability to be sad and not be afraid to blame anyone for it.

I remembered that I have nothing to be sorry for when I am living my life the way that I believe in it.

I remembered that I have a beautiful life. And whoever chooses to be in it, is welcome.

Whoever chooses not to be, is not my job to change.

I remembered that my energy is mine to use wherever I choose it best to go.

I remembered that my energy has no reason to explain itself.

I remembered that I should  never apologise for my exuberance.

It’s honest. Honesty’s lacking in this big and scary world, anyway.

That the thing that made a friend of mine say: “love the passion, Cath” had nothing to do with anyone else but me.

Me and opportunity.

And I love opportunity. I love the exciting, the new, the let-me-feel-that-all-the-way-through.

I love my inner four year old (determined tantrums inclusive).

I love that my daughter is my outer four year old.

I love. I love this life.

I won’t stay inside apologising for my own sunshine.

That’s the one thing in this world I never want Cameron to learn.

To apologise for her exuberance, and her accompanying determination.

Dear Prudence – The Beatles.

Dear Prudence, won’t you come out to play
Dear Prudence, greet the brand new day
The sun is up, the sky is blue
It’s beautiful and so are you
Dear Prudence won’t you come out to play

Dear Prudence open up your eyes
Dear Prudence see the sunny skies
The wind is low the birds will sing
That you are part of everything
Dear Prudence won’t you open up your eyes?

Look around round round
Look around round round
Oh look around

Dear Prudence let me see you smile
Dear Prudence like a little child
The clouds will be a daisy chain
So let me see you smile again
Dear Prudence won’t you let me see you smile?

Dear Prudence, won’t you come out to play
Dear Prudence, greet the brand new day
The sun is up, the sky is blue
It’s beautiful and so are you
Dear Prudence won’t you come out to play

Yes. I will come out and play.

Bedtime stories

a purely self-indulgent mama post…quotes from this evening’s conversation…

mom, tonight, you read me the story, and then i’ll read it to you. and then we can both sleep and dream about rainbows.

mom, when i sleep and you work on your computer, will you write nice things and tell the people in your computer that i am learning to read… (mama says: true story, the seeds are sprouting)

mom. do you think maybe when i grow up and i am a teacher…

(mama says: Cam is determined that when she grows up, she will be a teacher. i love this)

…and mom, i will be a teacher and i’m not going to get married..

(mama says: great, because you’re kidding if you think you’re dating anytime before your 30th birthday)

…but i will have a wedding and wear a dress and you can come and my cousins can have veils too and i will dance with the prince but i’m not marrying him…

(mama says: you go girl)

…and one day, when i am big like you, i will buy you all of your dream houses and you can choose which one you want to live in and i will live in the other one next door and all our family and our friends can choose theirs…

(mama says: i like that you have my retirement plan already in place, Cam. Good to know you’re into forward planning heh)

…and then, when we all live there, we can have tea at the different houses. i will paint mine pink and you can paint yours green…

(mama says: hah, and we’re saving on the interior decorator already!)

…and mama, mama, i love you. i love you because you help me make good choices. i make good choices, mom…

(mama says: oh my Cam, yes you do).

…mom, mom, now i must sleep. good night mom. good night fishies. good night stars…

Yes, They’re Doing It

Wow. What a whirlwind, wonderful week, hey?

It started with the Sheena Surprise lowdown…

Then work got really hectic and very exciting.

Then we presented to 200 rowdy, hormonal, brilliant high school boys.

Then came the 27dinner in Durban last night. If I could draw a heart aroud each person’s name who was there last night, I would. Thank you.

And this morning, this morning my latest article on Parent24 went live. It’s here.

I think I’m allowed a quiet weekend, yes?