A View From My Point

Posts tagged ‘children’

A Silly Poem about The Luxury Of Being Horrified

You know the feeling when you just can’t look away

how you know you should open your mouth and just say

‘I can’t believe your drive around with your kid on the front seat’

‘How do you live in a house that isn’t neat’

‘What were you thinking when you chopped down that tree’

‘How could you not even think about me?’

‘Didn’t you care when your toddler tore up that book?’

Some things deserve a second look

Maybe the people who drive around with their kids on the dash

don’t have a decent car, they simply don’t have the cash

Or the woman who doesn’t get to tidy her house

is working double shift and her husband is a louse

The people that don’t follow the green house effect

Maybe they’re not in the income group and have to call collect

If a kid destroyed something valuable to you

take a step back before you pooh pooh

That parent could be exhausted from shouting

maybe the only way the offspring get attention is through pouting

It’s not for us to say

or to comment on the way

other people live their lives

so what if they wanna mix it up and have 8 wives

It’s just another story that someone has to tell

drop me a line when you decide who goes to hell

because that makes you the one with all the power

but sure doesn’t do anything for you looks, quite frankly it makes you look sour

So lets build a bridge and actually give a shit

it’ll make it easier for us all to Get Over It.


A Silly Poem For Arsenic Hour

My darling children, from when you wake up

I take a sip from my steaming cup

Countdown begins to and Hour that will come

the seconds beat within my heart like a drum

the time of the day that I’ve learnt to dread

it makes the blood thunder in my head

Arsenic Hour

No one has power

A time for all Seasons

this Insanity has no reasons

From playing well together at around 3 pm

the crescendo is slow and it builds like REM

it doesn’t start with any particular note

perhaps it’s from one swirling dust mote

“It’s MINE!’ is the most oft repeated refrain

and I’m sure we’ll hear it again

and then it swiftly escalates to a blow

the thump on flesh where a bruise will show

whether you’re knocking each other with soft toys

or fighting about which one belongs to the boys

It’s upon us, this new Hour, we’ve reached Destination

(one that didn’t exist in my previous incarnation)

Through all your screaming and your tears

I’ve realized one of life’s greatest fears:

There is no one else I would pay

to see you this way.

The thin veneer of human I’ve managed to paste

over the crazy animal you are, is not a waste

as Time marches on I know you will learn

the voice that I use can be described as ‘stern’

and your little bums will be on fire

I am a Wooden Spoon for hire

Yes! That’s the anecdote to your poison

‘an eye for an eye’ we can all get our noise on!

My name is Mommy, hear me roar!

Feel my wrath! It’s gonna be sore!

Tuck you in, I will, like a robot be

I want to love you again tomorrow, don’t make me count to three.

Stupid Questions

I know, I know, there’s no such thing as a Stupid Question but I’m getting the feeling that there might just be a category for Unnecessary Questions. Even more so now that we have Google, I fear I might never have to ask a good question ever again, that the Q & A sections of seminars and talks on ‘How To’ and “What For” might forever become redundant as a result.

Since spending time with lots of people from all walks of life I get to interact and converse with a broad range of humans and have developed a high level of tolerance for many things, having to share a home with what I refer to as my uninterviewed housemates (my own children) they have come up with a few real gems of their own. I love me a good chinwag as much as the next garrulous  person but there are some questions that tend to make me want to climb the walls, here are few – feel free to add your own, if you have any.

  • What are you doing? This from someone who is watching me brush my teeth. Okay the someone is 6 years old and has only been brushing her own teeth for about 5 years but STILL it doesn’t look that much different 30 odd years down the line! I get asked this while I’m driving, eating breakfast, stuffing the washing machine, loading the tumble drier, swimming, walking, reading, doing downward facing dog etc.
  • Did you call me? As I hoarsely croak out a ‘yes’ after having yelled for an hour and then gone and stood next to the person and said their name 20 times in a normal voice.
  • Is that for me? A cup of coffee, one cup, that I feel I might deserve after a morning of working (earning money working), tending children and managed some kind of housework. Or a sandwich, slapped together, just like I like it and am about to take a bite or a sip. Clearly, ‘No, it’s mine’.
  • Really? I’m not going to pull my punches on this one – it’s a pet Hate! If I’ve introduced myself (which I’ve had to do a lot lately since we have relocated to a new town) and you’ve asked what I do (as small talk would dictate) and I answer you honestly with my career choice of the last 12 years and you ask me, “Really?” – the look in my eyes is murderous, it makes me want to answer, “No, not really, I lie about my job, I’m actually a serial killer – and you’re next.” Or, we don’t have any pets and you ask, “Do you have any pets?” and I say, “No, we don’t” and you say, “Really?” “Except for the pachyderm and the marsupial, no, none, none whatsoever!” – there’s a special place in hell for this way that people think is a way to continue a small talking conversation.
  • Did you come here? I have arrived at my destination, I am standing before you – are you being rude and alluding to the fact that I might have just had an orgasm on this spot?
  • Is that it? I say, “this is the sandwich I made for you” (yes I do sometimes cater for other people apart from my selfish self), ‘Is that it?” as you point to the only sandwich on the plate. “No, that is Winnie the Pooh that I had the 2 year old crap out for you”.
  • What do you call that stuff? This is usually accompanied with a gesticulation and a face. It is just you and I in an empty room and your gesticulation looks like you might be making candy floss in a sugar spinning machine but your face is saying that the stuff to which you are referring might be gross – so it’s not candy floss. What could it be? I don’t know what ‘stuff’ is so I would not know what to call it. Perhaps if you described it in words we could try and work it out.
  • Have you seen my dingus? No thank you and I don’t want to. Usually, I must admit, it’s my filthy mind and you might be referring to your cellular telephone but then gesticulate the universal language for telephonic handset not ask me if I’ve seen your thingie.
  • What’s for supper? Who cares, not you, since I made it and that’s what you’ll be having or not having since you’re a nasty bunch of fuss pots who live on cheese and crackers anyway. I hope one day that my children will write their own blogs on the spectacular culinary failure that their mother is – I’m not really, it’s just 2 underaged peoples opinion. According to them I haven’t made anything awesome for them to eat since they quit breast feeding.
  • Are you sleeping? Surely if there is no response to this question then it is in the affirmative. Repeatedly asking it louder while poking the ‘sleeper’ will prove that that person is awake – “Mom, you are such a liar” – I get that a lot, but I think they’re meaning that I like to to lie down making me more of a lie-er than a person prone to untruths. Attached to this question is usually it’s little brother asking, ‘Are you awake?’ – they have all their bases covered in the Stupid Question section.
  • Do you know where my (insert name of misplaced item here) is? My bog standard answer usually includes a cartoon character, I like to make it fun for the person who thinks I know where their stuff is. For example: “It’s swinging from my left eyelash playing Tarzan.” or “Why don’t you check down that hole in the garden, I think Bugs Bunny took it.” or a personal favourite, as I close my eyes and put my fingers to my temples, “Ooooooooommmmmmm, please Casper, if you can hear me, please tell us where the dingus is.”

These Questions will no doubt continue and I will get older and more crotchety about them, I wonder if Medical Aid will cover my high blood pressure medication for this obviously chronic condition? Really? What am I doing? I think I’ll go and have a nap, not sleep or be  awake and wait for the feeling to pass.

First Shoes for Grade One

On Monday this little baby,

goes to Grade One. When she was born her clothes were tiny, human clothes in the forms of onesies and baby grows. She had lots of blankets because she is a Winter baby. She has a bear – her name is Snoozie. Snoozie will not be going to Grade One but she still lives on the bed of this little baby.

Today, I offered this little baby the chance to have her first earrings pierced into her ears. She very bravely sat and whimpered while the lady drew little marks on her lobes and as the ‘guns’ were loaded and lifted to her ears, she shouted, “No, I don’t want my ears pierced.”  How brave, I thought, she’s been going on about how pretty they will look and how she will look like all her friends (who no doubt were pierced without their consent as infants – but who am I to judge?). This little baby stood up for her right to choose, a difficult thing to do if you’re a child and most of your decisions are made for you, with your best interest at heart, one would hope. Playing up the prettiness of the pearl and gold earrings she had chosen and playing down the stinging momentary pain that it takes to be a pierced earring wearer – the answer was still a resounding ‘No, I do NOT want to have my ears pierced.”

So I have, some opened but unused little gold and pearl earrings if anyone else is interested.

And then came the shoes, with my heart still filled with pride at the strength of this little character that I birthed we hit the Maul of Shoe Stops. Luckily at the first retailer we encountered the Dream School Shoes, “like tap shoes” she describes them. Whisking a pair of socks off the rack they were quickly fitted and the first obligatory ten steps were taken to try them out. She stops, “They’re like magnets and the floor is like the fridge.” She observes.

And I realize, that The Eldest has been barefoot and unrestrained by anything more than a pump, slip slop or wellington boot for the last 6 and half years. These shoes, are the first shoes, to conformity – the first molds that shape her little feet into something that they’re not used to. No more the feeling of sand between her toes, mud that oozes so deliciously, water lapping at her toenails – well not for the 5 hours that she’s at school anyway. That’s all going to be different now, perhaps more appreciated as her tootsies are now encased, for School Work.

And now This Little Baby, continues to walk and live and grow into a new set of rules – for her. I’ve been there and I hope that I can remember what it was like – not to interfere too much but to have some sort of wisdom of experience on my side to guide her. It’s never easy but that doesn’t mean it has to be unpleasant. Wish me luck as I wave her Good-Bye, not for the first time and not for the last.

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