A View From My Point

Posts tagged ‘sage advice’

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.


We Need To Talk

All of us. Yes, all of us – come from parents – some kind of parents, doesn’t matter, we’re here now aren’t we?

And I don’t think we’re doing too shabbily. I mean, we’re alive (big YAY), we’re reading stuff on the Internet – wow, got some education there didn’t we? Did our parents do that for us? Mine didn’t – they might have enabled me, yes they certainly did and they pushed for a whole lot extra by springing for a tertiary education but if I was 5 years old I could probably still make sense of these etchings  on a page. And look at you – managing so well by yourself – hell, I bet even my blind friends have these words piped into some kind of  device that makes them ‘talk’.

So, why oh why is there this constant criticism and judgment of how people are raising their children or how they they themselves were raised. I know money makes the world go round but essentially it’s people that want the money to make it go round so isn’t it really People that make the world go round?

All these rules:

love them when they cry, ignore them when they cry

feed them from the breast or feed them from the bottle

oh good grief, give birth to them with your own vagina or have an incision made in your own abdomen but whatever you do get them birthed and there they are – Birthed. New people, every .05 seconds or something like that – google it – I’m too lazy.

Show them flash cards, don’t play them anything but Mozart or put the tv on so that they get used to noise.

Strap them into the car or let them roam around on the dashboard.

Don’t let boys where pink, don’t let girls do karate or boys can get away with pink while they play rugby and girls need to learn self-defense.

No sugar, no salt, no nuts, no eggs, no food after midnight and don’t let them get wet – that might be mogwais – same difference.

Bath them once a day from day one or don’t bath them for the first 6 weeks of external womb existence and it’s cool to take a break on weekends.

Wear them or grow them in incubators.

Listen to The Men/Gods in White Coats or The Local Faith Healer and White Witch

Put oil (not petroleum) on their crusty little scalps or hang them from the ankles to increase blood circulation to the pip section.

Swaddle them like samoosas or cover them lightly in anything except down feathers.

Wooden toys only or recycled plastic toys to protect the environment (which one? my house or the global one which seems to be pretty good at taking care of itself?)

Pay a fortune for school and deck them out in designer duds. Organic (what is that?) Cotton only with or Polyester only because that’s what they’ll be wearing in space one day.

Cut their hair, grow their hair, paint them and parade them like dolls or let them run barefoot everywhere or squash their little feet and legs into the right shape with shoes and leg irons.

It’s enough to make anyone second guess themselves every second time they make a Parenting Decision.

Look around.

I had a fellow Mom ask me the other day if I had noticed how different my children where to each other.



They’re two different people.

I asked her if she felt that she and I were alike barring the fact that we’d both reproduced via the loin.

The conversations stopped there.

Come On People.

We are ALL People.

We all got here.

We all Live here.

Our parents raised us. Mine smacked me. Sometimes I didn’t eat anything except chocolate cake and coca cola. We never had to sleep in the car for more than a 5 hours at a time, we weren’t strapped in and we got lucky and we always had a roof over our heads. But I’m willing to guess that some of the folk out there that have had to live in their cars and munch on raw carrots for weeks on end are also Alive and using MXIT on their cellphones. After I was given the boot instead of a car for my 21st birthday I had to subside on olives and provitas for a month or two – didn’t do me any harm, in fact I slimmed down nicely enough to get some decent action.

Even if you’re not. It doesn’t give anyone the RIGHT to go up to anyone else and tell them not to chastise their children in public. Or criticise the fact that the baby that they’re wearing isn’t sleeping in the right position or that it’s drinking from a non BPA plastic free bottle. Or that it’s nappies won’t biodegrade over the next 200 hundred years (this is thumb suck figure – I’ve mentioned that I’m lazy to google). If people don’t wanna strap their kids in (and this is something that I’ve had to train myself to let go of) then so be it. The gene pool needs less idiots – and that might sound a little hard but raising children isn’t a picnic, not that picnics are catered events by on hand staff but you get what I mean. And if you don’t – can I refer you to my Suggestion Box? It’s the button on your top right hand corner and all you have to do is press CTRL ALT DEL.

Enough. Look around again –

Everyone is Going Through Something what matters are Two Things:

Area of Concern


Area of Influence

Let’s not be silly about it. Get your focus on and do the best you can with your bit.

People are People.

PS: These are not all my original thoughts but I’m selling them that way. Most of it is from a revered Elder in my immediate orbit so I’m claiming them as lessons learned. It’s still valid.


A Silly Poem for Christmas Fallout

All the expectancy that comes with this Season

don’t get me wrong, it couldn’t be for a better Reason

but my kids are now officially ‘spoilt rotten’

if the request was in, it was fulfilled and begotten

no desire left wanting, ‘Chocolate for Breakfast?”

sure thing, who cares if that nap will be missed

just carry on and don’t interrupt

what can you do? The system is corrupt;

surrounded by so many people that love them

ours are cherished like a rare gem

there are not enough grandkids yet,

and so they get treated like the royal pet

with titbits from the table

I’m not laying any blame, I too helped enable

Selfish me wanted a little Christmas

a time to relax and not think of this

commitment to consistency

the constant humdrum of the familial existancy

And now we sit with a Lady and a Lord

showered with gifts, now lying around Bored

Another 364 days to hold the ‘old Santa is watching you’ over their heads

no presents next year if you don’t behave yourselves, no ‘ifs’, ‘buts’ or ‘insteads’

Not to worry, I know what to do

just like the Lady in The Shoe

I’ll whip them both soundly and send them to bed

after some warm broth, without any bread.

Well, at least until Easter Holidays

until then we’ll just sigh and try different ways

to get the manners back in place

Restore some good values into the future of the Human Race.

Keep Your Face Out Of The Cheetah/Crocodile/Dog

We grew up with animals/pets and they often make appearances in my mental meanderings but one thing that I think about quite often is my Sister and her penchant for being bitten by dogs, well mostly dogs. The other injuries that she has had that I can think of were either self or sibling inflicted but in our defense she did seem somewhat of a glutton for the kind of attention that gets you an anti Rabies shot and some stitches.  Having offspring of my own now and living on an Island that consists mostly of people compensating for their Empty Nest Syndrome by having one or more canines to keep them company in their dotage has made me more than once utter the words I heard fall from my Mother’s lips “Don’t put your face in the dog!’ – it must have helped a lot because the Sister of mine has only every been bitten by a dog six times – not the same dog mind you – always a different dog. And there are a lot more people than dogs out there in the world – I think that was pretty good going for my Mother.

My Father brought his own pets into the marriage, two Welsh Corgi’s (something to with being a fan of the British Royal Family) They were both pedigrees with papers to match and were named Humphrey and Bogie – Bogie was the epitome of the Welsh Corgi, with all the right markings from his ‘fairy harness’ down to his short stubby docked little tail. Humphrey on the other hand was pure Brak (mongrel) – longer legs, scraggly fur and a face like the Tramp from Lady and The Tramp. He lived a good 22 human years and is remembered fondly. Bogie, not so much, he used to eat our wax crayons and when we lived in tropical climes every afternoon around four when the storms would start to build he’d dissolve into a nervous puddle of panting drool, stinking it up under a bunk bed more often than not.  Because he was a lot lower to the ground my Sister liked to ride him like a pony – needless to say she was snapped at and had to spend a week in an oxygen tent (for croup – that she had at the same time – not because of some strange over reaction on the Mothers part) and have plastic surgery on her lip to mend the little nick – I surmise to this day that is the reason she’s considered prettier than me. And that was the first time – maybe a Dog is her totem animal? And so they keep wanting to bring her back into the pack as it were.

The other holiday we were travelling together, Auntie Sister and I, with my two wee ones, regaling them with stories of our idyllic youth and how awesome it was to grow up together – you know how one makes it seem really awesome to sucker the kids into growing up and leaving home and lying to their own kids . Going through a town famous for it’s Crocodile and Ostrich Farm. There are posters on all the street lights proclaiming these one on one encounters with Cheetahs and Warthogs and a Hippopotamus. To illustrate their point as and as a sales gimmick there are full colour photographs of little children and yummy mummies cuddling with these creatures as if they let them sleep in their beds at night! Sending myself into paroxysms of paranoia at the thought that some one’s mother let them pose with these WILD ANIMALS – I wonder if they all got away unscathed or if that ad campaign has a couple of literal skeletons in their closet. So now, when we speak to the kids of animals that they might encounter we hold up Auntie Sister as an example and in a firm voice say, ‘Keep Your Face Out Of The Cheetah/Crocodile/Dog.’

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