CINDERELLA TRIPPIN'

….let there be shopping….

Archive for the tag “marriage”

Perspective, Priorities,Prestik and Poo


In all honesty I’m not one to “take a deep breath and smell the roses”.

The words “settled ” and “routine” give me an intense urge to run. ( which is probably why I broke off my engagement to the farmer the first time and we ended up getting engaged twice. Having 2 rings was nice though… )

I tend to mentally tick things off and then look for “THE NEXT BIG THING”. Always looking for more, more, MORE…..surely there must be MORE???

So that up to now my life plan has progressed more or less  like this:

1. Get a degree. ( tick )

2. Get a job. ( tick )

3. Get thin. ( tick )

4. Find a husband ( tick )

5. Have a baby (tick)

5. Have a GIRL baby ( tick….lucky lucky lucky me! )

6. Study Journalism. ( tick )

7. Try to get into freelance writing. ( tick. sort of. )

8. Heck, why work for money when I could win the lotto? Or a huge Jackpot somewhere? And then we could go on luxury family holidays every 3 months and leave the farming stress behind us and I could spend weekends at a spa and have regular manicures and pedicures and hair extensions and who knows, maybe even a tummy tuck ??? ( tick for trying and not succeeding, who knew? )

Before you call the shallow police…I do sense the error of my shallow ways…

I had 2 sick children this week and 1 husband with the man flu.

Poo and puke has filled my days. Sticky hands and smelly feverish breaths through sleepless nights with worry knotting my stomach.

And oh, the relief to see they’re on the mend…to see the smiles return and the gradual brightening of the eyes…

Who needs the Lotto when you can have a slurpy wet kiss from your 14 month old daughter while your 4 year old son stands on your big toe with his leather shoe to also get in on the action?

There’s nothing like motherhood to keep your feet on the ground, stretch your coping mechanisms like Prestik  and turn your heart inside out is there?

MARRIAGE IN A TIME OF CHILDREN


In my book, “quick” is good. Mostly. In the case of take away food, service and root canals. NOT so much in marriage.

 

“Quick” in marriage becomes the norm when “before children” becomes “one child” and even more so when one child becomes “two children”.

 

Take your average Sunday at home.

 

We usually wake up with the best of intentions to have “a relaxed family day”.

 

We manage to get the house in some kind of order before heading out for lunch at the local. So far so good.

 

After lunch, we each get a turn to look after the kids while the other one gets a 30 minute nap.

 

At around 17h00 on a Sunday afternoon the kids are tired, it’s bath time, it’s “get-out-of-the-bath-NOW-or-else time”, it’s the time when every single toy my son  owns covers the diningroom carpet and he is whining his heart out over anything and everything.

 

It’s also most likely to be the time when  his father has had enough of giving warnings and resorts to some disciplinary action.

 

All well and fair. But still. Not ideal as foreplay.

 

Then we get to the time of refusing to go to sleep. BOTH children.

 

When all goes quiet at around 21h00 the last thing I’m in the mood for is getting all loved up.

 

I’m tired, I’m grumpy, I feel like a parental failure of note. Yet another exhausting Sunday behind me.

 

I take a bath. Practice some deep breathing.

 

Check both kids.

 

Yip. Still asleep.

 

OK. Maybe?

 

 

 

I close my eyes and try to get “in the mood”

 

…….

 

“Daddyyyyyyy!”

 

Son-who-is-supposed-to-be-in-dreamland  from his room.

 

“Daddy” gets decent and goes to check.

 

Comes back.

 

OK. Let’s try again.

 

I close my eyes.

 

……..

 

 

“DADDYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!”

 

“Daddy” gets decent again and goes to check.

 

Comes back.

 

OK. LET’S TRY AGAIN.

 

……..

 

 

“DaddyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyYYYYYYYY!!!!”

“Daddy” gets decent, goes to check, comes back, gets undecent and ……..

 

 

“DADDyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!”


 

And this is where “quick” comes in.

 

 

“Daddy” gets “quick” and mommy gets a raw deal.

 

 

 

Marriage in a time of 2 kids under the age of 5.

 

QUICK.

 

Like I said.

CINDERELLA’S 11 COMMANDMENTS FOR FIGHTING FAIR IN MARRIAGE


THOU SHALT NOT start sentences with “YOU” or “YOUR MOTHER”.

THOU SHALT  start sentences with “I FEEL”.

THOU SHALT NOT give any directional instructions  ending with “OFF”.

THOU SHALT NOT use any words starting with the letters “F’, “P” or “B” . ( refer back to commandment 3 ).

THOU SHALT NOT throw the Royal Albert tea set for thou shalt regret it. ( refer back to commandment 1 ).

THOU SHALT yell into pillows and towels  so as not to alarm thy neighbour.

THOU SHALT NOT bring up old fights for every fight deserves a fresh start.

THOU SHALT NOT pack thy overnight bag for marriage is a commitment.

THOU SHALT NOT air thy dirty laundry in public for the public shall not forget.

THOU SHALT NOT throw thy glass slipper for no fight is worth it.

THOU SHALT look at this picture and remind thyself : NOBODY IS GOING TO WIN THIS ONE.

THIS.IS.WHY.


 

My husband is an intelligent man. He once put together a set of 8 different sized washing baskets in such a way that the result was a perfect rectangle.

He is a successful farmer and knows stuff like when to put the rams with the ewes and how to cut the balls off lambs so that they don’t reproduce.( not so sure about my facts here. )  Also how to classify wool with his fingers so that it sells at the market and our family can eat. And wear clothes.

 He even has quite impressive insight and knowledge of PMS. Which is why I married him. (that , and the gorgeous wooden deck attached to the stoep with the most glorious view of the valley where I regularly sit and sip my wine while contemplating life. )

BUT.

He can not spell.

He denies this of course, but it drives me up the wall. And makes me think of the time his mother had a car accident when he was 6 months old and he flew through the window  and ended up hanging from the fence by his scalp. ( you know the story) And his parents did nothing about it. No brain scans. No remedial testing. Nothing.

This is the note he made after getting the info on  the preschool we want to send farmerboy to this year :

The teacher’s name is JILL. And the school is called LITTLE STEPS.

See what I mean?

No wonder I sometimes get NO BLOODY WHERE with arguments with this man.

THIS. IS .WHY.

 

 

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