ladylanalei

[ladylanalei]

Relief in the breaking

Losing people who aren’t dead, is hard.

Sometimes though, perhaps it’s for the better.  For you, for them, for some function of the universe.

The pain of losing people who aren’t dead, is hard too.

Sometimes though, well, most times, we are so blinded by that pain, that we don’t see.

That person might have been standing on your feet, or sitting on your wings, or had their hand clamped around your throat; or in some way, been an anchor, holding you in a place that should never have been on your list of places to visit, let alone live in.

The breaking is hard; but there is relief in the breaking.

The breaking brings opportunity for the new; it brings opportunity to bury the dead.

There is relief in the breaking.

[ladylanalei]

Boys don’t cry ... but they should

I’m a staunch believer in emotional self-awareness.  And to put a finer point on it, the ability to regulate one’s emotions.  When my kids cry, I try to stick it out and let them cry, however voluminous that cry might be.  Of course, I offer hugs and whatever other mothering they need at the time.  I’m trying to raise my kids with the conviction that emotions are normal and expressing emotions is normal.

The other day, I somewhat failed in this.  Not with any of my kids, but with a family friend who was visiting. 

My son, who is turning 3 in September, takes a while to warm up to strangers.  I am also his safe haven (as is the case with his sisters also); so while he might be ok with strangers around for a while, even though his father is also present, as soon as I arrive, he will let down his little brave face and become my little baby, and seek me out for hugs and cuddles.  This was the scenario the other day when one of my husband’s friends was over.  By the time I came home from work, I think my son had had just about enough of it.

My kids have a little tradition that before they eat any meal, if I’m around, I have to hug them before they start eating.  I have no idea why they do this.  With “uncle” Rudi in the house, my daughters chose to forego this little tradition and just dug in, after saying grace.  My son however, insisted on his hug.  His father insisted otherwise.  Long story short, this led to crying.  Cue “uncle” Rudi proceeding to tell my crying little boy that “big boys don’t cry”.  And right there I failed my son.

I failed in correcting my husband’s friend by not speaking up about the fact that I am raising my son differently from how he and even my husband was raised.  I failed my son by not protecting his right to feel and express his own emotions.  I failed in not being able to make my husband understand the complexities and intricacies of this emotional world we all carry within ourselves (and which some of us have become adept at suppressing or ignoring, to the detriment of the outside world).

My dearest son; I will not fail you again.

[ladylanalei]

Universe mail

The humble date.  

I have a love for these things that surpasses my love for a good, spicy or sticky chicken wing.  This love of dates was cultivated by my mother.  She was a foody in her own right and a home chef extraordinaire.  She used to buy packets of tightly packed, pitted dates and we would scarf them together while chatting about mother-daughter little nothings.  The sweetness would eventually overwhelm me to the point of nausea, but the memory of her, anchored in those moments, carry me through some pretty rough times, more than a decade after her passing.

So my newest colleague has discovered this love i have for dates, and she panders to it every other day, from a box of the stuff her husband was gifted by a client of his.  Yesterday she promised to bring me some.

I have been going through a really rough patch emotionally, and this morning, after a particularly hurtful realization hit me, i hit a real low point.  So part of me was really looking forward to having some dates.  And thanks to Murphy, my colleague forgot to bring me any.  And just like that, i sank a little deeper.

But then, the universe stepped in.

My boss calls to me from his office and asks me, “Do you like these things?”  And he walks to me, proferring a baggy full of fat, sticky, sweet dates.  And it’s like i could feel my mom embrace me, with a warm reminder to remember the stuff i came from.  My mom had survived so much bullshit in her life, including really bad intestinal ulcers that saw her losing a chunk of her large intestine.  Eventually, it was a double hemorrhagic stroke that took her away from me.

So today a humble date came from the universe to remind me that i am mighty.

[ladylanalei]

Three whispered words

May 21, 2011 at 4:00 PM

Why does it seem so futile, this endeavour to reach more than my heart? Why does it seem so unforgiving, this shadow veiling my eyes? I would beg forgiveness for three whispered words, Spoken so long ago it seems in a different world. A moment frozen in time, locked away and cherished, mine How did that moment, those words, lose their magic? It seems the one precious thing still living in a lie this tragic. I would beg you again to conjure that moment, to regress this heart to be that soft So as to revel in the promise locked up in your eyes; I would wish this, but I don't know how to want it Scars and pain, tears and time Have all conspired to rob me of that moment, mine. I entreat, do not wish for this heart, It has long ago forgotten the meaning of three whispered words.

[ladylanalei]

When home and work collide

So this morning I ever so slightly lost my shit at work.  

Back story: I had a bad parenting weekend, where I was a little rough with meting out discipline on two of my three kids.  So I hauled a huge load of that parenting guilt with me to work.

Back back story: I have two female colleagues who routinely make my life difficult regarding trivial shit.  Always complaining about EVERYTHING.  I am always trying to bend over backwards to accommodate these women.  But do they do any bending?

So this morning everyone chimed in to harangue me about a corporate photoshoot that had to get postponed because of a miscommunication.  So I flipped the proverbial table on them, rage-comic style.  Everyone has been avoiding me like the plague, and I feel like I’ve reached a growth point.

Stop letting trivial people and their trivial shit ruin your day.  Stop trying to do nice things for the office as a means of boosting morale and team spirit; because, people have to have a measure of those things inherent, for them to be boosted.  Clearly my colleagues do not have those things.  So I have been fighting a losing battle.  So today I choose to lay down my armour and weapons and instead go skinny-dipping in a mountain brook and FTW!  (Ok, not literally, because it’s winter on my side of the world and we don’t have mountain brooks...)

You really can only lead the horse to water.

[ladylanalei]

Colour Me Human

November 28, 2011 Colour me white, the purity of my innocence Untouched, unfathomed, unbiased My eyes, a still window to a soul unmarred by the dread cruelty this world has in store My frailty, as yet a testament to a soft will not yet smelted in the forges of life Colour me brown, the skin my father gave me Supple, yielding, warm My hair, the crown of my beauty, my pride; something for you to play with during love-making My strength, a threat to you, because I can do it for myself Colour me pink, the temptation of my flesh Vivacious, curvaceous ... Home My legs, the pillars of my womanhood, your desire; not quite smooth, not quite long enough My endurance, my will, to go on, when it seems there is nowhere to go Colour me purple, the intensity of your frustration Untamed, unnamed, tempestuous My insides, the vulnerability of this woman, the trigger that sets off your rage My blindness, ignorant to folly, how do I not see? Colour me indigo, the shades of my bruises Livid, tender, underneath my clothes My nightmares, the reality of my days, hiding in plain sight My pain, the aftermath of your disappointment; I bear it, believing myself a strong woman Colour me red, the fertility of my blood Alive, pulsing, pooling on the floor My lips, the gatekeepers of my voice; I can't make them pretty for you anymore My life-force, my breath, my tears; at any moment the last moment could be the last Colour me black, the silence after your fists Numb, lifeless, empty My body, the canvass for your expression, every detail exquisitely outlined My resolve, fight or flight and between them the blind man's sight Colour me grey, the directionless haze after I escape you Terrified, free, determined My hope, the shy realization of the new; I pray I have enough of myself left for myself My humanity, the conviction to my truth; I am woman, precious ... Mine

[ladylanalei]

Fade to Black

September 14, 2011 Soft skin, bright eyes; she came into this world an innocent little girl Daddy's little princess, Daddy's little girl; no, Mommy's little anchor, Mommy's little pearl Because he was supposed to love her, protect her, be her knight in shining armor But he failed her, he hurt her, love she needed he couldn't give her; He let the father he was supposed to be, fade to black....

Warm skin, lively eyes; she walked into this world an intelligent little girl Want to be the best, want to be the greatest, no She pushed herself too hard, pushed herself too far Because she needed to prove herself, move herself, away from the bottom of the shelf But she caved, enraged by failures she perceived under her own name As one by one she let her dreams fade to black...

Yielding skin, shy eyes; she got into his bed a naive little girl Adam's little mistress, Adam's little whore, yes; Forgetting all her value, forgetting all her worth, Because she needed his love, she needed his touch, needed his attention so very much But she was blinded by a false sense of power and illusion of might And she watched parts of herself fade to black...

Scarred skin, opened eyes; she starts a new day an enlightened little girl Walking on a new beat, walking down a new street, yes Here starts a new search, ends all the old hurts Because she needs to find someone, who will be the one, to make her stick to one But she needs to find a heart that will hear her precious heart And make all the bruised past, fade to black.

[ladylanalei]

Lobby life

Imagine walking into your office building lobby and that crisp coolness hits you after the sun tried its best to blister your skin on contact, and you revel in a moment of air-conditioned bliss. Only for the first person you notice to be a sharply dressed gentleman seated on one of the plush single seater couches, who has clearly mistaken his nose for the Kimberly Hole and his index finger is about two knuckles up his left nostril and he is in the middle of an important sounding phone call while making direct eye-contact with you. And you hastily avert your eyes and choke back the polite hello you've become accustomed to breathing at the general populace of the lobby, along with the remnants of a bowl of noodles you had before leaving the building.

I don't know guys. Am I ignorant? Can someone explain this apparent comfortable relationship some people have with their snot?

I just know I am never sitting on those lobby couches again. Because with all that nasal excavation going on, there usually is not a hanky or tissue or any such receptacle present, except for tasteful pieces of office furniture.

#OfficeChroniclesOfRiddles 23 April 2018

[ladylanalei]

Fire drills and feet

Fire drills at 11:00am in the African summer, are the GHETTO!

Just leave me in the burning building; I'm sure it's cooler in there than outside.

Although, standing out in the sun, feeling how Nivea is losing its battle for freshness in my armpits, i had the chance to observe some people's feet. And i concluded that many things i have observed in this office building now make perfect sense.

One of my pet peeves is sh!t streaks in a toilet. In a toilet exclusively used by adult females. Females who for the most part dress to the 9s and put extra respek on the term "slay". Those same females apparently don't know how to use a toilet brush. So i have to wonder: do they even wipe themselves properly? Because the length of some people's nails, also...

But then, what i observed today gives me some comfort. Some of those same females, apparently, also don't know how to moisturize their heels; it looks like the whole of Etosha in a drought is parked on the back of your feet. The rest of the person is looking supple and Balea'd for days...

And have you ever seen a grown human's toes in disagreement amongst themselves??? Like, her big toe, the one next to it and the pinky toe are all draped on the floor outside her strappy high heel shoe, while the two middle ones are curled up and hanging on for dear life on the very edge of the shoe. I have never.

#OfficeChronicles 14 February 2020

[ladylanalei]

Nocturnal Nemesis

(This piece was originally written in 2013)

So I thought that eventide musings were only for the insomniac or hopelessly in love.  I was wrong.  I had recently been – by default – appointed as babysitter and temporary primary care-giver for my sister’s kids while she was out of town on a 2-week training course.  Happy days; considering that 2 of said kids are a pair of 6-year old twins.  My sleep patterns had been sufficiently disrupted to the point where I had defaulted to auto-pilot on all but the most intricate of my daily tasks.  Having to sleep in someone else’s bed and having to be woken up at ungodly hours of the night/morning, really were playing havoc.  I was utterly not myself anymore.  I am not the girl to walk into the office and break into mirthful laughter at the question of “How are you doing this morning?”!

            So early one morning – I have no idea as to what time it was, just that it was still dark outside and even the neighbourhood dogs were quiet – I am woken up by the female half of the twins.  She’s standing by the side of the bed, dishevelled hair and clutching her pink teddy bear, panic-crying.  Now, on a good day, I am not the type of person you wake up abruptly and expect to coordinate myself with any measure of accuracy or grace.  And especially not when the waking is done by a screaming toddler my scum-bag brain so ghoulishly mistook for a para-human critter of sorts.

            I manage to mumble the obvious question and she proceeds to tell me through her sobs that she needs to go pee-pee, but there is a spider in the bathroom.  Right.  This is where it gets tricky.  I am unashamed to admit the fact that at 29 years of age, I still go into a frozen panic at the sight of spiders.  I don’t care the species.  For a moment my brain forgets its trolling and tries to imagine that it has dreamed the description of the situation that has placed the baby in such a state.  However, her insistent crying – both from the terror of the arachnid presence and the pressure of her full bladder – cements the realization that I will have to get up and do … WHAT???

            As I pull myself upright and reach for my specs, I consider waking 6’s older brother who is crashing in the lounge.  However, the thought of having to try waking him up – which would take a fair amount of waking – and running the risk of spidey making a duck for it, had me scrounging for resolve: I will have to eradicate the threat myself.  OK.  As I walk around the bed to where I left my slip-ons, I become aware of little things; the night breeze through the open window, the slight layer of dust on the floor, the cat engaging in nocturnal grooming, one leg stuck straight up in the air and its snout buried in its nether regions.

            I stop a foot or so from the bathroom door – 6 and her teddy dutifully following suit – to inspect the perimeter.  Nothing immediately threatening, so I proceed.  Only to stop dead in my tracks a second later.  There, right next to the toilet paper rail, sits our nocturnal nemesis.  Well, it’s no Daddy Long Legs, but it’s still just LEGS!  And a FAT ass.  A shiver runs down my spine.  I lift my right foot slowly, reaching back for my weapon of choice – my brand new baby-blue slip-ons, bought not a week earlier.  Making sure I have a firm grip on it – nothing is worse than missing a spider on the first try – I slowly stalk my prey.  Times like these I am thankful that I am a cat person.  Valuable stalking lessons and observations over the years were doing me a world of favours right then.

            As I reach out my hand, making sure to position it below the spider and slowly closing the distance, I feel my heart rate spike.  Adrenaline is such a bastard sometimes, but in the back of my head I can hear Vin Diesel as XXX shouting “I live for this shit!”  With my hand brandishing the weapon now about half a foot away from the spider and sure I will not miss my mark, I execute a scared-little-girl’s version of the Hulk Smash on the spider, and if the movies have taught me anything, I go for the double-tap.  In the resounding silence that follows, I observe the brown smudge that’s left on the wall, and the decimated spider corpse on the floor.

            The baby goes ahead and takes her long-awaited pee-pee, first carefully placing teddy on the floor next to the corpse, as if to establish some sort of universal order for such things.  I take my turn right after the baby and I can’t help but feel – as the toilet flushed – like a matu-fatu superhero walking away from an explosion.

            So we manage to snuggle back down, and I assure myself that these twin babies are still the sweetest little people with a brief peck on the cheek for each of them.

            …only to be woken I’m sure not long after, by a little boy's voice next to me saying “I can’t sleep…”

[ladylanalei]

Yoga-ish

So yesterday I’m talking to my sister-in-law about yoga.  I indulge in the stretchies every day if I can, every other month when I can’t.  As I’m about to get in on expounding on all the benefits and feel-good-ness of yoga, she tells me that she read about “naked yoga” the other day.  Now immediately my brain, being what it is, runs off on a tangent.

I’ve come to know, through my own experiences, that there are particular poses that are very conducive for the release of built-up gas in the human body.  My personal favourite is the Happy Baby.  So, I’m picturing people in all kinds of poses, naked, and I’m just trying to avoid the number of unavoidable “scented” Candles there will undoubtedly be.  But the picture I’m most loathe to give free reign to is that of any number of surreptitiously sighing or vibrating butts as all these farts are released.

And pray tell; who will be that brave soul who will volunteer to clean all those borrowed yoga mats, with all that rampant HPV and Thrush and whatever else has been left on those petri dishes formerly known as yoga mats?  

Hard pass on naked yoga for me.

[ladylanalei]

Pros and Cons

The upside to being a working mom:

Coming home to a house i didn’t clean

Coming home to fresh babies i didn’t have to wrestle into and out of the bath

Coming home to a meal i didn’t cook

The downside to being a working mom:

All of the above.

[ladylanalei]

Functioning depressive

So, my husband doesn’t understand my depression.  It doesn’t make sense to him that I “choose” to be sad or negative all the time.  

Over the past weekend, I was lying down on our bed in the dark and he walks in and asks what’s wrong.  I tell him I have a headache and his first response is “Why?”.  When I woke up with neck pain (related to scoliosis I’ve had since high school) his concern was that he wouldn’t get any nookie for the foreseeable future.

I’ve tried explaining it to him, but in his head it just does not compute.  I’ve tried explaining what it feels like to be all touched out after spending a day alone with our kids (aged 4, 3 and 2).  He finds it selfish or “un-wifely” that I don’t want him to touch me after I’ve been mauled all day, and had assortments of food scraps and bodily fluids painted on me like a weird Picasso canvas.

I love my family, dearly; but I’m a tired, burnt-out human.  I feel guilty for finding escape in my job.

[ladylanalei]

Unannounced

Oh, where do I start?

You come in, sans appointment, demanding to see my boss. I introduce myself as his PA and politely ask if you have an appointment (because according to me the man's schedule does not include any meetings). You get up from our comfy chair and right up in my face and say "No" like you own the building. Then I ask with regards to what you would like to see him. Smug as sh!t you reply "About (the company I work for)" and try to already push your way past me to his office.

But of COURSE I will condescendingly point you back into the chair you just vacated to invade my personal space, and of course I will make you wait for bombastically entering our office without an appointment and acting like I owe you peeled, seedless grapes.

THEN, when you get in to see my boss for your unscheduled appointment, I must still provide you with writing tools ... *lost for words.

When people ignore common, office/business etiquette and still act like they are doing you some kind of divine favour, it really gets me in a mood.

*exasperated sigh...

On an unrelated note, all you people who leave the toilet without washing your hands; do you feel good about yourself going around contaminating the whole world with your pee/poop germ hands?

#OfficeChronicles #WorkingMom

[ladylanalei]

Why am i Tumbling?

I just want to share my adventures and experiences of being a working mom.