Today’s Aidan’s 7th Birthday. My kids are the same age for 5 days every year.
Aidan is also such a good anchor in our lives. It’s so easy to get caught up in the competitive field of motherhood. Or rather the “I don’t want my child to miss out on anything syndrome”.
Like the best tennis racket, the best cricket bat etc etc. That’s where I am now. It doesn’t help when the coaches of these sports, imply that better equipment results in better performance. And if one child gets a Technifibre racket, your’e stuffed. You will, I assure you, land up buying one.
All the kids in Aidan’s tennis group got expensive Technifibre rackets last year. I abstained as I couldn’t warrant paying that much for it, without it being for a birthday or Christmas present. So the for the last 8 months I’ve had to hear about it constantly from Aidan and his tennis coach. I eventually caved in and succumbed to buying one for his birthday, much to the disgust of some of the moms. (A tennis racket for his birthday, shame he needs it?) Well, it’s been a HUGE hit. A little bit of waiting for a gift never does anybody any harm at all. In fact he GREATLY appreciates it now.
John and I have a strict policy in our house. Gifts only on birthdays or Christmas. None of this grocery shopping and coming back with a treat. He may be taken once or twice a yearto Toys ‘R us and be allowed to buy a treat/pressie for R50 if he does well at school or an oral etc. But it’s a huge deal and a huge performance.
Because of our disposable income these days, our generation is all to quick to buy things for our kids because it’s cheap. And it’s tempting to buy something to see the happiness in their faces. But we are NOT doing them any favours. I want my kids to grow up hungry. I use the word hungry as a euphmism for ambition, drive and desire.
But, since it is Aidan’s birthday, I just want to mention what a blessing he is in our house. A mischevious child with a sense of humour. Sharp as whip. And he absolutely adores his mom. John is his hero but he loves me most. I’m his mamma afterall….
Happy Birthday my precious pumpkin…
Yesterday I finished reading Room. Really great. I sprained my ankle slightly so had an excellent excuse to veg on the bed and I took FULL advantage and read and read whilst the nanny took the kids for a walk with the dogs and the Hans lamb. Most peaceful.
I weighed yesterday morning and STAYED the same. The second week in a row. WTH? Most affronted and bemused about that, I thought Weigh-Lady was going to explode. You see I should be losing at least 1-2kg per week.
Anyhow…am building up the birthday excitement in the house… I think John is quiet fed-up with all my questions and hints. He always takes it in good grace though and panders to all my drama!
Yesterday’s blog post conjured up a very naive, klooster koek image of me. I re-read it this morning and that’s the impression I got.
This couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m actually a bit of a floater. Always have been and I guess I always will be. By this I mean I neither fit into a cool, hip, rebellious group nor a conservative, blinkered somewhat naive group either. I have friends from both these groups but I tend to shy away from wild girly nights out saturated with wine bar hopping and strippers. (nothing wrong with that). And I tend to find the whole holier than thou, butter wouldn’t melt in the mouth, have never seen a penis, group somewhat boring too. I like friends that make me laugh, bring up the odd intelligent bit of titbit every now and again, battle with gyming, eating, parenting (you know….the usual larks), girls that curl their legs up on the couch, glass of wine or mug of coffee in hand, cock their heads to one side and sympathise with your everyday frustrations.
Every now and again, I go through a lonely, not quiet connecting with my fellow-man/woman phase. I think I might be in one now. You say tomatow and I say tomayto kind of phase. It always happens around my birthday. It’s in two days time. 38 years of age. I’m going through a real pimply stage at the moment. That sorts of obliquely makes me feel a snidge younger.
Age is a personal feeling and “thang”. I still sometimes feel like a horny teenager when I see Johns arms and thighs. And then other times I feel like a grumpy geriatric old fart when he just simply breathes. Seriously…..that man deserves a medal! I’m like a moving target at times.
Two more sleeps until I get my pressies. I love presents, if you must know. And I’m shallow enough to admit that I like lots and lots of things to open. The more the merrier.