Blocked

Many years ago now, I attended a writing course in London. At one point, the teacher sent us out to interview someone on the street and write a newspaper article from this.

So out I went, and looked at all the people passing by, and felt unable to approach any of them. Partly because I am a little shy, partly because Excuse me but would you mind talking to me so I can write a pretend newspaper article was just, well, lame. What would I ask them? What could I possibly write about someone out shopping?

There was a pedestrian tunnel under the road on which the college was located. Sitting on the ground in the tunnel was a girl, with a tin out for money.

I passed her a couple of times as I wandered around. She had caught my eye. But I lacked the nerve to approach her. And then, She is by far the most likely interesting person out here and if I'm going to write an article then I want it to be interesting, which means I just have to not be shy and go over and talk to her.

So I did. I sat down next to her, and we talked.

Her story was very sad.

The article I wrote was good.

The teacher - who until now hadn't liked anything I'd written - even praised it.

It was the only thing I wrote on the course that I liked too, because it was the only thing where the subject actually inspired me. Where I was writing not because I had to, but because I wanted to.

And that, really, is the point of this post, a point I've made before, I know, but the point all the same: there are times when I cannot write because I feel I have nothing interesting to say.

Like lately.

I really appreciate that you all keep coming back to see if I've posted something new, and I'm sorry if you're disappointed when I haven't, and I hope my voice will be back soon.

Resolution

So the cat gets a bit annoying at times, leaping onto my legs, attacking, jumping onto forbidden surfaces. And it's easy to get annoyed too, especially, say, when I have my hands full cooking dinner and suddenly a not-negligible weight is hanging off my skin by its claws. Or when I want a cuddle - or even just to sit on the couch in peace - and she sinks her sharp, pointy teeth very painfully into my arms. Or when she shreds a house plant.

But then today, in a clear-headed moment as she launched herself at my legs, I thought you know what, she's a cat. A kitten still, who wants to run around and pounce, but who is locked inside 24/7. So I played chasings with her for a bit, which she loved, and then she slept solidly, happily, all afternoon.

I do the same with the kids sometimes, getting annoyed at things that, really, are just kids being kids. Like when they muck around mooning each other instead of putting on their pyjamas. Or when Téo gets distracted by a toy instead of setting the table. Or when Lukan makes a mess by making stacks with his dirty dinner plate and cup and cutlery (which, this morning, I later discovered was because he was making an IKEA-inspired frog).

I had a another clear-headed moment while marching through the vineyards one evening: I'm not always very present with my kids, focusing more on what I feel needs to be done rather than the actual moment in time.

It was a bit disheartening to realize this. And worse, that I had come to see the whole evening routine as a list of things that needed to be done, ideally as quickly and with as little mucking around as possible: make dinner, eat dinner, kids in pyjamas, teeth brushed, stories read, songs sung, lights out.

This is very sad, to view the longest stretch of time I have with my kids most weekdays as a to-do list. And I imagine not pleasant for them either to be rushed along towards bed.

So although I hadn't originally thought about making any new year's resolutions, I realised I had one after all: I want to be more present. To enjoy the evenings for what they are, with the kids as they are. Of course dinner still needs to be made and eaten, and kids still need to get into bed on time, but I have been making more of a conscious effort to be present for each individual part of the evening, each moment, and not worry so much about how long it's taking.

And you know what? Life really is much more pleasant this way.

From one extreme to the other

A few months ago, Lukan insisted on only wearing underpants. Only, he wouldn't poo in the toilet. So he didn't poo at all, for a week.

We got everything back in working order, and to keep it this way developed a system based on vigilance and the (mostly) timely putting on of nappies. But nothing would convince him to try to poo on the toilet.

Until last week, when I offered a Pokemon toy.

Instant success. Twice.

Phew, I thought. We're near the end of this toilet-training business!

But now he's started controlling his movements again - not holding it in, but forcing it out.

Yesterday, after 3 legit poos in the toilet - and so three new Pokemon toys - he did:

Two tiny pellets in the evening.

One tiny pellet at 6.30 this morning.

Another tiny pellet at 3 this afternoon.

Three more tiny pellets this evening.

And with each one a triumphant: I did a poo in de toilet! So dat's a new Pokemon for me!

He can count too, so no fudging on the actual numbers.

Cheeky boy.

(And needless to say, the reward system has been hastily changed.)

Oh

So I just measured my temperature.

38ºC.

It's actually kind of a relief to know the aches and pains and fatigue are not solely the signs of an aging body.

Ow

My back has been seized up since Wednesday last week. My legs hurt. My shoulders hurt. My arms hurt. My knees too, I discovered walking up the stairs today.

And I'm so tired. I'm supposed to be working today, but I was nearly falling asleep over my keyboard. This, after 12 hours sleep last night.

The reason?

Exercise.

And not even very strenuous exercise, just a few brisk walks up and down through the vineyards, a few sit ups and leg lifts, and a very few push ups.

True, I've been doing this each day since last Saturday week*, alternating the walks with the muscle work, but still, it's not exactly a tough fitness regime by any means. And nothing like what I used to do, pre-kids, as a matter of routine.

This exercise is supposed to improve my life, not leave me feeling this achingly old. And not worsen my caffeine intake, either. If I don't feel better soon I fear I'm going to develop a paracetamol habit too.

Maybe at 90 I'll happy to have an extra few months left to live (12 to be exact, the last time I calculated it), but at this point I'm sorely (ha!) tempted to trade them in for my 100% sedentary life when I felt fine.

When do the endorphins kick in...?

* Well, I skipped 3 days after pulling a back muscle so severely I could barely move. Note that it just went and pulled by itself, not while I was even doing anything. Stupid age.

The benefits of a Danish great-grandfather

Lukan is in full baddie mode these days, wielding swords to kill you, donning his Dracula costume to scare ever-wy body, scowling like a mean monstah, roaring like a scawy dwagon.

Today he took one of Téo's magazines to the garderie, featuring Hiccup and Toothless on the front, to show everyone the dragon.

I not scared of dwagons! he announced as soon as we arrived.

Neither is my mum, added Téo. She's a Viking!

Do I need to rethink some of my childcare arrangements...?

So the kids were given a book today, about vampires (they are a little obsessed). On the back, it says:

In the same series:
- Witches
- Pirates
- Ghosts
- Grandmothers
- Monsters

Happy New Year!