Leap Year

The very last day of February was the very first day of the rest of my life.
It was, to say the least, not what I expected. In fact, I'd go so far as to say I'm glad it only happens once every four years. What with being bitten by a spider on the heel of my right hand (which itches far more than you'd think), and squirting lemon juice in my left eye while preparing dinner (which doesn't burn quite as much as you'd think), I was glad the day came to an end, eventually.
I had planned a whole bunch of "me-time" in celebration of my new beginnings, and ended up doing everything but celebrating.
But in between the mad rush to the shops for cycle gear for tomorrow's big race (read about that later), testing the pool water for an on-going algae infestation, doing the school run (which is always difficult trying to be at two different schools that both end at 12:15), repairing the badly frayed pool net, measuring cupboards for add-ons, doing three loads of washing (no exaggeration, I promise) and a play-date, I got to thinking a little bit about Leap Year (oh, and I also wondered about what I had let myself in for, stopping work and all...)
But, about Leap Year. It's an odd thing to think about, first of all. I mean, when you're sitting around a coffee table, how often do you hear someone say, "I was just thinking about Leap Year, and..."? Well, perhaps after this post there may be a few more people who might give it a little consideration.
But back to the point: Leap Year really sucks. And Leapies (the term given to people born on 29 February - After a quick google search, I was amazed to find out how many of them there are!) must be the most unfortunate individuals on the planet! And I mean that in the nicest possible way. From what I gather, these guys have to put up with so much rubbish - computer systems that don't register their birthdates, problems with issuing driver's licenses, only being of legal drinking age when they're 72. It's a shame, really.
If you know someone born on 29 February, be really nice to them. For three quarters of their life their birthday doesn't even show on the calendar. If you're expecting a child at this time, close your legs, close your eyes, put your bum in the air for the day and pray like mad. If you happen to go into labour, breathe in, and whatever you do, don't breathe out - let alone push! If you cannot avoid birthing your baby on 29 February, be prepared to let them get away with just a bit more than you would usually allow your kids to get away with for the rest of your life. Leapies are special. In a superhuman kind of way. Some heros are born with a gift, and leapies are definitely born with something special.
Other heroes acquire their powers, like, for instance, through being bitten by a radio-active spider.
Which very neatly brings me back to my itching palm. This Leap Year could be the start of great things for me, after all...

The End

So it's over.

Without getting overly dramatic, my clinic is finished. Game Over. No reboot. I left there this morning 5 minutes too late. I just had to hang around a little longer to prolong the anguish of leaving. I took a photo over my shoulder as I drove away. No tears. No remorse. No emotion. Only memories.
Now I have TONS of STUFF filling my study (which, thankfully, has a door that I can pull shut) and then there is the other little matter of the LOADS of STUFF in my car. The TONS of STUFF in the study will not allow the LOADS of STUFF from the car any residential space. And so I am stuck with the quandary of what to do with all my STUFF. I may have to drive around for a while with LOADS of STUFF keeping me company, until I have had a chance to sort out the TONS of STUFF and somehow arrange a suitable storage solution for both.
So I have my work set out for me for the next while.
As for how I'm feeling... I'm feeling 'Unemployed', which, I believe, is a pretty common emotion in South Africa, so I am not alone. Unemployed, but by no means jobless. A mom's work, after all, is never done. (Oh, and did I mention the LOADS of STUFF I have to take care of?)
It was remarked that today would be the start of a new chapter for me, a turning over of a new leaf. But really, it feels more like something has ended. There is no beginning here, just the completion of a season. The rest continues, and I am able to focus my attention on that which has not been my primary absorption for the longest time. I am relieved. This is the right thing for me.

Two more sleeps

By Thursday afternoon, I will no longer be small-business owner, midwife, lactation consultant, childbirth educator. It is then that my role of chief cook and bottle-washer will resume in ernest. I feel everything: scared, exhilarated, sad, delighted, angry, relieved, envious, at complete peace, worried, convinced, stressed, satisfied, surreal, alive. Confused? A bit.
It was suggested that my new role be titled "Domestic Goddess" - sounds so exotic! I may have to pierce my belly button (again) and wear chiffon, burn incense while I scrub the bathrooms, have perfect make-up for the ironing drill and keep a crystal crown balanced on my forehead while I concoct gourmet meals for my little family. Must say, I still prefer the label: "Stay-At-Home-Mom". That title doesn't expect excellence or day-long radiance, a challenge I am sure I could never keep up with.
I am planning a low key Friday - I had hinted at staying in bed all day and getting this whole letting go of my work thing out of my system, but that was met with a fair amount of dismay. Will get up, dress and feed the kids, take them to school, drive past work out of habit and then... I will go watch a movie. On my own. Alone. With a BIG box of popcorn.

Through a child's eyes

Yesterday was a fairly standard weekend day for our family. We lazed around a bit, popped in at the shops a bit, painted the garden wall a bit (falls under home maintenance which happens on most weekends), watched videos a bit, swam a bit. Really nothing glamourous or overly exciting. Bedtime is also usually a low-key event in our home.

Which is why it puzzled me so when I tucked my kids in bed last night and found my eldest with tears in her eyes.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

She bit her bottom lip. It was quivering, tears spilling over her gorgeous long lashes. Seeing her like that what absolutely heart-wrenching. Everything in me ached and longed to fix whatever horrible problem had thrown her into this emotional state. 

"I wish," she sniffed, "that today would still go on some more." Her body shuddered as she buried her wet face into my shoulder.

I held her close, rocked her and said "Tomorrow will be another day. Why are you so sad?"

"Because," she whispered, "today I had more fun than I have ever had. It was my nicest day."

To me it was just another day, to her it was her nicest one ever. What she had seen in it, I will never know, but she didn't want it to end.

I seldom long for a never-ending day. When supper's done and the dishwasher is whirring through its load, I am only too relieved that the day is over. All I want to do at the end of the day is fall into bed - don't talk to me, don't look at me, don't touch me - this shop is closed.

What T-bird was doing, I realise, is something beautifully characteristic of little children - Living In The Moment. Not caring about the exhaustions of yesterday or the responsibilities of tomorrow, but enjoying each moment in its perfect entirety. Holding onto the seconds, minutes and hours that make her happy.

Wish I could be more like that.

Feeling French

After years of failed musical acquirement due to animated audio-visual purchasing excursions (Translation: walking into a CD shop with the aim of buying a CD, but leaving with a Disney DVD), I have very recently (Translation: yesterday) become the proud owner of the Edith Piaf Platinum Collection (Translation: lots of songs by a frenchwoman with too much phlegm in her throat).

I am pleasantly surprised. Not only by her powerful talent, but by how much I am enjoying her deeply emotional music. Who would've thunk that I would be hip-swinging and toe-tapping to lyrics (and melody, of course) that I don't understand? 

In broadening my knowledge on my latest commodity, I was pleased to see that "La Vie en Rose" a movie depicting the life of The Little Sparrow, is soon to be released (June 2008). 

Have been inspired to go a little french. Will start by gargling with honey to improve my articulation. Also need to get me a baguette now and then. No more straight coffees for me, thank you! I prefer a cafe au lait! 

Might also start "ey"ing words ending in "et". The obvious french words that are not pronounced the way they are written are, for instance: ballet, fillet, buffet, caberet. You with me? I shall now use a few newly "frenchisized" words of this nature in a comprehensive sentence - brace yourself: 

I regrey to interprey this snippey of news: an ultravioley bulley ricocheted off the cabiney causing your pey ferrey to forgey the pickpockey who stole your clariney from your jackey.

Adieu.