Two weeks ago, my husband and I and an incredible committee of people hosted 350 entrepreneurs for a week in Cape Town. It was sensational and exhausting all at once. Lectures all day. Parties every night. I am excessive by nature, so 'pacing myself' is always something that I suck at. Suffice it say that on Night #1, I was dancing on the speakers to Goldfish, shouting "Jaeger-bomb!" In true Type A style though, I didn't miss a lecture, so I came home knackered.
This weekend past, my mom got married, so on Friday night, we hosted a pre-wedding dinner for 35 people at our home. On Saturday night, we went to a friend's 40th and on Sunday, it was all love, marriage and a lot of Champagne.
As you can imagine, I woke up this morning with a swollen brain, a toxic liver and a mountain of work to catch up on. As you can also imagine, after this crazy weekend, my fridge was bare, so when I collected Liam and his friend and sidekick Cameron from school, I thought it would be efficient to take them for a milkshake and do the Woolworths shop.
Fuck me dead. At the best of times, the two of them are a handful, but today, with no liver enzymes left and the kind of exhaustion that makes your veins tired, I was in no state to deal with what these two little buggers had in store for me.
Liam and Cameron have been BFF's since they were 2. I love Cameron (he is a hugely lovable child) and I am mad about his mom, but both he and Liam are a combination of pure, unbridled testosterone and marshmallow hearts that are easily bruised. The two of them are like a paediatric version of Roald Dahl's 'The Twits" - madly in love and then oftentimes, just mad.
So we drove to Killarney with the usual backseat banter:
"Mommy, Cameron's not sharing."
"Liam!! I'm not your friend now. Jo - I wanna go home." (starts sobbing)
11 seconds pass
"Liam - let's scream."
"Ok. I'll count to 3 and then we scream...1, 2, 3..aaaaeeeee&&&********" (this was repeated at least a dozen times until I had developed severe tinnitus - Cameron is extremely loud and Liam shrieks like a mangled bird of prey)
"Jo - smell my stinky lawyers."
"Cameron's got stinky lawyers and a fart brain poo head!"
"NO LIAM!!!! Jo - Liam said I'm a poo head!"
After we had negotiated who got to ride the trolley and who got to walk alongside, I endeavoured to complete my weekly shop with focus and precision. Twas not to be. The two of them screeched through the aisles in an episode of what can only be described as pure mania. Because this situation was not new to me, I did what all good mothers would do: I pretended they weren't mine.
Then we got to the queue. This is where it really must be said: screw you Woolworths.
"Jo - can I have chewing gum?"
"No."
"Mommy - can we get Ben 10 chocolates?"
"Forget it."
"Jo - please can we have these sweets?"
"Definitely not."
When their attempt at hyper-glycaemia failed, they tried a new tactic: bashing the gentleman's trolley behind us and then bursting into fits of laughter. The problem with the queue is that you can't pull the "They're not mine" tactic.
By the time we reached the cashier, I had succumbed to some gummy sweets and strategically placed each child on a tile on the floor (with a tile between them) and told them to eat their sweets while I paid for my shopping. Not 20 seconds later, they were stoning the mannequin behind them with their sweets, shouting all sorts of juvenile obscenities about said-mannequin's poo and farts.
You need nerves of steel and a robust sense of humour to mother boys. I'm lucky. I have both. And if I'm totally honest, I love naughty boys. They are rough and real and exuberant and I wouldn't have it any other way.
But I won't be telling The Twits that. :)
Monday, November 22, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Don't ever drink vodka with real Russians
On Friday evening, we had a few Russian folk for dinner. I finished working at about 17h00 and still needed to bath and feed the children before even contemplating dinner for a party of 10. Fortunately, my uber-capable mate Romy popped by and did what all good best friends do: shredded basil, char-grilled broccoli and drank Chardonnay.
By the time our guests had arrived, I was a trifle strung out. Ben was thankfully asleep, but Liam was adamant that he wanted to "spend time with the Russians". Admittedly, I'd also had a hugely heavy week with a family crisis that had me crying like a girl, so by Friday, I really just wanted to get shit-faced.
And shit-faced I was.
After quaffing 3 glasses of a charming Champagne, 3 glasses of Meerlust Rubicon and then 2 glasses of a delightful Pinot Noir (the name of which escapes me because at this point, I was well and truly liquored), I decided that it was high time that we all sampled the vodka that our Comrades had gifted us.
I've always been quite partial to vodka and like to think I can handle it well, but jeezez-mary-and-joseph-stalin, that Russian stuff is like jet fuel. Four shots later, I was being carried around my garden over the shoulder of an ex-marine from Texas (true story), dancing barefoot with some Dutch bloke I don't know and compulsively offering koeksisters to the Russians, who by this stage, were sitting quietly in my lounge, mute and most likely appalled.
Suffice it to say that it's Sunday night now, and I still feel like I've been poisoned by a Bolshevik.
I'm not sure how Russian/South African bilateral relations are going, but I'm almost certain they were trying to kill us. Or maybe I just drank too much.
By the time our guests had arrived, I was a trifle strung out. Ben was thankfully asleep, but Liam was adamant that he wanted to "spend time with the Russians". Admittedly, I'd also had a hugely heavy week with a family crisis that had me crying like a girl, so by Friday, I really just wanted to get shit-faced.
And shit-faced I was.
After quaffing 3 glasses of a charming Champagne, 3 glasses of Meerlust Rubicon and then 2 glasses of a delightful Pinot Noir (the name of which escapes me because at this point, I was well and truly liquored), I decided that it was high time that we all sampled the vodka that our Comrades had gifted us.
I've always been quite partial to vodka and like to think I can handle it well, but jeezez-mary-and-joseph-stalin, that Russian stuff is like jet fuel. Four shots later, I was being carried around my garden over the shoulder of an ex-marine from Texas (true story), dancing barefoot with some Dutch bloke I don't know and compulsively offering koeksisters to the Russians, who by this stage, were sitting quietly in my lounge, mute and most likely appalled.
Suffice it to say that it's Sunday night now, and I still feel like I've been poisoned by a Bolshevik.
I'm not sure how Russian/South African bilateral relations are going, but I'm almost certain they were trying to kill us. Or maybe I just drank too much.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Why offering your child a marshmallow might be the most important thing you ever do.
In th 1960's, a researcher from Stanford University wanted to test the relationship between self-discipline and long term success.
So he teased a bunch of hungry 4 year olds.
He offered them a choice: one marshmallow right now or two if you can wait 15 minutes - a virtual eternity for a pre-schooler. About a third of the kids hoovered the marshmallow before taking a breath, a third waited a bit, but couldn't manage the 15 minutes and about a third waited the full time and earned their 2 marshmallows. This last group struggled. Some of them licked the table. Some sang songs. Some danced. But they waited. No matter what it took, they waited.
The study was a longitudinal one, so the same kids were reviewed at age 14 and age 24.
The results were amazing: the children that had resisted the marshmallows for the full 15 minutes were ultimately (and statistically significantly) more positive, more self-motivated, more persistent and determined when life threw them a curveball and naturally, better able to delay gratification in pursuit of long term goals. Even more significantly, they had more successful marriages, earned more money and were happier with their careers. They were even healthier than the marshmallow-scoffers.
Blows your mind right?
So naturally, after reading the study, I grill Liam in the car:
"If I said you can watch one episode of Diego now, or 2 episodes if you wait until after supper, what would you choose?"
"Two after supper."
So far so good.
"If I said you can have a delicious sucker from my handbag right now, or you can have two suckers if you wait until tomorrow after school, what would you choose?"
"Hmmm. I don't know."
"Think about it. One sucker now in the car or 2 suckers tomorrow when I fetch you."
"Two suckers tomorrow when you fetch me."
Halle-fucking-lujah!
But because I am obsessive compulsive, Type A and according to a counsellor I recently met, "completely fucking bonkers", I am now uber-focused on flexing Liam's delayed gratification muscle. The only thing I don't make him wait for is to pee...because that would not be cool.
Kids today don't wait for anything. It's a now-generation and it's unnerving. They don't have to wait until they're home to make a phone call. They don't have to go to a bookstore to buy a book. They don't have to wait 3 weeks while the Post Office snail-mails the letter from their granny. The Internet (and god bless it) has made us compulsive and impatient and unimaginative and almost totally reliant on external sources of stimulation.
I'm convinced that this instant gratification is related to ultimate substance abuse, anxiety and depression. Celebs are the extreme. The 'too-much-too-soon' crowd inevitably land up with alcohol-monitoring bracelets on their ankles and court appearances. And they're bloody miserable.
For what it's worth, I think kids should learn to wait. They should learn not to interrupt while mom's on the phone. They should have to wait their turn. They should wait for (and earn) privileges. They should have to hold onto that sucker all afternoon until 18h32 when dinner is over...and then eat it. And not because mom's a militant wench (although I think there's a place for that side of mom too), but because mom knows, either intuitively or because Stanford said so, that delayed gratification is one of the most important things kids can learn.
As for me, it's way too late. I'm going to pour a glass of wine. :)
So he teased a bunch of hungry 4 year olds.
He offered them a choice: one marshmallow right now or two if you can wait 15 minutes - a virtual eternity for a pre-schooler. About a third of the kids hoovered the marshmallow before taking a breath, a third waited a bit, but couldn't manage the 15 minutes and about a third waited the full time and earned their 2 marshmallows. This last group struggled. Some of them licked the table. Some sang songs. Some danced. But they waited. No matter what it took, they waited.
The study was a longitudinal one, so the same kids were reviewed at age 14 and age 24.
The results were amazing: the children that had resisted the marshmallows for the full 15 minutes were ultimately (and statistically significantly) more positive, more self-motivated, more persistent and determined when life threw them a curveball and naturally, better able to delay gratification in pursuit of long term goals. Even more significantly, they had more successful marriages, earned more money and were happier with their careers. They were even healthier than the marshmallow-scoffers.
Blows your mind right?
So naturally, after reading the study, I grill Liam in the car:
"If I said you can watch one episode of Diego now, or 2 episodes if you wait until after supper, what would you choose?"
"Two after supper."
So far so good.
"If I said you can have a delicious sucker from my handbag right now, or you can have two suckers if you wait until tomorrow after school, what would you choose?"
"Hmmm. I don't know."
"Think about it. One sucker now in the car or 2 suckers tomorrow when I fetch you."
"Two suckers tomorrow when you fetch me."
Halle-fucking-lujah!
But because I am obsessive compulsive, Type A and according to a counsellor I recently met, "completely fucking bonkers", I am now uber-focused on flexing Liam's delayed gratification muscle. The only thing I don't make him wait for is to pee...because that would not be cool.
Kids today don't wait for anything. It's a now-generation and it's unnerving. They don't have to wait until they're home to make a phone call. They don't have to go to a bookstore to buy a book. They don't have to wait 3 weeks while the Post Office snail-mails the letter from their granny. The Internet (and god bless it) has made us compulsive and impatient and unimaginative and almost totally reliant on external sources of stimulation.
I'm convinced that this instant gratification is related to ultimate substance abuse, anxiety and depression. Celebs are the extreme. The 'too-much-too-soon' crowd inevitably land up with alcohol-monitoring bracelets on their ankles and court appearances. And they're bloody miserable.
For what it's worth, I think kids should learn to wait. They should learn not to interrupt while mom's on the phone. They should have to wait their turn. They should wait for (and earn) privileges. They should have to hold onto that sucker all afternoon until 18h32 when dinner is over...and then eat it. And not because mom's a militant wench (although I think there's a place for that side of mom too), but because mom knows, either intuitively or because Stanford said so, that delayed gratification is one of the most important things kids can learn.
As for me, it's way too late. I'm going to pour a glass of wine. :)
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