somnambulist art therapy

I should be writing about 5/5. I need to write about 5/5 - to decompress and debrief and detach myself from it (I still wake after 5 hours, thinking my sleep allocation is up - although it's much easier to fall back asleep now than it was a few days ago. I still run lists in my head, I retain a persistent feeling that there's something I should be doing ...).

But instead I'll write about yesterday evening's ASTAR art workshop, and how it aided my decompression in a way I'd not realised I'd needed.

My friend Wendy qualified as an ASTAR facilitator last year, and I've been keen to join one of her workshops ever since. I signed up for this one as soon as 5/5 finished, champing to do something creative, something for me.

On the way there I thought back through Wendy's blog posts on her ASTAR process, and her recurring discovery that the 'message', the meaning of her exploratory pieces often only revealed itself after she'd completed her evening's work - and then how often it made uncanny sense in terms of things happening in her life, or thoughts. I was excited.

I was also tired.
I knew that ideally I shouldn't have planned an evening excursion so soon. I am acutely aware of not operating on full strength yet and am paranoid (possibly overly so) of the risk of repeating last year's burnout.

But I needn't have worried. It was so gentle, so quiet. The dappled studio light softly gave way to night as Wendy's calm voice guided us through a process, my fellow students worked determinedly on their own pieces, and the guy I shared a table with was just energetic enough (dropping pastels and jumping to his feet to deliver particularly broad strokes) to inspire me.
Fueled by creativity and normal tea, I had a wonderful time.

We covered a big blank page in words. Words which resonated, inspired, or had a particular relevance to us right now. We used crayons and inks, feathers and brushes, working the words over and over until our page was textured and wet.
We had tea and let it dry.
Then we stuck our pages up on a wall, stepped back, and looked for pictures.

Instantly I found faces. Faces and expressions, eyes and mouths - my whole page was full of them.

The next hour was spent detailing them, finding loops and circles from the mostly hidden words to turn into eyes and noses, mouths and brows.

Tired and depleted at the end of it all, we were given a blank page and asked to write down the thoughts we'd had while completing the work.

So many people the last few weeks - so many egos and personalities and needs and wants. So much at stake for so many and me in the middle managing them all, taking it all into account, balancing the wants and the needs with the cans and can'ts. Pushing myself to provide it all, standing fast on my boundaries of where I cannot. People's faces searching for me in the room to solve the problem or answer the query or provide the info. All the people, all the time, asking all the things - of me. 

It's not a thing of beauty, it won't adorn my walls. But it helped me process a major aspect of the last few months, more importantly it was fun, and most importantly, it was for me.

4/5

Can you tell I've been busy?
This is not the only space I've been absent from.

I've been missing from the couch in the afternoons after school for a story and a long unhurried chat. I've been missing from the playground watching tricks on the monkey bars and catching up with the school mums.
I've been missing from the rock pools and the beaches and the dams of our normal summer hangouts.
I've been missing from the warm evenings on balconies and front stoeps with girl friends and wine.
I've been missing from the bench in the breeze in my mum's garden.
I've been missing from the couch with two dogs and a cat and my husband and a series on Netflix.
I've been missing from my life.

Job 4/5 ended today.
3 days spent inside a hotel with 300 delegates and a packed agenda. Working in a group which included men with ritual scarification, and women with scars of a different kind but not any less visible. Catching up with old activist comrades and meeting new ones. Intersecting with an age, race and gender mix well out of my norm.
Learning again how good I am at what I do, and how much I enjoy it.
4/5 was a good one.

It's the next one which is scary.

The last month I've been working two jobs, both demanding and challenging and time-pressured and complex.
I've been working two jobs which required minimum 8h a day each, and wouldn't settle for very much less than that.

One of those jobs is done, but I doubt it will make the next any less frantic.

I will still be missing for a while. My husband, my kids, my friends, my life will still have to do without me for a bit.
But tonight I will sleep.
And tomorrow I will start again.
And by the end of this month I'll have done 5/5, and I'll be back.

25 things about right now (including 3/5).

1. 3/5 didn't kill me, and it sure as hell didn't make me stronger. But it's done.
2. I hired an au pair.
3. I fired an au pair.
4. Life is too short for my kids to be unhappy. Especially not in the summer holidays.
5. Technically I have 2 days left of work, but I'm done.
6. So, so over it.
7. The big push tomorrow, the big 'putting to bed' of two, massive, growing projects until the new year.
8. The goal: out of office messages on the four different email addresses I'm managing - turn off push to phone for emails - no data use, just surfing on the home wi-fi. That's as off the grid as I can go.
9. And as I'm sizzling right in the middle of the effing grid right now, that's pretty far off.
10. I'm not sure I can do it in one day ...
11. I read this, and it reminded me to be wary of this in 2016.
12. I've developed a strategy, which presently puts me in exactly the same place I was this time last year - working hard, playing hard, pushing it. This year I'm working hard, playing hard, pushing it.

13. 3 nights on the jol last week: Thursday, Friday, Saturday - girls, girls, girls, wine, books, gifts, kids, food, clothes-swaps, G'nT's, laughing and food, and so much dancing.
14. And for 3 nights in a row I had some version of this conversation: 40 is fucking great. It really is.
15. But ja, burnout - let's not do that again.

16. Standing on the lawn in the dark with some mates, watching Kid TV.
17. TWO toad encounters in one evening and I didn't freak out! This is monumental.
18. Christmas started today. A family brunch as various people will be travelling over Christmas. (By people I mean my brothers, and by travelling I mean Thailand and Chile respectively. Bastards.)
19. We've gotten into the vibe at home too, in a nice low-key way. Mid-November. I thought this year I might just put those Christmas books out in a basket with the Xmas tree, but almost the next day Stella asked, with a sparkle in her eye, 'Are we going to open the Christmas books again Mum?'.
20. 'Of course my angel.'

21. We had 5 little friends staying over last night for the 'Slumber Party' the girls have been asking to have for weeks now.
22. My daughters' friends are becoming real people in my life - showing distinctive signs of the women they will become - I'm really enjoying it.
23. I was in a friend's teenage daughter's bedroom recently and I suddenly got so excited: teenage girl bedrooms - they are murky and marvelous, and I have two to look forward to! Secretly I still miss mine.
24. The last push - I'm going to whack it in 24 hours. I need to be on holiday. I. Must. Gather. Strength. for next year.

25. Must remain unfuckablewith.

1/5

It was never going to be a particularly easy day.

Husband had to leave for Joburg at 5am, and we'd both only be home after 8 tonight - him from up there, me from my first of 5: 5 events in 4 months.

Luckily (so, so luckily), Granny was on hand to help out - collect girls from respective schools, feed them, take them to swimming, feed them again, have them sleepover and then get them up for school tomorrow.
Last night we packed multiple outfits, snacks, the bizarre assortment of paraphernalia two little girls require to function over 24h.

We both worked late, we both struggled to fall asleep. But only one of us woke at 1am to a daughter with a sore stomach, at 3am to two dogs with full bladders, at 4am to a daughter (the same one) with sick in her hair, at 4:30am to fly across the country (okay that one was him) and again at 7 to a daughter (still the same one) with more sick in her hair.

What is that word, I pondered to myself this morning, for that thing where you have a massive, important work commitment and you find yourself scrubbing sick off a carpet? Oh right, I remember: motherhood.

And what is the word, for when you have to drop your grey and droopy child off at someone else's house because you have to go to work? Oh ja, guilt.

But in her words: 'Mum, if I can't be sick with you or Dad then Granny is the next best person in the whole world.'
Rare praise.

Poor lamb.
Apparently however, according to the text I got from Mum as my book launch babbled away successfully in the background, she rallied enough to eat some chocolate mousse before bed.

1 down. 4 to go. Oh and that thing called Christmas slap-bang in the middle. And still no au pair person.

Thank goodness I love my job!

what the what actually was that??

I was convinced I'd written a post about this, but I can't find it anywhere on the blog or in drafts so I guess that is just another sign of how stupidly out of it I've been these last ... shew, 6 weeks!

I find the phrase 'burnout' faintly embarrassing. The last time I really truly burnt out I was 25 (or thereabouts) working flat-out in the film industry, dealing with a really demanding boss and a super crazy job.
Burnout at 25 was vaguely impressive, I thought.
And as a result of it I did a lot of introspection and changed the whole direction of my career.

Burnout at nearly-40 just sounds old.

Things have been a little crazy around here right? A short (full!) break for Christmas and then on with the madness , two more shorter jobs straight after that one and then an epic birthday party and then guess what?
I got sick.
Obviously.

Pharyngitis.

I soldiered on for the wedding, sensibly getting myself on to proper drugs and feeling like a grown-up. But I was back at the doctor for more drugs 10 days later, still with glands like golf balls.
This time she gave me a Vitamin B shot too, to absolutely no affect.

3 days later, limp as a twice-dunked biscuit, I drove myself back one more time. I sat in the waiting room with my head resting against the wall, twice the receptionist asked if I'd like to lie down.

Blood pressure, blood sugar, cholesterol, anemia, glandular fever, thyroid, pregnancy etc etc etc - all results came back negative, fine, healthy.
I felt like shit.

And so the last few weeks have been. No energy, no brains, overwhelming thirst, short term memory loss, rubber limbs and sore head.
No real diagnosis except just ... fucked. And did I mention old?

I'm horrified that I haven't been able to keep the pace, somewhat ashamed that all that hard work - which I found so invigorating and energising - left me shattered and inert.

There has been some introspection (I've decided to blame the children) and some resolutions (I do need to get serious about my general health and fitness), but I refuse to contemplate a career change just yet.
I love what I do and I'm looking forward to doing a lot more of it soon.

And some more of this too!

Stronger every day - hurrah!

the other side

And just like that ... I'm here.

Back out the other side of a phenomenal week, a phenomenal job, a massively exhausting yet totally exhilarating experience.

300 delegates for 5 days in arguably the busiest week of the year in Cape Town.

(Truly, a few days before I tried to find 4 rooms in the city for some visiting guests (as a favour to one of our funders). I phoned THIRTY-EIGHT hotels, guesthouses, B'nB's - there wasn't a room to be had!)

The week was amazing. Filled with its share of challenges and near-fuck-ups and moments of glory.

We marched through the streets of Cape Town protesting unethical mining practises ...

... we went to great lengths to get the Group Photo ...

... we hosted one of the greatest women in Africa, Madam Graca Machel ...

... and we listened to the SONA chaos at what felt like the edge of the world.

There was the usual mix of divas and dramas, of scheduling crises and hysterical giggles. There was even a hilariously sad tale of a lost delegate, but I'm planning on doing a podcast about that.

And this past weekend there was a joyful return home - to two small girls who'd missed their mum, and a husband who was a total daddy hero, two mad dogs, two grumpy cats, a lake full of coots and a house full of laundry.
We're on the other side, and it's nice here.

7

It happened, of course. Despite my totally logistical burnout post-conference, and the feeling that this was one of the most slap-dash birthday parties we've ever produced, Frieda turned 7 and we had a wonderful time celebrating her.

7 is HUGE. And totally magnificent. I wrote this laaaast May, just before she turned 6, and with a couple of tweaks every word stands true. This kid is delicious.

In her Cleopatra costume we threw together literally 15 minutes before everyone was due to arrive.

The Wild Boar cake for which her father must take all the credit (although I'm the one who insisted on pinata-ing it with Smarties).

Her lovely sister who led the rousing rendition of Happy Birthday ... her sweet friends who spoiled her so generously ... MY sweet friends who came and assisted in trampoline-building and cocktail-mixing and generally made us feel loved and supported.

Birthdays are the BEST.

the first night

Tonight is the first one. The first soft, still, warm summers evening. It makes me so happy, but in a calm, almost nostalgic way.

It feels like Sunday night, this last night of September. It feels like a Sunday night at the end of a 2 week weekend. Not just because it's the last night before the 4th term starts tomorrow (back to school is very fucking cool when you're a work-from-home parent), but because the last few weeks have been so full.

I've spent the month writing for a blog project which goes live tomorrow. A blog site dedicated to breast cancer issues for the month of October. It's writing work which has come directly from blogging, and ironically from this one, not C is for Cape Town.

It's been incredibly stimulating and I've enjoyed the process immensely, although the subject matter is hugely sobering.

I was a bit side-tracked a week or so ago by getting sick though. A real nasty flu bug which wiped me out. I'm still coughing, and have just been googling all the kids meds we have in the house seeing if I can self-medicate this one. I do not feel like a GP visit (especially as I'm paying for psychoanalysis right now!) but I must be well by the weekend - I've a rock festival to attend! (I know!)

Then the school holidays hit, just 10 days long and jam packed full of action. We had 4 birthday parties in 4 days - two kiddies and two grown-up (perfect!). I baked and dressed up and sorted out gifts and meals and baby-sitters and schedules and it was all such fun, but how quickly these events recede into the distance in these crazy busy lives of ours.

Maybe it's all receded particularly quickly as I've just spent the weekend with FOUR smalls in tow (fact: being outnumbered by small children will cause brain cells to flee in indignation). My bestie's been here, with her 2.3 yr old and new 4 month old delight.

Charl was away on a bike rally so we borrowed my parent's 7 seater car and played Mormon wives for the weekend. It was completely wonderful, in a totally chaotic, nonsensical, relentless and extremely loud way.

My dear friend is right on the front line of toddler + baby craziness, a state I still remember so very well. It is incomprehensibly intense for anyone who's not been there, and such an eye-opener for me on how far I've come.

In some ways my days with the girls now are a complete walk in the park in comparison to then, although I do remind myself that it's just a new set of challenges really. But there's no doubt the physical demands on me are less, the personal space is broader and the reminder of this has left me feeling so free and, of course - because us parents are always such suckers - a little sad.

To be reminded of the exquisite purity of that moment when your hungry baby latches on to your breast. The happy grunt, the tiny hand patting you appreciatively, the eyes staring at you in gratitude, satisfaction and a little bit of what-the-hell-took-you-so-long.

I'll never feel that again, which is more than okay on every level except the deep thrum of nostalgia.

I lay next to Stella as she fell asleep tonight, my baby who seemed (and acted) like such a big girl these last few days. The night outside was soft and still, the first night, and also one of the last.

Such is life.

Hello summer.

caffeine fix(ated)

Our coffee machine died a few weeks ago. It was our first co-habiting appliance, bought in 2000 - it had a pretty good run.

Over the years, as our coffee appreciation grew, we'd started using a stove-top Bialetti to make the brew, and kept the great black behemoth of a coffee machine out purely to steam and froth milk.

Then it packed up and we were without The Foam. This was a BFP (big farking problem).

And boy, did it open a can of worms.

In the last few weeks I kid you not when I say we've spent more time talking about coffee, coffee machines, how to get the best head (shut it), beans v ground, latte art etc, than anything else.

You Tube clips have been watched, product reviews have been read. Emails have been sent, experts consulted, machines have been bought and returned, arguments have been had and coffee-drinking habits have changed significantly - all this in pursuit of the perfect cup of home-brewed coffee.

Because it seems this is the most important thing happening in our lives right now.

This afternoon, when I called Husbandguy from the shops to consult (yet again) about which type of coffee I should buy I commented (yet again) on the ridiculous amount of time and energy we were putting into this. Never mind that we're facing A MAJOR MOVE in 10 days time.

His response? Some people have religion to get them through stressful times. Some smoke, some do crosswords, some knit and some game.

We, it seems, have decided to deal with this particularly monumental moment in our lives by immersing ourselves in the dark brew.

Besides, we wouldn't be sleeping well now anyway right?

Blink. Blink.

14 dec 2010

It's going to be really shit, and I don't like to as she's such a mild-mannered happy little thing, but we're going to have to do some sleep-training soon. I can't feel like this for much longer.

7 dec 2010 (oops!*)

It's pretty busy over here. (*ja, that busy slash sleep-deprived. 6 dec. 6 dec!)

Husband's got some DIY on the go.

Frieda's making more gift tags than gifts we're likely to give. Ever.

Stella's working damn hard on pushing out some more teeth.

And I'm stuck into a few crafty Christmas projects, which makes me happy.

(Hey, anyone up north feel like sending me some red & white candy canes with which to make peppermint bark? No problem if they get crushed in transit ...
I'll return the favour with some cute African Christmas decorations. Hmmmm?)

pillow talk

I spend so much time in bed these days, but so little of it sleeping.

Last night I kept Stella in bed with us after her first wake-up (on the dot 2 hours after she'd gone to sleep). I'm not a fan of co-sleeping with anyone other than a) my husband, b) my cat or c) a very small newborn (or d) George Clooney, but that goes without saying right?), but I thought it worth a shot to see whether she slept any better.
Exactly 1 hour and 55 minutes later she started twitch, rouse, stretch and ... mewl.
Sigh.

Also, dear insomnia. Please fuck off. What makes you think it's okay to haunt a woman driven nearly demented by lack of sleep as it is?
Thanks.

One night recently Husband came to bed after me. I didn't stir. But when I next woke with Stella I brushed his arm with mine as I got out of bed and my heart stopped. His arm under the warm duvet was ice cold. I nearly puked from fright.
Turns out just before bed he'd been out at the pool, wrestling with the filtration system, up to his shoulder in the icy water. He'd obviously fallen asleep minutes before I'd woken up and I was not, thank god, lying next to his handsome corpse.

The best thing about breast-feeding? The reading. As long as I'm able to hold it with one hand (Kingsolver's Lacuna is going to have to wait a while), I'm feedin' and readin', readin' and feedin'.

The song playing on continuous loop through my head in the mornings:
Tears for Fears - Mad World

And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had

You gotta wonder right?

And finally, a short list of Consumables Enabling me to Survive this Trying Time:
- white chocolate, especially if its got Smarties innit
- coke, or sadly Tab, as satisfying in its black fizziness but failing dismally in its distinct lack of sugar and caffeine
- coleslaw - maybe it's the crunch, maybe it's the mayo, but its working for me
- an effervescent energy booster at 3pm sharp - a minute later and we're all crying by 5
- water, water, water, water
Numbers 1, 2 and 5 often get consumed in bed. Coleslaw not so much and if I were able to be in bed at 3pm I wouldn't need the f*king energy booster would I?

Lordy I can't wait for the day I'll read this post and laugh.

have I mentioned how tired I am? have I?

Seriously. So. Fucking. Tired.

Stella will be 8 months old this month. Which means for 4 months I've been sleeping really, really badly. According to some crack pediatrician I saw at some point babies often do a radical sleep pattern adjustment at around 16 weeks.

Frieda went from multiple wake-ups to sleeping blissfully through the night at approximately 14 weeks.

Stella's gone from a really good newborn sleeper to wake-every-3h-horrendo-baby at yup, about 16 weeks.

I know I've gone on about this before. Forgive me for getting a bit obsessive. I mean, it's just sleep right. Not essential for our physical, emotional and mental well-being or anything.

So two things have happened since the last time I had a bitch.

First, Stella decided waking up every 3 hours was so passe. My Mum has a theory that just when you can't bear something a moment longer, it changes. This has mostly proved true. Like now, when a week ago Stella started waking every two hours. Short wake-ups granted but every. two. hours. (I talk in single word sentences a lot these days).
4 or 5 nights of this and I was about ready to die. It's like my nights are made up of a (short) series of afternoon naps, never sinking into that deep sleep supposedly so imperative to your physical, emotional and ... etc etc etc ...

Then the second thing.
Stella got a horrible chesty flemmy coarse and painful cough.
And stopped sleeping all together.
(Ok not altogether, that would be exaggerating. She sleeps if strapped to my chest with me in an upright position. Very comfortable position for me. No really.)

It's been 2 nights.

My thoughts are as clumsy and sluggish as my writing. My humour is as dark as this post is almost-unpublishable for it's incredible boringness. My brain is as vacant as, well, a vacant thing.

The worst part about this brand of sleep-deprivation is there's no one to blame. Not the neighbour with the faulty car alarm. Not the cow waitress who clearly brought you a regular coffee and not the decaf you ordered. Not the big sister who gave the baby the cough in the first place.
And not Stella. She's not a small pink nobody anymore, she's my small girl, my daughter, my nearly-8 month old friend, and she's suffering.
And that hurts more than my dessicated eyeballs.

Chest-monkey just coughed herself awake.

This too shall pass. This too shall pass. This too shall pass. This too shall pass.

here's the thing

The thing about sinus infections.
They lurk. They irk. They prey on your depleted resources, hide when anyone's looking and then ambush you when you least expect it. One day it's blocked ears, another it's a wheeze. You think it's all unrelated, but actually it's the same sinus infection. It's been here for weeks.

The thing about resilience.
The body is an awesome thing. It can truly adapt to almost anything. The problem is not the adaption, the problem is the transition.
One can learn to function on never sleeping for longer than 3 hours at a stretch. But then you get 3 good nights in a row. The body collapses, weirdly you've never been so tired, then it adjusts, and adapts. You feel amazing.
Then the sleeplessness starts again. And while your body clock resets itself you feel so very, very old, until again it becomes the norm. And you carry on.

The thing about holidays.
They take a lot of planning. The more exciting the trip, the more planning required.
And ours is exciting. And requiring a lot of planning.

The thing about 3 year old's.
They're wily unpredictable little blighters. And money down, when you decide at 3.30 on a Friday afternoon that you simply must take your throbbing sinuses to a doctor before the weekend and beg and plead until you get an appointment for 4pm but you've got both kids so you rush around getting ready to leave and ask your eldest to please, please go and find some shoes you will walk into her room 5 seconds later to find her stark naked.
'I want to be bare Mummy.'
Of course you do.

The thing about parenting two smalls.
It's so, so time-consuming.

The thing about blogging.
I miss it.

The thing about sleep deprivation.
It fucks you.

f*ck that

At 06h05 this morning, this Sunday morning, awake with the baby after another horrendous night of multiple wake-ups and feeds and winds and bad sleep I followed the link sent by a friend to read this article, Why Parents Hate Parenting from the NY Times Magazine in July.

The title felt apt.

But what a load of shit.

Seriously the 1st world needs to get its head out of its own ass sometimes. I am sofa king over this kind of 'journalism', quoting all kinds of 'studies' into the human psyche.
And really, does anyone, anywhere, really trust stats and research groups anymore? Any twat with a theory can manipulate both to his or her own end.
And on the subject of twats, imagine spending all that time and money to train as an academic sociologist only to base your field of study on whiny privileged middle-class 1st world assholes?
Am I ranting here?

Why is it 'surprising' that parents are no happier than non-parents? Where, pray tell, did it say we should be?
Who really thinks it's odd that (according to women in, shock - horror! Texas) child-rearing rated sixteenth of a list of nineteen pleasurable things to do, rated after housework (this time their italics not mine). Try doing anything 24/7 and see how pleasurable it becomes - you wouldn't want to orgasm that relentlessly (be honest now).

I also have a problem with the assumption that happiness is our natural default state, were we all so happy farting rainbows until stinky old parenting came along and changed the flavour? Are childless people just sooooo happy all the time?

What a load of shit.

Go ahead, read the article. No really. 27 000+ people Liked it on facebook so it can't be that wrong. And it got 630+ comments so it obviously hit a nerve. Although granted lots of those are from the same guy with an axe to grind, and quite a few of them are from commenters with plunging cleavages bragging about their wanton desirable childfree lives.

I'm not even weighing in on this debate. The reasons for and against having kids are so many and varied, and so intensely personal, that to rehash this one in the public domain is too boring for words.
I'm just continually astounded at how many people in the world have the luxury to indulge this kind of naval-gazing and self-absorbed crap.
Just get out there and live you stupid privileged fucks.

Ja ok, I'm ranting. And I may not even be making sense. Blame it on the kids sleep-deprivation.

And maybe I am currently 'one of those women who were once smart and interesting but have become zombies' but I seriously couldn't wait to finish this article so I could follow the link to Man Denies Owning Bag of Crack Found in Own Butt.
Now that's more like Sunday morning reading.