Raising Teenagers is Like Nailing Jelly to a Tree

School holidays are starting tomorrow.  I have stocked up on wine and informed everyone who knows me that I am available for coffee/lunch/anything that will give me a couple of hours break from being a taxi driver with an onboard ATM and fast food outlet.

I have very generously offered the Alien a couple of really awesome activity options available during the holidays.  The ungrateful eye-rolling and “Ag Maaaa” was all the thanks I got.  Fine!

I have found a solution which will hopefully elicit at least an "Oh Cool" response from my darling Alien...

Is there a Doctor in the House?

This was the subject of an e-mail I sent out to all my friends who live in Durban North.  I was gatvol with my doctor and was looking for another “quack” to give my hard-earned Rands to.

Just like with mechanics, plumbers and electricians,  we do not question doctors because they are so very qualified and clever and can sprout words that make absolutely no sense what so ever to us.  I strongly object to being treated like an ignoramus and so I make sure I do my research (thank you, Google) before and after every qualified person appointment.

So, the Alien had a cough.  No big deal I hear you say, except the cough continued for months. Our now ex-GP treated me like I was a neurotic, overprotective, Munchausen by proxy freak. 

A general warning: Don’t mess with any mother with more than 1 brain cell, clever people!  We are genetically programmed to protect our young. We will kill for our offspring even if they are teenagers.

Once ex- GP finally started taking my concerns seriously I was exposed to the overwhelming and scary concept of spending money quicker than you can earn it.  How do these specialists and laboratories decide on their exorbitant prices? Are they based on their Mercedes and Ferrari repayments?

After 3 weeks of emptying my purse, bank balance and life savings, selling a kidney and gaining shares at the Pharmacy besides the frustration of not knowing what was wrong with the Alien - I have a healthy daughter and a newfound respect for radiographers.  Doctors and specialists do not even look at the “pictures” that radiographers take. They base their decisions purely on the reports the radiographers send them (and how much money they need for their next overseas vacation)

To the folk who took such ...errr...revealing photos of my daughter, you are my heroes. You may have the crappiest selection of ancient magazines in your waiting room but you were the voice of tangible, understandable reason through the medical nightmare I have just emerged from.  A bargain at the price. 

Friday Follow

I was seriously excited/honoured/chuffed to be featured in "A Daft Scots Lass" blog yesterday. All the usual suspects were there - The Alien, Chicken Man, The Furry 4 and Ama Glug Glug Wine Club.
Thank you Gillian!

 

Time Out

I seem to have been out and about quite a bit lately what with networking functions, client appointments, wine club and book launches. This is a good thing as it gives my failing eyesight a break from staring at my computer screen.

On Friday I attended the much anticipated Sunflower Fund/ Mums Mail Very Vintage High Tea. The ladies really pull out all the stops to dress up for this event. I am not a great theme dresser-upper but the theme afforded me the opportunity to wear my wedding dress again. My bit for recycling done for the year.

As always – great entertainment, good food, seriously impressive lucky draw prizes (no, I did not win) and the best goody bag ever. Well done to Alice Leah and the Mums Mail team.

On Sunday I went to a concert. A concert for teenager types. What was I thinking?! If the Alien ever says I don’t do anything for her, I shall remind her about this concert. A band called Goodluck was opening for the main act which was Locnville – those young lads with freakishly deep voices. It was at the Chris Saunders Park in Umhlanga which Chicken Man did not even know existed. He needs to get out more often, clearly.

After cussing and cursing in a queue for over an hour thanks to poor organisation at the gates – we finally got in to the park. Although a group of some of my favourite friends were there, we selfishly pitched our camper chairs as far away from the stage as possible. I was hoping the volume would be softer there. That didn’t really happen.

But what did happen is that Chicken Man and I had a wonderful afternoon in the sun together, sipping liquid refreshments and munching on the picnic items I had packed, whilst watching the passing parade of today’s youth. The Alien and her friend only appeared when nourishment was required.

It made me realise just how little quality time Chicken Man and I have together. A problem that I am sure a lot of busy, modern day couples face? Most weekends he is taking countless phone calls and stressing out about trucks, deliveries and blah blah and usually ends up going into the office. I am always listening with half an ear as I continue working on my laptop.

No phones and no laptop. No talking about chickens or social media. Just 2 relaxed old folks enjoying surprisingly good music amongst the shorts and shiny locks of the energetic, bright-eyed Goodluck and Locnville fans.

Land Invaders 0 – Jasmine 1 (Finally)

As I sit working, my lounge is filled with the fragrance of my Jasmine creeper. It is the most beautiful, uplifting smell. It reminds me of my years living in Johannesburg where Jasmine grows like a weed.

I am not sure if Jasmine likes growing in Durban much because it has taken over 5 years for it to bloom. Having said that – I know that the blame for its ridiculously slow growth is not just the climate. The daily land invasions are the main culprits.

The land invaders i.e. the troops of vervet monkeys who visit, either first thing in the morning or about 4 in the afternoon, used to love eating the tiny jasmine buds. The poor creeper did not stand a chance against the sheer number of monkeys enjoying a post paw-paw snack.

My garden has about 6 paw-paw trees and a guava tree. Not that I ever eat either the paw-paws or the guavas. I leave the fruit for my cheeky, uninvited guests in the hope that this will discourage them from jumping into the kitchen and helping themselves to bread, bananas and anything else edible they can find at Alma’s Kitchen Restaurant. I do not feed them yet they ignore the bills for the buffet menu they have helped themselves to.

I want to hate them, particularly when they tear apart the garbage bag and throw stuff about looking for tasty titbits. How can I hate these animals with their human-like traits?

Before the arrival of Roxy – the monkeys were bolder and took complete advantage of my hospitable nature. Whilst watching TV one afternoon (Animal Planet of course) I thought Cuddles was lying on the floor next to my chair. I then realised it was a monkey, sitting next to me, engrossed in the Animal Planet programme I was watching.

I looked back and there they all were. The whole troop was parking off on our outdoor furniture, watching TV and waiting for afternoon tea to be served!