A few weeks ago I went to a SoyLites candles function, and raved about the fantastic products here. These candles were the first soy-based aromatherapy candles in South Africa, and are made from natural ingredients (no pesticides plus GM free). The soft textured oil when burning the candles makes for a warm, soothing and softening massage experience.

There’s a SoyLites Baby Love massage candle, which is safe for babies – it’s unscented, and contains coconut, soy and grapeseed. The candle burns only 2 degrees higher than body temperature, so the wax won’t burn you or your baby. As wonderful as this candle is for baby massage (see tips below), it’s as equally beneficial and enjoyable for your skin too!

This week, SoyLites is giving away one SoyLite Baby Love massage candle to two readers each. To enter, simply comment below, and “like” the SoyLites Facebook page. Winners will be announced on Friday 1 June on my other blog, Rattle and Mum. If you post this to your Facebook status or retweet this, you’ll get an extra entry.

Dear Max

In three days’ time I’m leaving you (for the third time) to go run the Comrades. I’ve written a lot about running to you – how hard, rewarding, life-changing and painful it’s been for me.

It’s my 10^th time making this journey and I hope to see that finish line in time and in tact. This year has been challenging physically and mentally, and I’ve had obstacles in trying to get over myself, my injuries and a waning interest in doing the long-distance thing.

Last week I met a guy I last saw when I was at school (trust me – a long time ago) and his jaw dropped when he heard I was running the big C. See, I was a bit wayward at school and I know I’ve written about being overweight, bunking PT, not being driven, and lacking in good self esteem. And as many people do, I changed, and almost rewired my brain/motivation/confidence, thanks to some positive influences, a great therapist and the intention to just do better in life.

And each kilometre I ever run, I think of that smoking teenager, and how full of angst and confusion she was. And I think of how I rewrote my script, and guided my own way despite having lacked guides in my own life for a large part. And I’m pretty proud, and while I’m not the first or last person to ever do anything cool or beyond expectations, I still smile every time I do something that I could never at one point conceive of.

Many people at Comrades share this story, and many in life do too. It’s proof that you can and need to be your own best cheerleader, compass, guide and coach, while taking as much help as possible from the outside.

While I run on Sunday, I will think of you, of the distance I’ve travelled, and of the people who helped me get there. And I’ll remember those who couldn’t be there, those whose legacies live on in that long 89km stretch, and to my gran, who believed in me before I ever knew what I could do.

I’ll see you when I’m back. And while my legs will be sore and I won’t be able to run around much, my arms will be so strong for hugs, lifts and throws.

xMom

I have often thought how unprepared for motherhood we are when we give birth. There are articles and courses about what to pack for the hospital, what birth choices we have, and how to sterilise bottles.

But no one talks about the other stuff that counts – how difficult it is, how your marriage might suffer, how your self esteem will take a knock, how you might want your old life back, the postnatal depressions signs to watch out for.

I think we go into parenting with so little preparation and support. In fact, my gynae once told me that she feels sorry for new parents, simply because they are so ill prepared.

And once we’re battling sleep deprivation, cracked nipples and sadness, there is not a massive amount of support either – yes, there are friends, there’s social networking and there’s the postnatal depression support group (if you’ve even had time or clarity to notice the signs and seek help). But there aren’t many groups or avenues that can hold you up, give you a high five, or pass a tissue (or tequila) when you’re battling. Or even when you want your own time out.

I would love to see moms feeling less sad, worried and “alien” and wonder if there’s something I/we could do to change things. I’m really keen to get your take, so if you’re keen or able, please could you comment below:

So my questions to you:

- What do you wish you had have known about motherhood before becoming a mom

- If you got more “real facts” about parenting while pregnant, would you have paid attention?

- What messages should we be giving pregnant and new moms?

- Do you think there is more attention on shopping for baby, rather than tending to feelings, expectations?

Thanks a mil in advance

Tanya

Dear Max

I like nothing better than acting like a juvenile and playing around with you. Tickling you, chucking you around, throwing you over my shoulder, doing roly polies, and pretending I’m going to drop you.

You sometimes laugh so hard that you’re on the verge on laughter tears, and just when I pretend that I’ve tickled you for the last time, you look a little longingly, and then we start over.

And this is what it’s all about. The good moments. Hearing that laughter and seeing your eyes crinkle and light up at once. And these moments often come after tantrums, or trying and challenging experiences, or when I’m losing my way.

It’s special Mom-Max time, and it’s how I’d prefer to remember the bulk of this toddler time – rather than the tantrums, tears and tussles (and occasional vomit in my bed).

Thank you once again for showing me fun in the simplest way.

xMom

Disclaimer: No children were harmed during this playtime.

]]> http://www.dearmax.org/2012/05/and-this-is-one-of-the-best-things-about-being-a-mom/feed/ 2 http://www.dearmax.org/2012/05/stretching-separating-with-cash-and-other-things-to-do-this-weekend/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=stretching-separating-with-cash-and-other-things-to-do-this-weekend http://www.dearmax.org/2012/05/stretching-separating-with-cash-and-other-things-to-do-this-weekend/#comments Fri, 25 May 2012 08:05:34 +0000 Tanya Kovarsky http://www.dearmax.org/?p=2713

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Dear Max

There’s a lot being said and felt about “mommy wars” at the moment – from blog posts and furore over magazine covers, to passive aggressive tweeting, and snubbing. I suspect that these fractions are as old as toddler tantrums, poo nappies and 2am wake-ups, and try as we might to call them off, claim we’ll never be part of them, or roll our eyes at other moms who get involved, I reckon we’re all somehow a part.

We say we don’t judge, but we do. We say we mind our own business and our kids, but we don’t. We even try to put our heads down and do the best parenting job we can, but we’re still looking at the others – judging, envying, criticising and condemning.

And I think I know why, and I think it’s because we’re insecure about our own abilities as moms, plus we don’t get enough high-fives for the good we sometimes do. I remember getting quite irritated with moms who fed their babies jarred foods. WTF would I even care? Jarred foods are mostly perfectly good and healthy, and many are organic and free of cooties and dodgy stuff. Well, I’ll tell you why – it’s because no one was cheering me on for making everything from scratch and boiling, pureeing and freezing, and balancing every meal from Annabel Karmel’s book. And if not everyone was doing it my way, did that mean I wasn’t doing it right? I needed validation, dammit! I still do, dammit!

And do you want to know why I think women shouldn’t breastfeed their toddlers? Because I feel like a “loser” sometimes because I only breastfed for seven months. And often the only way to validate my “awesome parenting” is to knock someone else’s, even in my own head. And it’s not fair.

Just like it’s not fair that I’ve been criticised openly for being a working mom and choosing to have a caesar. Or giving you an iPad. But if I had to look really hard, those criticisms probably came from moms who were just as insecure as I am, and who wanted a cheer or a hug for making sacrifices and enduring pain. Or who couldn’t afford their own iPad.

I think so many of us are “guilty” of sparring and judging, and I think the starting point is to feel better about our parenting, to realise we’re doing the best for right now and that there’s always room for improvement, and to be confident, conscious and careful about parenting. I am pretty sure that if I felt validated, confident as a mom all the time and certain that my choices as a mother were the “right” ones, I wouldn’t have the desire to roll my eyes or judge or laugh at the others. And I remember that while I judge the others, I’m really just judging myself. And that’s not doing me much good. In fact, that sucks.

That’s my five cents (though by the time you get to read this that will probably be a relic term and an ancient monetary form).

xMom

Dear Max

I remember in “my day”, when my dad dropped me off at the movies with R5 for a ticket, popcorn, Coke and a phonecall to be fetched, he used to tell me that in “his day”, he could get a movie ticket, Coke and popcorn for just 10 cents. I used to laugh, and say “Aaaargh Dad” while rolling my eyes. And now dude, it’s my turn to tell you how it was in my day, after I was inspired by Andrea’s wonderful post about tickey boxes. (Thank you Andrea for allowing me to honour your blog post here). Just don’t roll your eyes, Max.

In my day:

- There was English TV around three times a week. The other nights were Afrikaans TV, and while we sometimes amused ourselves by watching Quincy dubbed in Afrikaans, or Trompie, it wasn’t as cool. And I mostly missed the plot. Literally. I think we even had one channel to choose from, and we had to physically go to the TV to switch it on and off, and adjust volume. Crazy!

- We had “computer studies” at school using old Macs and floppy disks. I only became proficient in typing and computers in my late teens. There was no social media nor iPads, and the best gaming we had was a big box called an Atari that came with joysticks. More crazy, huh?

- I used to acquire most of my music by taping songs on the radio. No downloads, no buying on iTunes. Much of the time, my timing was off, so my favourite song would have some of the DJ’s voice, or the beginning of an ad. The worst thing was when someone taped over your music, or if your tape got damaged. These were technical problems of the time.

- Our afternoons were spent walking to the shops, buying a chocolate for 50c, swimming for hours, building tents with blankets, baking biscuits, baking ShrinkyDinks (I’m delighted to know these still exist), dressing up, riding bikes, running around and having secret adventures in the garden. I don’t remember much being switched on when I got home from school.

- Cellphones? WTF were those?

- There were no 4x4s. Imagine that?!? Families of three, four and five were able to safely and effectively get from point A to B and even go on holidays without a big vehicle.

- We ate green and orange stuff without guilt or knowledge that there was anything potentially dodgy in them. Smarties came in the most awesome bright colours. Now they’re dull. There were no organics or foods free of anything. And I don’t remember anyone having food allergies or intolerances then.

- Without social media and cellphones, we did a lot of speaking face to face, and I yakked a lot on the phone to my friends. Imagine that? The only way to communicate was to speak! And I used to write letters to my friends in Cape Town. Handwritten letters. On pretty stationery. I even had penpals overseas.

I can’t conceive of how things will change in 10 and 20 years’ time, but I suspect we might be having a bit of a chuckle about how things were when you were a toddler and preschooler. And laughing at pictures of our “relic” iPads and iPhones, and sighing at the old memory of those memorabilia – Angry Birds.

Yours in nostalgia,

xMom

Dear Max

As I write this draft, it’s 10pm and word has it you’re still awake at your dad’s house. But more about your late-night habits in another post.

It’s been a week of learning and fun for me. Here’s what it’s taught me:

- Hunter boots are extremely comfortable! (I had to order a style that was slightly more, er, expandable, to go over my, er, big calves.

- When someone disses you, sometimes it’s better to take the high road and just ignore it, after weighing things up properly.

- I spoke to a group of more than 200 women at the #WeLead conference about blogging. And you know they say you should picture crowds naked when you’re presenting or public speaking, well, that doesn’t work for me. Better to look the challenge in the eye. (on that note, I do hope no public speaker ever pictures me naked. OMG).

- Ranting on Twitter is not becoming. I know because I did it several times this week (sorry Two Oceans Marathon and Vodacom). But if I’m going to rant, I will rave when it’s due, which is what I did in both cases.

- I’m not really noticing the difference between the iPhone4 and iPhone4S. All that matters is all my data is back on a familiar device, and my white phone looks kick-ass with a pink cover.

- You can’t have enough diggers and trucks (have counted 9 in my car alone)

- It makes me proud to see you polite, friendly and mannered. And you’re helluva cute when you say “no please” to something you don’t want. For example: “Max, are you tired?”. “No please”. “Max, do you want to go to sleep?”. “No please”.

Thanks for keeping me on my toes and high on parenting,

xMom

Feature image via Poshglam

Dear Max

I’m not sure how or why it happened, but you hate my Kenwood Chef. There is something about it that freaks you out, makes you cry, and causes you to vomit from anxiety. I can’t explain it. I’ve only started baking regularly recently, and it’s not like you’ve had an accident or other run-in with it (or a flopped cake).

I know to do my baking when you’re not home, and yesterday you outsmarted me – I simply lined up the baking ingredients and you knew. I hadn’t even touched the Kenwood Chef (now 30 years old, and passed down by your granny) and you hollered and were genuinely upset. Sisi managed to distract you, you fell asleep from exhaustion, and I baked some kick-ass chocolate chip-peanut butter biscuits.

When I got home last night, you refused to come back to the house, happy in Sisi’s cottage where you read, played and interacted with your iPad. You did not want to come home, assumedly shit scared about coming back to the house with that machine which shall not be named. Not even the lure of choc chip-peanut butter biscuits could shift you.

Dude, please come home! Come back to your coop soon, to the place where your mother bird waits. She who birthed you (thanks to the help of Pethidine and spinal block), who fed you (not biscuits, I might add) and who wants you back in the nest. I promise not to lay out baking ingredients in front of you. Nor enter you into Masterchef one day.

Love you,

Mom

Dear Max

After a wonderful Mother’s Day yesterday (great 21km race, French toast, beautiful flowers from you, divine sushi lunch), my iPhone got stolen, straight from my handbag with you in the trolley, while I was trying to pay for parking.

The iPhone that I’ve been accused of being anti-social with (I’m not arguing), the iPhone with the hot-pink Griffin cover, the iPhone with all your games, the iPhone that connects me to work, people and what’s going on in your life when I’m not with you.

I’m in two minds about this all: one is calm, rational and sensible, while the other is a little emotional. Here’s how it works:

Mind one: it’s just a “thing”, we are both still well and healthy, at least I’m in a position in life to have a great phone, these things happen all the time, this phone is now supporting someone else, it’s replaceable and everything retrievable, I’ll survive being offline or without a phone for a few days

Mind two: I’m angry someone messed with my stuff and took something I’ve worked hard towards, I feel like an idiot for losing focus and not realising it was being taken, I worry about losing contact, I worry about all the phone admin interfering with everything I have to do. And a deeper part of me is asking if I brought this on somehow, if it’s “punishment”, or if there’s a lesson here (detach, focus on people, look after your possessions, don’t be careless).

I guess there’s no right or wrong way to feel here, so I might as well go through the motions, toying between feeling Zen about it, and like a total tosser. And smiling at the thought of a possible upgrade, while screaming out of anger in my car because I was perfectly happy with the “old” one.

I’ll laugh soon. And tweet from my new phone. And close my bag properly. And let go.

xMom