Plights and confessions of South Africa's Most Completely Average Mother.

I was just looking at Raising Men and how this little blog has changed over the years. It's been a direct reflection on my life in every way. I used to write very, very personal and very, very emotional  things. I started this blog when I had Post Natal Depression after I had Benjamin, while on six months of maternity leave. Right after I was retrenched while on maternity leave. Or was it before? What actually even happened that year?

Funny, I actually didn't start Raising Men first, I started a blog called Happy Duck. I just checked and it's still there - completely abandoned. Anyway I wanted Happy Duck to be a really cool hipster / arty and creative blog about cool things, but I kept writing about the kids instead so I just pulled away and started Raising Men instead. My first post was about Benjamin in his little elf babygro, back in 2010. A few days later I wrote about that time I used a nappy as a sanitary pad and had to throw my pants in the dustbin at a shopping center. I can't read any of my old posts. I cringe and freak out at how badly written everything is and I don't recognize that girl at ALL. She was so confused, such a mess, so all over the place. Part of her is still with me, but mostly I take anti-depressants that keep me out of fights with bakeries and off the cover of Huisgenoot. Remember when Raising Men looked like this?

I can't go back and read any of my old posts because its just embarrassing. One day I'm going to print this blog to a book for my family and for the boys. I've promised myself that I won't edit anything and that I'll keep all the details and emotions honest and authentic. Even the broken bits. The ones I remember writing with hot tears bleeding down my face - the ones I typed while jumping up and down in the same place. It's all there. It's mostly in my drafts. It's everything I can remember. Remember when my blog looked like this?

Then I think about this mommy blogger competition and that I would like to win. But then most days I think I should not have a parenting blog at all. I should change the title of my blog to "TRYING to Raise Men" because that is more accurate.

I mean, my kids throw tantrums sometimes. Man alive they can fight. Noah doesn't listen to me (or anyone) half the time, Benjamin is allergic to cleaning or packing anything away. Most days I can't get them to put pants on and every other day I get hit with "I'M NOT YOUR FRIEND ANYMORE!" Some nights I give them cereal for dinner, I am like a troll in the mornings when they try wake me up for juice (again) before six am and sometimes I am just a shoutey mom. Sometimes I give them Stopayne instead of Panado because I know that they fall asleep that little bit sooner and faster on it. Sometimes I lie to them. Like what really happened to that Kit-Kat they saw in the fridge. Sometimes I tell them that their arms and toes will fall off if they don't bath and sometimes I tell them that if they aren't good boys, someone will come and take all their toys and games away. I give time-outs, I give smacks on naughty bums, I threaten, I shout but holy smokes on toast...

I love. 

I could spend hours, days and lifetimes talking to them. Just them. Why they think it gets dark at night, how big the world is and how much money they think a house costs. We argue about who loves whom the most and we play. I love holding their hands when we sit on the couch watching a movie together. I love reading them stories and watching their little faces get excited. I love breathing them in while they sleep holding on to me and I love playing with their soft little boy hair every chance I get. I can't stop touching them, hugging them, holding them. I love that they hide behind my legs when they get shy and I fuss over their every little accomplishment. I refuse to accept when they say they can't do something. I teach them to love by letting them feel it. I tell them that I love them so much my heart hurts and somehow amongst the shouting and threatening we've creating two incredibly affectionate, gentle and compassionate children (so far)

I love joking with them like telling Benjamin that I saw a real crocodile in the bath last night. He genuinely believed me. Then I told him I caught the crocodile. Later we made some pizzas and after dinner I asked him if the crocodile on his pizza tasted nice and he was in HORROR. Noah laughed so much. The boys are completely silly, full of mischief and adorable.

I'm not patient enough. I don't have enough energy, enough time, enough resources. I have lost control over my own temper and I have let hurtful words slip without a moment's hesitation. I've put on too many movies and not read enough books, I've said no to a lot of things I could have said yes to like ONE more ride on the swing or ONE more turn on their bike. I've said it was bedtime when it really wasn't. 

Despite all my flaws and shortcomings I KNOW I am a good mother. Nobody cares about the boys more than Graeme and I do - nobody knows them better. Nobody could ever be as in love and infatuated than I am every single day when I greet their bone-crushingly beautiful faces. Am I SA's Best Mother? Oh hell no. SA's Best Mommy Blogger? Maybe. At least in the top three right? Top five? SOMEBODY TELL ME YOU LIKE ME. 

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