getting away and unwind: quality time with family

Most people, who are parents, would recognize and identify the feeling of anticipating what life will be like when your child is born.

Then, one day, you wake up from the trance everyday domesticity cast upon you, you watch your child and wonder “Just how did he/she grow up to be so big, already? What happened to everything I planned on doing with my child? What about the treasured moments I held out expectations of?”

“How could I miss out on making that newborn baby plaster cast of my baby’s hand and foot? How could I miss out on collecting ANY of those mementos I looked forward to sigh for and display.?”

Moments passed and lost forever. You realize you can’t turn back the clock and live those hours, days, weeks, months, years over again.

When I look back, what I regret the most is the hurry. During those flustered musts and doings we lived through, in order to let the kids participate in as much as possible, I feel like we just briefly took a glance, rather than experience. We didn’t calm down to enjoy life... we just lived it.

But when on vacation, after that first week when I learned how to lower my shoulders and put timeschedules aside, I am grateful to say we unwind. We took the time to relax and just inhale the spirit of just being at ease.

Or, did we? I can’t say I remember much from our vacations. Not when I really think back. I remember what I see when looking through our photo albums. Albums where I have glued in programs, tickets, tiny objects picked up here and there, along with the pictures, where careful notes are written down... at least on those first four pages.

The panic when packing and you have to explain your kid he can’t bring an entire suitcase stuffed with toys, and definitely not the teddybear the size of himself (never plays with it, either, but found it when packing and just felt he needed it for the trip).

The passports just disappear 10 minutes before you HAVE TO rush out the doors, and just in time you find them in that small pocket in your bag, where you always keep them when travelling.

I have a special bag when travelling; it has room for everything, and then some, and is very convenient.

Being a mum means that you end up being a beast of burden. Even though all the kids have their own rucksack, I end up with all the waterbottles and small matters they collect and buy.

It stresses me to always carry a heavy bag, when what I really want to do is to just carry my camera, and keep cash and credit card in a pocket. Especially when I am always trying to keep track of where my lovely ones are at all times. (I am not a tall person so after three days my neck feels four inches longer than it does the rest of the year.) And my eyes get that wandering, searching gaze you recognize all parents on holidays by.

The feeling of being disoriented is intensifies by the numerous free, and bought, maps which you get hold on to get where you want and do and see what you want at site. They are very seldom updated, and toilets nearby are forgotten about. Everybody with kids knows how important it is to know where those facilities are at... they are needed NOW, preferably ten minutes ago.

Those things have completely slipped my mind... also the fact that I never look sharp when travelling with my family: sticky sunscreen, melting ice cream and sand everywhere are never becoming.

Just struck me now: the things I have no pictures of, but which characterize our holidays the best, are bags, maps and wet wipes...

a bodily work of art

Not long ago I heard about a man who was granted a substantial financial compensation and a divorce, in court, because his wife had not told him that she had gone through several plastic surgeries to get her looks.

 http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/weird-news/man-sues-wife-for-being-ugly-1415695

Suppose it was only a question of time untill this would happen. We have an old joke saying “This couple got married in Las Vegas, and the next morning the man died from an heartattack caused by shock: he woke up with a strange woman he had never seen before... during the night she had removed her make up”.

Well, make up, or “war paint” as my students call it (teenage boys can be gruesome in their judgements), has been around for centuries and is one of the more common accepted  ways to improve appearance.

We are so preoccupied with looks; So desperately chasing youth, that we choose to ignore what consequenses our actions might have, not only to ourselves but to those we include in our lives as well.

A quick search on the internet informed me that plastic surgery may sound appealing but:

· the procedures are costly.
· a considerable amount of time that is needed for recovery from some of the procedure
· risk that you might not be happy with the results
· there could be complications.
· Some of the cons or side effects are so dangerous and everlasting that they can even lead to death.
· risks of plastic surgery include wound commotion of overlying skin and infections.
· breast augmentation include bleeding of the gel, encapsulation and the prospect of loss of silicone in the body.
· liposuction include discoloration, depigmentation, numbness, bruising and pain.
· Facelift plastic surgery also involves various side effects such as nerve damage which makes the person's face insensible.
· mild side effects such as feeling pain in the affected part
· inflammation which can disappear with the time.

There are so many women and men out there with perfect curves and no wrinkles, looking stunning with every accessory right... apart from the non-existing smile. The personality hidden behind an expressionless face.

I understand why it is beautiful, but...

In my grandparents’ faces I always saw history written in every line, wrinkle and grey hair. The goodness of them beaming from their hundred different smiles.

Their worries and joys showing in their lines and wrinkles around their eyes.

I believe that life puts its mark on a person, both good and bad. Maybe it is a good thing to erase your past from your appearance, but I myself find something recognizable and soothing in that history. It is where I come from.

I also think I would be saddened if my parents altered their looks because they did not like their features.... which they passed on to me.

Through the years we have seen, in media, how devastating the outcome of plastic surgery can be, but the drive to look good makes us still wanting to take the risk. Because, after all, there are some great results as well.

Personally I know seven people, who I mingle and talk with on a regular basis, who have gone through gastric surgery in order to lose weight. Two of them even gained weight in order to qualify for the operation.

I think about it as medicine has made it possible for them to avoid taking action on their own lack of self dicipline.

Then, because their weightloss is so extreme, they get surgery to remove the tracks the weightloss caused. Stomach, back, thighs, arms and boobs are tucked in, tightened and sculptured to become as perfect as can possibly be.

In all fairness and honesty it is not my problem, not an issue I should preoccupy myself with. Their lives and doings are their concern and yet it affects me in ways I never expected:

We used to have good talks about nothing and everything. Now it seems like every topic can be related to bodysize, size in clothes, scars, elastic bandages and gordles. And calories. Not lack of calories in food and diets, but the relief they can eat anything delicious with no thoughts on the risk of gaining weight.

The other day I talked to someone who have chosen the opposite solution to how to both rebel against the commercial ideal  of what a body should look like and commercial dieticians.

ok, I have been watching body building posing... I am soooooo, soooooo glad we all have different hobbies. Even way back when I had a fairly ok body I never displayed myself with such ease... and never to anyone else than friends at the beach. But.... it is still fascinating to watch... I think I discovered my triceps too (as I in secret tightened a couple of muscles.. just to compare, of course, not the posing drill)!

Bodybuilders have their own standards to what a body should look like. The sculptured muscles with defined lines and proportions are goals reached by dicipline, hard work, time and dedication.... and fake tan.

In my world this has always been some kind of a shady sport, not even worthy being called a sport, with lots of illegal drugs and methods connected to the miljeu. At least that is what we hear, when it is talked about. We know better, don’t we? Effective methods of cheating can be found in all kinds of human lifestyles.

I have to admit that a fit and toned body does look better than my pale, untrained self. I suppose we were not really made to live lives as couch potatoes... I think perhaps it is time to find my own golden compromise.

“Beautiful young people are accidents of nature, But beautiful old people are works of art”

~ Eleanor Roosevelt ~

The One

"Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that you’ve never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and actually want to hear more. You share hopes for the future, dreams that will never come true, goals that were never achieved and the many disappointments life has thrown at you. When something wonderful happens, you can’t wait to tell them about it, knowing they will share in your excitement. They are not embarrassed to cry with you when you are hurting or laugh with you when you make a fool of yourself. Never do they hurt your feelings or make you feel like you are not good enough, but rather they build you up and show you the things about yourself that make you special and even beautiful. There is never any pressure, jealousy or competition but only a quiet calmness when they are around. You can be yourself and not worry about what they will think of you because they love you for who you are. The things that seem insignificant to most people such as a note, song or walk become invaluable treasures kept safe in your heart to cherish forever. Memories of your childhood come back and are so clear and vivid it’s like being young again. Colours seem brighter and more brilliant. Laughter seems part of daily life where before it was infrequent or didn’t exist at all. A phone call or two during the day helps to get you through a long day’s work and always brings a smile to your face. In their presence, there’s no need for continuous conversation, but you find you’re quite content in just having them nearby. Things that never interested you before become fascinating because you know they are important to this person who is so special to you. You think of this person on every occasion and in everything you do. Simple things bring them to mind like a pale blue sky, gentle wind or even a storm cloud on the horizon. You open your heart knowing that there’s a chance it may be broken one day and in opening your heart, you experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible. You find that being vulnerable is the only way to allow your heart to feel true pleasure that’s so real it scares you. You find strength in knowing you have a true friend and possibly a soul mate who will remain loyal to the end. Life seems completely different, exciting and worthwhile. Your only hope and security is in knowing that they are a part of your life."
— Bob Marley

Fish in a fishbowl...

I used to have goldfish. Two orange, lovely looking fringetails, which seemed to live happily in their quite generous bowl.

I fed them every day, changed their water every two weeks and bought new water plantain on pretty regular basis. The fish didn’t eat a lot from the fish meal I bought, but they sure loved the plants.

I decorated the bed with tiny ceramic pots and plastic pearls. All in all it was a pretty decorative ornament in the livingroom.

Of course I didn’t really choose to get the fish to begin with; my son had a friend who lived in a house with a huge fishtank, and every now and again he presented his wish; that he too would get a goldfish.

One night I attended an annual meeting. We were quite a few people at this meeting, and the tables were decorated with nicely folded napkins and a vase with water in it... and a goldfish swimming in tiny circles.

At the end of the meeting the chairman announced, in a way too cheerful way, that we needed to check under our seats. Under one chair at each table there would be a note taped to the seat, and who ever sitting on that chair got the fish... and the vase to bring it home in.

I was so relieved not to get the note. I am a mum; I know who will end up tending to the living creature, and believe me: it is NOT the kid who really wants and wish for it.

The relief didn’t last very long , though, cause my friend sitting next to me handed me the vase and declared that: “This is from me to your son! I know he wants a goldfish, so this is not for you: It is to your son!”

There are many ways to corner a person; this is one of the most efficient ones.

So... reluctantly, I walked home on the icy street balancing this vase with a goldfish in it. To be honest I considered, several times, to unfortunately slip and by accident drop the vase, but then I thought about the broken glass and kids who might cut themselves or bikes with punctuated tyres and I decided against it.

Then I came to think about how I would end up picking the  squirmish fish up, trying to save it because I could never cope watching the fish just die, and I ended up saving myself from my own stupidity.

Which proved to be a good thing when I got home.

When I got home, my son looked up briefly to say hi, then looked again to notice the vase.... and then, he looked again and was totally extatic! He jumped up from the sofa with a giant smile on his face, took the vase from me, placed it on the table right in front of him, sat down resting his chin in his palm and just watched the fish... for quite some time. (I think I developed fond feelings for the fish then and there. To make either of my sons to sit still for some time is quite an achievement.) Then he ran to his room and came back with a notebook and a pen:

“We need to write a shopping list! The fish needs a bowl, grass, food and a friend!” You can’t really argue when your son is showing consideration for someone’s or something’s wellbeing, so he wrote the shopping list and went to bed.

After work the next day I went shopping. It was not a cheap visit to the pet shop, but it was worth it. My son beamed with happiness and the bowl looked beautiful.

However, it didn’t take long untill my son lost interest, and the only time he bothered to comment on the fish was when he knew it was time to change the water and clean the bowl.

My friends comforted me when I complained about the fish and the routine (and I did complain, even though I secretly enjoyed the pretty element on display in my livingroom. I placed it in front of a mirror, under a spotlight and it looked gorgeous).

They all told me not to worry: goldfish do not live for long, it would soon come to an end.

Two years later I began to worry the fish would die any day.

It is strange, now that I think about it,but i didn’t dread or worry about the fish dying untill then.

4 years and 3 months after my son got the fish as a present from my friend, he died.

I wanted so bad he would just vanish... but he didn’t.

The limp fish had to be scooped out of the water and I put it in a big matchbox, wadded with cotton, for my kids to bury him in. They were very persistent about that. Later that day I stood in the pouring rain, freezing my fingers numb, as I watched the surreal burial my kids arranged for a fish who had lived for so long in a bowl in our livingroom. Beautiful, and yet so little paid attention to.

6 months later the second fish died. During those 6 months I fed him every day, changed his water every two weeks and bought new water plantain on pretty regular basis. The fish didn’t eat a lot from the fish meal I bought, but he sure loved the plants.

I decorated the bed with tiny ceramic pots and plastic pearls. All in all it was a pretty decorative ornament in the livingroom.

Every morning I dreaded and worried about the fish would be dead when I went downstairs...  And then, one morning, he died.

I wanted so bad he would just vanish... but he didn’t.

The limp fish had to be scooped out of the water and I put it in a big matchbox, wadded with cotton, for my kids to bury him in. They were very persistent about that. Later that day I stood in the pouring rain, freezing my fingers numb, as I watched the surreal burial my kids arranged for a fish who had lived for so long in a bowl in our livingroom. Beautiful, and yet so little paid attention to.

And suddenly it was over. No more routine on tending to the fish. No more feeding every day, no more changing the water every two weeks and no more buying new water plantain on regular basis.

Strange how something so trifling affects your everyday...

Makes me think about my own life. The paralellism might be somewhat far off, but I am a woman, a mother, a housewife, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a teacher, a coworker, a coach, a customer, a friend (at least I hope I am considered one), and many, many more. I act out many roles and I am brave enough to say I often wish I didn't have to. Yet, they are all parts which make me me... and then, once and again on those rare, but treasured, occasions I get to be just me. And when that happens I discover again how I miss being and doing all the little, trifle things I do every day without anyone really noticing, and together they add up to be what makes me the person I am.