another?!

I have been a bad blogger. But I have two valid reasons. One is I have had a recent deluge of paid writing work. And two, I fell pregnant. It was a mild shock and I just couldn't bring myself to warble on about other matters when something really big was going on but which I could not yet divulge.
I'm nearly 12 weeks now so the secret's out, the twins know and Charles and I are getting our heads around the fact that we will be parents of three! Oh and it will only be three, as we have checked and breathed a sigh of relief at the single little heart beat. Although our adventurous sides did feel a twinge of disapointment - one heart beat did seem a little uneventful after our first adrenalin rush of a scan with the twins.
But don't get me wrong, I am ever so grateful at the chance to bear one baby and possibly have the chance to actually feel like a mother and not the manageress of a baby factory.
I've had various reactions to our new family way and I can understand where they come from. To be honest I did not take to mothering the twins like a duck to water at first and was quite put out by their incessant demands in the beginning. I probably only felt I was getting a handle on things from when they were about
3 1/2. So why now when things have just started getting more fun do I want to start all over again? And I think quite a few of my friends are wondering this same thing - including my own mother.
Its difficult to explain and I've come to realise that deciding to make another human being is a deeply personal decision between the two potential parents. Sometimes you have no logical reason and its just a deep instinctive urge. I feel that's partly my reason - I just couldn't shake the urge to make another crying, demanding, sleep-thief! Because that little dependent wailer will grow into a fantastic human being that will forever be part of me.
Secondly I really am looking forward to having the chance to give birth naturally and to breast feed without worrying that one baby is drinking up all the supplies before the other has a chance!
On the other hand I am a little anxious as I'm not your textbook baby person with endless supplies of gracious patience, but I think if I've managed to raise twins, who so far seem relatively emotionally undamaged and happy, I'm sure I can do it again - given my hard earned mothering stripes.
In the mean time, although morning sickness has been far worse this time around, I refuse to let this pregnancy be a reason for apathy and am continuing in my usual and exhausting goal-orientated way.
My horse and I are just coming along nicely with our regular jumping lessons so that is going to have to continue for as long as possible. And every moment spent with the twins is deeply valuable, as I know this will be heavily jeopardised when the baby arrives. Oh and my dear husband, who I admit I have a tendency to neglect with all this child raising and bearing. Well, I'll do my best to make him feel more than just a money making factory!

fire control

My life on Ouland Farm, which is situated on the hills of one of the world's most sought after beach destinations, is shamefully good. I have a wonderful and hard working, albeit quite eccentric, husband, who doesn't require that I go out and work; two healthy children; two sets of grandparents living in close proximity; a beautiful and willing thoroughbred mare; a pony for the girls; my own farm to ride on; food growing in the garden; men to help, periodically, in the garden, a 150 year old charming, drafty and slightly falling down, farmhouse; a paid-off car and a crowd of amazing close friends.



Almost daily I look around and wonder at how I got to this point in my life. Sometimes I'm a little afraid to think too deeply about it incase I jinx my good fortune with the wrong thinking process. I rather stick to a quick and deeply felt "thank you" to the angels before moving swiftly onto the tasks that allow us to live such a life.  

But even though I am so blessed, I am ashamed to admit that I still go through periods of feeling frustrated and uninspired. I know these emotions are a common glitch in the human psyche - when the going gets good the ego looks for something to attach itself to, to sabotage and create drama in one's life as if our fundamental make-up is that of the undeserving, which it is not.

So I try to remain vigilant and aware of my self-defeating thoughts. I cling to the things that remind me how good it really is to be alive until Life and her flaws pull me into a clutch of despair and what looked like a bed of roses starts to look like a thicket of thorns.
At the end of the day, no matter what you have physically created in your life, every one of us is fighting a battle of some sorts, it is only the degree of intensity that varies from moment to moment.
Although my physical life is near perfect, my battles are ever present. Marriage and motherhood is a constant place of challenge. Sometimes I am serene and giving, a selfless, patient mother, a goddess in the kitchen - and bedroom. Other times I am possessed by demons, breathing fire and brimstone, aching to be set free from this domestic drudgery. To get on my horse and ride as a far from expectation, duty, chores and explanations as possible. In my mind's eye I see a desert of freedom stretching out before me and I am alone, carefree and full of energy.
But eventually I check myself, reign in the horse and count the blessings. I remind myself how I wouldn't want it any other way and slowly the fierceness of my will to escape subsides. I go back to being mild and well mannered, doing what is required of me. With a smile. On my dial.

bread

After my last blog post a few people requested the "throw it together in ten minutes" bread recipe,
so here it is.

For two loaves of wholewheat bread:

8 cups of wholewheat flour ( I use the stoneground, no chemicals one from Agri)

1/2 cup sesame and sunflower seed mix (or use whatever seeds you fancy)

2 tbl linseeds

1 pkt yeast
1 & 1/2 tbl salt
1 & 1/2 tbl brown sugar

Mix all dry ingredients together.
Add 1 & 1/4 litres of hot (not boiling) water. The mixture should be wet and sticky - not sloppy.

Pour into two greased bread tins.

Rise in the oven at 70 degrees for 35 - 40 mins.
Once it is nicely risen turn up to 200 degrees for 50 mins.

Remove immediately from tins and allow to cool.

Enjoy!

going pro

A few days ago, in a rare moment of peace, I was browsing over some recipes in a magazine when I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten to bake bread for the soup I was making for supper. I leapt up - the girls were due home from playschool in 15 minutes and I didn't feel like a marathon kiddie baking project - and as swiftly as possible I switched on the oven to pre-heat, threw the ingredients together and had two loaf tins in the oven in under ten minutes. I then plonked back onto the couch to finish reading my mag.
Suddenly I realised what I had just done: since when did I throw together homemade bread in ten minutes?
In that moment I realised I have finally arrived, whole heartedly, into the role of mother and homemaker. This thought both depresses and impresses me. On one hand I feel, whoa, hold on here, who is this person rapidly on the road to practical hair cuts, beige clothing and Saturday mornings in the supermarket - when the waves are cooking! And on the other hand I thought, cool, you're getting good at the domestic thing. The easier it is, the quicker it is and and the more time there is for fun.
The truth is it's taken me nearly five years to feel that I have got a handle on this maternal occupation. In the first years of having my babies I felt like I was in a dress rehearsal for the role of mom while I watched other mothers get on with what needed to be done with seemingly little effort.
But slowly along the way I must have gained the skills necessary for the undertaking of motherhood. I no longer find planning and cooking supper a daunting excercise that requires a bottle of rescue remedy to cope with. Getting the girls ready for playschool in the morning, although tedious, is a walk in the park - I have even started to lie in bed until the last possible moment. Note: don't try this with two 4-year olds until you have stuck to the morning routine for at least 12 months, so that, like little trained monkeys, they do what is required every morning on cue - no arguments!
I think the kind of mother you are depends largely on the kind of mother you had. Mine was not the "tea party" kind of mom whatsoever. She was a hippie straight out of the sixties and brought us up on a vegetarian diet, Joni Mitchell and karmic threats. She had one baking recipe, banana loaf, that saved her at every school cake sale and as soon as we were old enough she packed us off to boarding school. I say this with no resentment but more with feelings of compassion, as I can now understand her justifications in doing this. I too have been tempted to enroll mine into a distant institution.
So after four different boarding schools and a decade in the non-conformed film industry it seems I may have missed a traditional training in domestics from my mother. This has left me having to learn through common sense, my friends and feeling a need deep within to provide what is good, whole and stable for my family. So being able to bake bread - let alone in ten minutes - and enjoy it, is a huge accomplishment for me as a mother.
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saying it like I feel it

This is what I really want to say to the twins on a Sunday morning:

Today I just don’t feel like being a mother. I only feel like worrying about one person: me. Okay?

No I don’t feel like pretending to eat the cookie out of the picture once, twice, six times! And I would really rather sit in the sun with my eyes closed listening to music than negotiate who has bigger feet between you two. I do not want to build that puzzle, put the ribbon in the dollie’s hair or come wipe your bum!
I just want to lie in bed and read my book, periodically putting it down so that I can leisurely mull over a thought that just occurred to me while watching a little bird hop on my windowsill. And no, I don’t feel like telling you about the sweet little robin that is hopping on the windowsill. I saw it first and I don’t need to share EVERYTHING with you just because you are my child and four years old!

I don’t mind what you eat for breakfast this morning, just make sure it’s vaguely healthy and don’t make a mess because do not feel like getting up to clean it up. When you are finished take the plate put it in the dishwasher along with the rest of the dirty dishes, close it and switch it on. And don’t forget to come back in 45 minutes to unpack it and dry the cutlery properly so they don’t get little rust marks on them.

After you have had your breakfast I don’t care what you wear, but make sure you are warm and then go away please. Do whatever it is that four year olds need to do to keep occupied – except watch TV – and don’t expect me to be a part of it, okay? Although I do love you and think you are very clever and cute I really do find most of your conversation rather unstimulating and have officially run out of fresh understanding and convincing things to say to you. Just imagine I am watching you in wordless amazement as you swing back and forth on your stomach – you clever, clever child.

Come back when its time to go to bed and you have made and eaten your supper, cleaned up the kitchen – don’t forget to pick up the food from under your chair - bathed and dressed, brushed your teeth properly, gone to the loo and read yourself a story.

Then tomorrow make sure you’re ready for playschool at 8.15 – I’ll wait for you in the car, don’t forget to pack yourself a lunchbox.

good bye Beep Beep

Beep Beep is dead.
It all came as quite a shock. One minute he was happily having a little dust bath and the next minute he was the victim of a viscious attack by his fellow chickens.
About a week earlier I decided that Beep Beep needed to go and live with his own kind as I was having visions of scrubbing chicken poo off the carpet for years to come! He was bigger and eating well on his own, and seemed strong enough to join the world of chickens where he belonged. So like a calculating and cold hearted farmer I set about making the arrangements for my relocation programme. First, the nasty hen that kept chasing and pecking Beep Beep and who was losing feathers and getting quite old, must go. I ordered her into the pot. Hariet did it. I admit I tasted it and she was as tough as nails...
Then with a special red light Charles and I snuck into the hen house after dark and slipped Beep Beep under one of the sleepy moms. She willingly and literally took him under her wing and with a final and content 'beep beep" our little chicken had flown the nest. I patted myself on the back for a job well done.
The next morning he seemed slightly shy and timid around his bigger brothers and sisters but he got in the mix and had his share of breakfast and seemed quite chuffed with himself. When he won a literal tug ó war with another chick who had tried to take his worm, we believed he was a fighter and would survive against all odds. Over the next few days it seemed obvious though that he wasn't going to join everyone in their daily explorations for worms and instead kept to himself in the hen house. But he seemed happy and was served every morning with a plate of worms of his own. All seemed fine and well. Or so we thought.
Then one late afternoon Anna came running into the kitchen, "Mom," she said in quiet shock, then dissolving into tears she told me that Beep Beep had been "pecked and pecked and pecked!" we ran to the hen house and there he was lying on the straw where Anna had placed him, gasping for air. I picked him up and took him to the house but it was too late he died in my hands. Anna was beside herself. Charley said with stoic maturity and insight: "Dont worry Anna, its only his fluffy body that's gone, he's still with us."
Charles immediately dug a grave and prepared a little tombstone: "Here sleeps Beep" it says. We sang "Baa Baa Black sheep" and "Twinkle, twinkle little star" before covering him up and throwing flowers. Anna stood by his graveside and wept, great heaving sobs.
Later in the bath she told me the whole story. She had taken him out to scratch on the grass and the next thing he was chased by the two red hens and scratched and pecked repeatedly. Anna came to his rescue but clearly it was too late.
Poor little girl, such trauma to witness and her first big loss of a life she loved. Ofcourse I wallowed in my fair share of guilt...if only I had kept him in the house...
May you rest in peace Beep Beep - you brought happiness to our home in your short and precious life.

Beep Beep

Upon returning from our upcountry trip I was presented with an unexpected gift - a new baby! A tiny, fluffy, yellow, cheeping baby. Who, regardles of his size or species, is almost as demanding as any human baby.

He was a little slow coming into the world and by the time his egg finally hatched his mothers (all three of them) had already considered their brood a good delivery of seven babies and had moved off to begin soil scratching lessons. There had been a slight confusion over whose eggs were whose so in the end we let three hens sit on all the eggs together and when they hatched the lucky babies had more than their fair share of maternal guidence - except ofcouse for Beep Beep, who was all but forgotten and left behind.
So when it looked like no bells were going to begin ringing in any of the three mum's heads that this extra little yellow fluff ball also belonged to them, my mother-in-law, who can also fuss like a good maternal hen - took Beep Beep under her wing, until our return home.

Now my morning routine includes porridge for Beep Beep too, plus two or three fresh, live earthworms - thankfully we have a worm farm for this requirement. My crazy hour bedtime routine has now become somewhat pressurised as I race from one chore to the next so that I can get to warming Beep Beep's hotwater bottle and putting him to bed. And boy does he chase me along if I'm a little tardy at this! Making supper is a little hair raising too as I have to avoid stepping on the mini procession that follows me around the kitchen: first Beep Beep, then Mully, the border collie and Jack the cat, who sniff and follow the baby wherever he goes. But luckily, by some telepathic human-to-animal communication no one has tried to eat our new baby.

Ofcourse the bonus of Beep Beep is the constant entertainment he provides the girls. Although I do have to put a stop to the "flying"and "sitting" lessons that Anna regularly tries to dish out.

We love Beep Beep and his beeping, but I must admit that I am becoming a little concerned as his toilet time increases daily. And Lord knows where he is planning to live once he has "flown the nest" or whether he will be a he or a she!
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