Taming the monster

Being a girl can be a bitch.

I love my body and all it can do (never would I have thought I’d ‘make’ two healthy and beautiful girls). However, the privilege of being fertile comes with a hefty price. Once a month, for a whole week, I go crazy. My hormones are all over the place and I become a monster. I yell, I cry, I swear, I get hot flushes, cramps, headaches…you name it, I get it. And I’m not even talking about the actual deal here, because that week from hell is invariably followed by another week of pain and discomfort.

So, in my quest to beat PMS, I turned to social media and asked my online friends to share their tips and tricks. Most of them agreed that Agnus Castus changed their life and got rid of the monthly roller coaster ride they too used to be subjected to. I have now been having this supplement for almost three weeks and can already tell it’s working. By this time in the month, I should be tearing my hair out at the slightest obstacle, I should be crying myself to sleep and I shouldn’t be in the mood for fun of any kind.

Instead, I’ve been letting the girls play with water on the balconies (even the balcony overlooking the main road, which they are never allowed on), I’ve been playing and laughing with them even while I should have been cooking dinner or washing the floor, I’ve allowed Robin not to use a bib and happily changed her clothes five times a day and I’ve even had a picnic with Maia on our balcony in the scorching midday sun. It’s the apocalypse, I’m telling you!

I don’t know whether Agnus Castus is really working its magic on my body, but I can tell I’m approaching this part of my cycle differently. I’m less tense and, generally, happier.

And if these couple of photos aren’t proof, I don’t know what is:

This weekend

This weekend started early.

With Maia now finishing school at noon and with the summer hiatus in her jazz and music lessons, we have more time together. And when I say together, I mean the girls and I. The husband is working 2o hour days at the moment. It has reached a point where I’m starting to worry about his health.

Anyway, on Friday we managed to spend a few hours with him celebrating the first Communion of Maia and her schoolfriends. They played barefoot on grass (provided by a football pitch…probably the only green place on this island right now), jumped on bouncy castles, had the typical arguments eight-year-old girls have and danced the evening away. Robin had her own playdate: a three-year-old boy whom she forced to share his football and balloons with her. The rest of the weekend was spent trying to convince Maia that summer has only just started and that, just because we haven’t swum yet, it doesn’t mean that “we will never ever swim again”.

And, speaking of summer, someone switched it ON this Saturday. It is officially hot. Oh joy.

Another dancer

I came across the photos that the husband took during our little celebration of Robin last week and just had to share these few with you because they’re my favourites, even if my big derrière takes up half of one of them.

PS – I think I might be raising two future dancers.

Fantastical

Last week, on my birthday, the husband and I went to the larger island for the afternoon. We spent some much-needed time alone, in places almost nobody knew us (which is very rare on these islands). It was so refreshing to be able to talk without being interrupted, to eat Maoam without having to share them or hide them and also to spend a couple of hours at the cinema.

Being on a tight schedule meant we didn’t have the luxury of choosing from the films available but, luckily, the one option we were left with was a film we wanted to watch: The Great Gatsby.

I don’t even know where to start but I want to tell you about it. The direction is complex, breathtaking. The costumes, set, accessories…everything about it screamed roaring 20s, even the music which was very 2013. I’m not a party girl but I would never turn down an invitation to a Gatsby party, even if I was five minutes away from giving birth.

At a certain point in the film, I felt so overwhelmed by everything I was seeing that I was close to tears. There was too much to process: the angles used in directing it, the colours, the interpretation of the story itself…it all transports the viewer to an era shrouded in mystery and legend. Luhrmann’s film is ‘fantastical’, as Nick calls Gatsby’s stories.

Oh, and don’t even get me started about Leonardo di Caprio…

PS – I seem to have a major soft spot for Baz…THIS is what I had to say about another of his films.

 

Little luxuries

Daily life can become boring at times. When routine takes over and nothing seems to happen, I tend to get fidgety. Then I remember that life is never uneventful for long and I remind myself that the plateaus should be enjoyed and made the most of because they are sure to be followed by peaks which require renewed energy and stamina.

One of the ways I try to motivate myself when all I seem to do is wipe noses, fold laundry and sweep floors is to be more mindful of the little luxuries which we take for granted. These are some of the things I couldn’t live without…or maybe I could, but life is so much better because of them:

Coffee and our humble little coffee machine at home. [image]

Hot showers and perfume. I used to sell perfume and then spent a few years not wearing any because of morning sickness and breasfeeding. Now it’s one of those little things that help me feel put together even if my hair is unbrushed and I’ve got bags under my eyes. [image]

 

Reading. Whether it’s a magazine, a book or an article, reading is something I cannot live without. It allows me to go on adventures to the end of the earth and beyond, all without leaving my sofa. [image]

What are your daily little luxuries?

Robin turns 2

And just like that, the baby of our family turned two. Two years of stained clothes, floors covered in crumbs, house baby-proofing that never seems to end, trips to the hospital and more love than we ever thought we’d feel.

She coughed throughout most of the previous night but was much better on her birthday. We had planned to take her, Maia and those closest to us to the new bowling alley on this island. We’d play, have a bite and sing her Happy Birthday over a stack of cupcakes. Nothing elaborate and, most of all, no decorations (which for us are a big deal).

As things turned out, we ended up having an impromptu party at home, with one cousin and Maia’s best friend and both sets of grandparents. We ordered takeaway pizzas and I made a few carrot cupcakes which my sister decorated with Charlie and Lola (more specifically Lola) toppers. She spent the evening bouncing on the trampoline, dancing to Gianluca’s Tomorrow and shouting “happy!”.

It wasn’t what we had in mind but, sometimes, things work out much better when unplanned. Seeing how happy she was, basking in the attention and showing off her moves on the trampoline, is all that really matters.

 

My people

Today is the day I want to honour my people.

My husband. Him of the blue eyes, salt and pepper hair and overgrown beard. The one who offers hugs when I panic, coffee when he’s making himself one and pep talks when they’re needed. The guy who helps me turn my head on the pillow at 3am because my neck hurts too much. Him.

And the eight-year-old chatterbox who catapulted me into motherhood. The one who never stops hopping, skipping, running, dancing, tapping her feet, jumping off things…all while talking a blue streak.

And the very nearly two-year-old whose favourite pastime is inspecting kitchen cupboards and drawers, always on the search for namnams. The one who has a bright future as a backing vocalist to her sister.

And the couple who tied the knot when she was a few months shy of 18, had two sons, waited another eight years and had a girl whom they spoiled rotten. And gave her all the love two parents could give, even though their love, time and energy were divided between four children.

And the fourth of those four children mentioned above. The one who creates masterpieces out of sugar. The one who’ll be making me an aunt for the eighth time. The one who’s four years younger than me but is so much wiser in so many ways.

You put up with me, you love me, you teach me and cheer me on. I tip my hat to all of you.

My sister (on the right) and me.

31 years later…