Amnesia

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I occasionally forget that I am a mum with a toddler and a baby on boob (and boob alone thank you very much! There will be none of this fake, plastic, wanna-be-nipple thing going on in my mouth. No way! No day! Uh-uh, no!)

It is at these times that the amnesia gets me into all kinds of trouble. Like the fix I am currently in: Big program to prepare, no time to prepare it, deadline rapidly approaching, cough getting worse, children not cooperating…

It’s a fantastic program, if I do say so myself, for high school students. All about getting to know themselves and their behaviour patters, how to break through the negative patterns, how to get through to the people around them, how to find their way to a happy, healthy, fun and inspiring path that they want – all the feel-good stuff that is so often waffled about and so seldom practically taught. I have been stinging to do it for ages, so when the oportunity arose, amnesia struck!

So this post will be short, full of typos and devoid of wit. Apologies, but since managing to sort out the logistical nightmare of getting someone to look after The Lion from 5.30am (no, I couldn’t manage to get the program in a local school, could I?) until around 6pm AND finding someone willing to lurk around a high school all day with The Blossom, ever ready to crash the workshop to demand that the presenter present her bosom for the starving child, I no longer have the energy to be creative. What little brain power and time remains shall be poured selflessly into the materials for Monday.

Ironically, the program is all about getting (and staying) in a healthy zone of behaviour, one that allows for peaks and troughs, but does not send the peaks so high and the troughs so low that the person finds themselves on a manic cycle that spins them out of control. I fear my first example of an unbalanced approach to life will be this episode of amnesia – talk about not looking after yourself; putting everyone and everything else first! At least it is something I want so much to do and at least it is for a finite period… very finite… oh dear, is that the time?

When all is done and my children have their mother back, when I can breathe once more and remember what my priorities are, I’ll tell you all about it.

In the meantime, speak to me, oh muse! SPEAK!

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3 responses »

  1. Pingback: Kiddie Curve Ball « So what's normal anyway?

  2. Pingback: Learning the “N” word « So what's normal anyway?

  3. Pingback: Jog Blog « So what's normal anyway?

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