Category: ramble

Hacking My Sleep

If you know me at all, you’ll know that I have a long history with sleep. Well, more correctly, a long history with not getting enough of it. For the record, this is not a sponsored post. This one was borne out of pure desperation to, again, get enough sleep.

At first, being used to not getting enough sleep worked to my benefit. As mom to an infant, I handled the interrupted sleep that goes with growing an infant into a kid, better than I expected. It worked to my favour again when I worked full-time and kept a night job for the purposes of paying the bills and learning more about the career I wanted to head towards in the world. It worked extremely well for me when I went into freelancing, because working until late into the night and sometimes the early morning…didn’t scare me.

It did, however, mean that when I was able to get a full 8 hours’ sleep, I’d most often wake up groggy and operate at a “less than ideal” rating for the day. My biggest issue is always winding my brain down so that I can actually fall asleep. I eventually managed to solve that using Melatonin a few years ago, and I now really enjoy my sleep.

sleep blog dog
Me at three pm, most days.

But life isn’t always conducive to getting seven or more hours of sleep a night. Our family schedule is a little irregular at the moment, and it often requires that the adults in this unit skimp on the number of hours of sleep. After a while, this wore me down, so I started doing some research into getting more quality sleep in a shorter space of time, so that I wouldn’t wake up feeling like I was a reversing tortoise most days. What was really not doing me any good, is that I’d feel awfully tired in the afternoons, and then have to fight sleep when it’s family time. By the time I actually got to bed, I’d be feeling wide awake again, and that’s about as useful as a tissue in a thunderstorm.

Enter the world of sleep apps, and my mate Dave. Dave is my, for want of a better term, sleep guru. He has battled similar sleep issues for a long time and uses a variety of techniques, including audio files, apps and other tools to get the sleep he needs. He’s been incredible in sharing his wisdom with me (and many others), so if you ever want his advice, pop him a message. At the rate that people responded to my recent Facebook post about it, Dave may as well be a sleep DJ by now. Thank you, my friend. I appreciate you so much!

On to the apps
I’ve been trialling a sleep cycle app called SleepyTime. My friend Jane uses the iOS version which you can download here (tip: they’re free for Android and iOS). It’s pretty straightforward: you input the time that you would like to wake up or go to sleep, and it tells you the optimum time to go to sleep or wake up. You select what I call the “sleep spot” that you prefer and snooze. You can also ask the app to awaken you using your alarm, or tell you when you need to tuck yourself in.

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How it works
The app takes the maths out of figuring out your optimum sleep cycle. That’s great news for me, because I’m about as useful at sums, as I would be with painting a cityscape of Johannesburg (read: not even mildly talented). The app estimates that you’ll take 14 minutes to fall asleep, and then tacks on the average sleep cycle of 90 minutes, but you can adjust these settings within the app if you think you need to.

What’s changed for me
I used to calculate my sleep in hours, but I’m now realising that actually, mentally, worked against me. Before, I’d be morose because I only managed to snatch four and a half hours of snooze time, but now that I’m calculating my sleep using actual cycles, I feel a little better about it. For me, knowing that I’ve actually had three cycles of full sleep in that time makes me feel better.

The result
I’ve used this app for about a week now, and I’ve been amazed by how refreshed I feel upon waking. Because I’m waking up at the end of a sleep cycle, I’m immediately more alert and aware when I get up to feed the dog, which will probably mean he won’t end up with coffee in his bowl again (he puts up with a lot, that canine). This has meant that while I’m not necessarily getting the length of sleep I need (I could sleep for twelve hours straight if I was left, nowadays) I am getting good quality sleep, and I haven’t really battled with the afternoon slump as much.

Moving on
I’m going to be trying out a few other sleep apps to help me along. On Dave’s recommendation, I’m going to check out:

On Names.

This is not the first time this has happened. You came home the other day, having shrugged off another stupid attempt to annoy you. It had centred on your name.

I’ll accept this. You don’t have what’s traditionally considered a “girl’s name”. But it is the name of a rather famous actress, and it’s a name that was chosen for you with love, long before you opened your eyes to this big wide world you were born into one stormy evening.

We’ve spoken through this topic many times, and by now, you know all of my automatic responses and answers you can pass on to the next silly buffoon who thinks he/she can take a jab at you for having an “unconventional” name.

A secret

Instead, today, I’m going to tell you a secret – I too, for a long time, did not like my name. When I was very little, I couldn’t pronounce it, so shortened it to a name that would end up being my family nickname. Nowadays, it’s something very few people call me (and heaven help someone who unauthorised attempts to use it). Now, as an adult and in a professional sense, I often use a more traditional, shortened version of my name.

But, at school, I was always internally upset at the sheer length of my name. By how many people had ‘cooler’ names than I did. By how many people I would discover that had the same name as me. I felt slightly affronted by it, because my name ended up being something common. In my teens, when the Internet became a de rigueur part of my life, it irritated me even more, because I suddenly realised how many people out there had “my” name. To this point, I even ‘rebelliously’ elected to have “another name”, something that many of my mates responded to, and a particular set of them still refer to me by that name. Nowadays I giggle at that, but it is a sweet reminder of the journey I’ve had with my own name.

As an adult, I like my name. The way it rounds in my mouth, and the way it shapes itself in the mouths of people who call out for me, who love me, and who I love. I now revere it, for its regal connotations are apparent to me, and it’s no longer something I shy away from. I’m proud of my name, chosen by my parents (thanks to some curtains) and it’s symbolic of their love for me. I feel the strength of it, and claim it for my own self.

Name

I don’t expect you to accept this right now. Heck, I don’t even expect you to experience this journey right now. You have your own journey to traverse with your name. You have a whole lifetime to experience with this name. How you choose to define, or not define yourself in line with your name, is something only you can do. You can change it one day, if you like. You can elect another name and use it, try it on for size and then try another one if you like. I did it, and so can you.

Coming Home

I came home to my name when I was ready. Nowadays, I do define myself by my name, but that’s the very unique definition I’ve carved for myself, that’s remarkably different to the ones the world seems to have created. I’ll support you in every definition you choose, and every single one you ditch.

This is your journey, darling. Your name, your definition. Don’t worry your head about someone who can’t find anything wrong with you, so he has to pick on your name.

Mama.

#LoveMyHome with the East Coast Radio House and Garden Show

Moving house is right up there on the stressor scale, and I really think it wigs me out way more than I let on. As you know, we moved towards the end of 2014, and I now love our home. Deeply. It feels like we should’ve been here all along, but I guess that’s a sign of us having made the right move, at the right time. Sure, our house size has expanded too, and we’ve added in our Jake to the mix, turning our house very homely (but then, it was always going to be) and I happily profess that I #LoveMyHome. But the thing about loving this home is that I am constantly in the mood to do something different with it, and always looking for new ways to accent what we’ve got or discover new things for our spaces. That’s why I’m excited for the upcoming East Coast Radio House and Garden Show. Here are the top five things I’m looking forward to this year:

HandGshow 2015

Helping the least green thumb on the planet out:
We’re lucky – our garden is gorgeous and well maintained, thanks to our lovely landlord and incredible help in that department. But I do like to get stuck in now and then and spruce up a little, so it’s cool to see how the House and Garden Show is catering for even the most novice of gardener types. I’ll pop in at The Plant Inn for some indoor and outdoor plants and they’ll have window boxes too – I’ve always loved the idea of window boxes, and I think it’s time I got some.

Living the outdoor life:
To go with that great garden, we’re moving towards eating al fresco more often, so it’s time to invest in a good set of outdoor furniture. That means we’ll have to stop in and chat to the people at the Homewood stand and get some advice on what will suit our dining needs best.

Adding to the Onesie Army:
Overall, we’re big time homebodies and, during the chillier months, you’ll probably find us cuddled up on the couch in our onesies. Yes, all of us. I’ll definitely take a peek at what Chiliwinky has in stock on the onesie and vintage sleepwear side of life!

Décor and design:
I’m also on the hunt for great fabrics at the moment, because I’ve got some cool ideas on adding a few accents and pops of colour to our lounge. Elle Kay Fabricswill be at the House and Garden Show and they’ll be selling fabrics by the metre. I’m looking forward to that! Also, I’m Washi Tape MAD, so I’m happy to see that my favourite Washi Tape supplier, Papertree will be at the show too! Did you know that you could use Washi Tape to decorate gifts, schoolbooks and even your house? Yeah you can. Washi Tape is basically magic. Truth!

Because someone is turning ten:
My daughter has just turned ten, and with all this growing up (guys, why the heck does it go so fast?), her needs for her bedroom are quickly changing. It’s fantastic to see that the House and Garden Show has a big focus through their Kids Zone Exhibitors, so I’m heading to Brilliant Wall Stickers  and shooting over to Mathemagics for some educational software too.

Of course, after taking a meander through the show, I’m going to settle us in for a good meal in the Food Zone, mostly so we can chat about what’s going to go where in our house. I’m going to #LoveMyHome at the ECR House and Garden Show!

Pick up your tickets to the ECR House and Garden Show here and let’s go exploring!

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Ten For Ten.

Sweet child, the idea that you are turning ten leaves me breathless. Every parent says it, but it’s so true for me – I blinked and suddenly you’d morphed from mewling infant into this tall, assured and graceful girl before me.

Here are ten things I want you to know, on your tenth birthday:

1. My admiration for you goes deeper than the roots of the world’s oldest tree.
I say admiration for a reason, because you actively inspire me, every single day. You are not scared to feel scared, and you are not afraid to conquer. You teach me about getting back up again, when you feel knocked down.

2. Your spirit is tenacious.
As a toddler, you danced in the leaves outside your gran’s house, and that dance has not stopped. You do not stop dancing, no matter what song the world is singing. You love music, so don’t stop sharing the music you love with me, and I will not stop showing you the music I love. We find a common ground there that I know is, and will always be, important for both of us.

3. You have an incredible way of handling people.
You’re perceptive, but not intrusive. You have an instinctual way of figuring someone out and going with it. Even the people I battle to read, you just know how to handle. Please remember this skill, all through your life. It will stand you in good stead, as you begin to pick and choose the people you spend time with.

4. You have faced so very much in ten years.
Far more than you and I even want to consider right now, because we’ll end up having a tearful laugh and going to make tea, rather than facing it all again. Let those things you put behind you, stay behind you. You are under no obligation to live with the ghosts of your past, at any time. You do not need to look back – you are not going that way.

5. You can and will laugh at your fears. 
Do you remember those nights when it would storm, and you’d wake up, we’d watch Noddy DVDs and laugh at the thunder? Those nights live in my heart like a flower reaching up for the sunshine. Your cheerful face at 2am, even when you were frightened by all the noise, helped me get past a big fear of mine – storms. You taught me how to brave through them, and you’ve never even known how much they scared me. Spoiler alert – I used to wail and weep like a kid who’d lost their ice-cream every time one hit. You just see storms as an opportunity to have fun and laugh at the sky. Thank you.

6. We are a team.
Both feet in, no judgies, no backsies and no questions. When you were three, you suddenly went from being someone I had to care for, to being my teammate. It’s been like that since, even as our family has morphed into a far bigger team. You are an unquestioning ally, and I am yours. I want us to remain as thick as thieves like this, forever. Yes, that includes yelling “Girls Night” when we want to, and ignoring the world while we cuddle up for movies and popcorn. This is team building. This is what a team does.

7. You’re on the precipice of your teenage years.
Please be nothing like me, and everything like me. I know that might not make sense right now, but I want you to know that it is an incredible journey. The most intense adventures await you, but the biggest one will be the one you take within yourself. This is when that great adventure – the biggest one of your life – truly begins. During the next ten years of your life, you will probably fall in love, discover – at least – one thing that makes your heart sing, and you will begin to form your place in the world. Hold strong to the place you find here, for it will lay the pathway to the next ten, twenty and all the other years.

8. You are your own person, without question.  
When you were four, I asked you to pass me something, and, because you were “reading” you looked up at me and said “I’m busy. Please do it yourself. Stop wasting my reading time”. Cheeky, perhaps, but it showed me how you are not afraid to give people their marching orders when required. Never be afraid to cut people off when they are wasting your time. Do not lose this skill (and yes, I know, you learnt all those lines from me). It is something I wish I had learnt earlier.

9. Please be patient with my mom heart. 
I will never again hear the toddler words like “badum” or “ixbah” erupt from your mouth, for your vocabulary is now beautifully forming and your knowledge base expanding at a rate I battle to catch up with. You no longer have that childlike lisp, and you’re carving words into your tree of life. Please allow me to regale people and bore you with these stories of toddler words and the times you made me laugh – they are jewels embedded in my heart, but you can berate me about sharing them when you need to.

10. You are kind. Do not let the world change you.
And the tenth thing. This is the hard one. You are a kind, generous and sweet soul. Over the next ten years, someone or something, or a situation, or whatever, will hurt you, either intentionally or not. Please, whatever it is, come immediately to me. Heck, even if it is something I do. Yell, cry, scream and release it. Give it to me to handle, with you. I will carry the whole thing for you if you need me to. I will do everything I can to protect you from any harm, but life will have its way at some point. You will not face it alone. Ever. I am your mother, even on my absolute worst days, and nothing and nobody can stop me from that. The family tree we swing from is a mighty, mighty oak. We are born from a long line of very loud lioness women, you and I. We roar together and never alone.

Happy tenth birthday, child of my heart.
You are always the greatest surprise of my life, and the joy of my every day.
Thank you for choosing me to be your mama.

Pathways

I can judge the level of how well I know someone, and how well they know me, by the things they say about me, to me (and sometimes, not to me). A lot of people think I have it “all together” and I often want to laugh in their face. I don’t, and I really try not to let it look like I do. Anyone who appears to have it “all sorted” is, almost always, faking it.

The thing is, if you think I have it all sorted, it’s only because you have known me in the last few years. Before then, it was a shmeshmortion of failed attempts to pull myself towards myself. I had to learn to make choices, quickly, and stick to them. My 20s was a time of absolute chaos, for a large part of it. I’m not shy about it anymore – it is what it is and it brought me here.

My decision making skills have never been good, but I have had to carve them like wood into me. They are chiseled and sharpened every day, and – perhaps because I (finally) realised that my refusal to make choices led me into a mess – I am driven by them.

But they were not won easily.

At one point, a number of years ago, I had to make a choice that centred around a person. It is still the most difficult choice I’ve ever made. It was the most horrible, elongated and gigantic conversation that I’ve ever had (and guys, I’ve had awful ones). But I will never forget the pinnacle moment where I made this choice, and then had to follow through on it.

Everything that’s happened since then, has been a direct or indirect result of that decision. Some of it was incredibly unexpected, but some of it was very well rehearsed in my mind.

When I get a bout of the sads, my mind sometimes wanders right back to that conversation. It finds it, like one would happen upon a jewel in a scratch patch. Looking back, I remember it as a battle against myself. In my mind’s eye, it still is – it’s just that this Cath, the one who sits here now, is the one that emerged victorious. She was the one that hoped to be released and lifted into a world that was driven by her choices, and not her inabilities.

I try and have this rule, that I ripped straight out of that movie Hope Floats (which, incidentally, I watched about 97 times after making this choice) – “don’t look back, we’re not going that way”. It’s something I absolutely fail at, because I often find a comfort in looking back and seeing how far I’ve come. It also helps me to carve or design the next choices I may need to make.

But today, when I feel insular and like a grumpy monster with a sore paw, I feel like the other Cath – the one I left behind, who hated decisions and rallied against all the new things that were to be invited in, is still sitting on that chair, having that loaded conversation, knowing she finally facing up to make choices. She’s sitting there, having that decision-focused conversation all over again, and she’s stuck there. It never ends, like some sort of badly scratched record that’s set to play, over and over again.  That girl isn’t me anymore, and I know it. (side note – thank the stars).

I have zero regrets about beginning to make choices. I harbour absolutely no misgivings about it – I just got to the point where it had to happen. I did what I had to do, and that’s who I am now.

On days like today though, where I’m all screwed up inside, I wonder to myself though, if she’d won that argument… how would life be?

This song was so indelibly tied to that time, so I’m going to let it play, wonder over this for a minute, and then… then I’m going to drink tea and go back to work.

Because my life is not there anymore, and I chose it to be that way. 

 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAy3_WyWEgQ

 

Five Years – Mom.

Dear Mom,

When a child turns five, their parents feel this strange sense of pride and longing. Like, five is a “whole hand” and the baby days are very over.

You see, mom, my daughter turned five just after you left us. And now, in a few short days, she’ll turn ten, which means your leaving has turned five. The baby days of your leaving are done. It’s time to grow up.

It seems like simple mathematics but it truly doesn’t communicate the amount of time that you’ve been gone. On some level, it still doesn’t feel real, but on every other plain of life, the void of where you used to be is wide and long.

We recently installed a dining room table into our house. I know, I know, you must be rolling your eyeballs at this, because “eating on your laps is for Philistines!” but, really, we did it for a long time and liked it that way.

Just last night, as we settled down to dinner round the table (side note – I absolutely understand why you loved doing it this way. Looking back, I’d have insisted less on TV dinners as a young kid). So we eat dinner, laugh about our days and then play this hilarious game of Charades. The noise is all familial chaos, and I can’t help but hear the cadence of our family dinners at the table. Where a food fight will happen or we’ll try and figure out the hell it was you cooked for us tonight. I hear that aura of dinners gone past, and see it in front of me, repeated like a chaotic love assembly.

But I’m not here to mourn you. I realised this last week, as I tried to hold the loss of you in my hands again. It used to weigh me down, and it still does. There is a relief in me though, as I feel assured of my ability to provide your legacy with continuance. I feel part of the chain, finally, on my own terms. That is what you wanted for me, after all.

This doesn’t make me miss you any less. It doesn’t make missing you any easier. It is, I know, part of the assimilation I’m supposed to go through. I feel a double grief, where I now think that I know of your going but – in the spirit you infused into me – I feel a tendency to want to not accept it. Acceptance isn’t something you or I could come to easily, but it is something we had thrust upon us, right? Haha.

Your first grandchild is now up to my eyebrows in height. In a year, she will have grown past my head. I mark the time of her life in comparison to you and Dad. Her tenth birthday symbolises the imminent decade of Dad being gone, and the same birthday marks your halfway mark to being gone a decade. I wonder sometimes, Mom, was that planned? I lost you and Dad at all these critical points in my child’s life. There’s an element of life’s cruelty in that, which I can probably never accept, but I have learnt to live with. There’s also an element of beauty in it, because sometimes the saddest things are the most striking. Her existence is evidence of the cycle of life, and how it is all tied back to you and Dad, so remarkably, is a constant reminder.

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As I hold the loss of you in my hands again, for one more year, I feel compelled to celebrate you. Just as a raging rainstorm will wash away the dry dust that’s built up over time, I feel it is abating now. My anger at your loss is fading, but it’s replaced by indelible signs of your spirit and character as they play out in my life. Sometimes I look at my diary and see unmissable symbols and patterns of you, that leave me wondering – would I still see them so clearly if you were here?

Mom, you may no longer be at my table, or being “a nag” about something, but you taught me how to set that table for my own life and family, and “be a nag” about the right type of things. Thank you for that.

But Mom, I hope you’re free. I wish I knew for certain that you were liberated in the way you always wished to be. I can only hope to spy on your beyond-life dance in my dreams sometimes. I have no true symbols of what happiness you feel, except for the joy I feel in my own heart, in a moment where I know you would be happy if you were here.

The magnitude of you is not forgotten. The immense void of where you used to be, widens every day. But it’s not because you are lost to me – you are just woven into my every word, on this side of the void.

With my left arm flung over my head as I talk, I will miss you forever.

Cassie.

Not just a black dog.

People call it The Black Dog, but I don’t see it that way. Well, not anymore. I see it more as a day that didn’t go so well. A groundhog day I relive now and then.

I was diagnosed with severe depression in 2007, and ended up incapable of working, breathing even, at one point.

If you (were ever allowed to – you’re not, sorry) look at my files, three terms will stick out for you: 1) Post-natal depression; 2) Aggressive episodes and 3) Repressed grief.

Now, 8 years later on, I can look at those terms and not feel guilt over them. They were hallmarks of the things I was going through, and still deal with every day. But being able to name and treat them was the start of being able to deal with them.

For an inordinately long time, I actually believed I was crazy. Like, full on mental. That I had an actual disorder and that I would be institutionalised if I ever actually told someone the things that went on within me. Instead, I would deal with it by getting furiously angry, to the point where I would alienate everyone, throw away people (yes, really) and blame anything or everyone else for what was actually a chemical imbalance.

When my (beloved and adored) GP suggested to me that, perhaps, my feelings of not being able to cope were, in fact, depression, I shouted at her. I told her I was perfectly capable of dealing with my life and that I didn’t need her medication, therapy or anything. I was totally okay. How I ended up in her consulting rooms is another story altogether, that perhaps I’ll share one day.

Which is when (heaven and stars, I love this woman), she opened up her file and showed me my medical history, which highlighted how, in 2002, I had actually had a breakdown, but had dealt with it under the care of my parents’ GP. I had forgotten that I had told her that. Then she gave me a choice: Try my recommendation of therapy and anti-depressants for three months. If you hate it and think I’m silly, we’ll taper you off and stop it. But, if after three months, you feel differently, we’ll keep going.

So I did. I started seeing a therapist weekly (at first, I saw her every day for a few weeks), and started taking medication for depression. I felt dirty, ashamed and like a drama queen. I was booked off work for the first three weeks, and felt like a failure all round.

Except then, a funny thing happened. In the midsts of therapy, I began to unravel my life story – something I had never really done before, or encapsulated with intent. And it was there that I began to notice two things: (1) I had, for a lot of my life, even as a child, felt like a visitor and saddened by it and (2) I had internally accepted a feeling of incapability as my own trademark move. I actively used number (2) as an excuse, for anything and everything. In some respects of my life, I still do, but I’m working on those – I am aware of them. I also confronted a lot of guilt that I felt over things I should never have felt that about. Ever. Not even for a second. I learnt to process guilt (which is an instant response mechanism for me) and move on from it.

Fast forward eight years, where I am now. I remained in therapy for two years, and on anti-depressants for about five years. They were good for me in a way I did not expect. When I reached a point in my life where I wanted to be free of medication, and felt more capable of being able to recognise the ‘signs’ of an episode, or able to communicate my needs when a fix of ‘the sads’ hit. I learnt to write the things I needed to, and to talk even when I did not want to. I had learnt how to name my feelings, even when I did not want to. I still sometimes fail at this, but I try my best to do it. I have also, always committed to being open to returning to medication and therapy whenever I feel I may require it, and I have the full support of my doctor in doing so.

The biggest thing I learnt? Was not that I was depressed or that there was ‘something wrong’ with me. I learnt that the way to live life is not to be unaffected (which was something I wanted to be, it seemed easier) but to live affected, and to choose when to be affected by it. This is a tough one, because I don’t think you can choose circumstances, but you can learn to master your reactions. For me, the most powerful thing I learnt, for myself, was that my anger and aggression were actually just extensions of sadness. And that’s why, when I get angry, I automatically try to figure out what I feel hurt by. In 2007, I felt alone, abandoned, useless and absolutely incapable, but was far too afraid to admit it. In 2015, I feel very differently about myself, and know that if I had not been able to face up and deal with all of that stuff back then, I’d probably still be stuck feeling like I want to set the world on fire, every day.

I will always – ALWAYS – be grateful for that journey and I have zero shame attached to it. Why? Because I have survived, and I continue to survive. Nope, I thrive. And I thrive on my own terms.

Magic Words

I can’t do it today. No, I can’t. I’m too busy and there’s ninety eight other things I have to get done.

Yes, I know you want to, and I need it too. The sun is just right and it’s a perfect day for it. I can smell the flowers already and I won’t even need a jersey. Oh gosh, I wish I could today, but my computer is calling me away.

Away to a world of pings and clicks, of things to do and people to talk with and respond to. There’s whirrs and ting-ting-tings, oh look a new email in my inbox. This person thinks they’d like to work with me – how fun! Oh no, they don’t like this thing that I don’t want to change for anyone, no matter what. Sorry… delete. Oh my, did you see this? 10 new ways to use a can opener. Gosh, I love Buzzfeed. Yes,  I know, here’s a snack, look at the butterfly. I’m going.

Did you have a nice nap? Did you dream about birds and bark? Haha. What are you eating? Hold on, the phone is ringing. Ding, ding, ding, oh hell, I forgot about the post-it note. I must eat something. How is it 2pm already? Where did this day go? I know, I know, I’m coming.

Okay, I’m here.

What are the magic words for today? Oh yes.

“Jake, would you like to go for a walk?” 

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This post is written as part of a collaborative blogging process. Each week, on Wednesdays at 2pm, Dave, Mandy, Brett, Nick, Scott and I publish a post. The same title is shared between us, but we have no sight of each other’s posts until we publish. As Dave says “The point of the exercise is to give a group of writers a title, and then to sit back and watch how their creativity and word skills deliver their very personal interpretations.”

You can read the other collaborators’ blog posts here:

Cool To Be Me | Review

As a parent, the thing that keeps me up the most at night is worrying over whether or not I am adequately equipping my kid with the necessary skills and self-confidence to roll with the punches of life (I think we ALL do this).

Cool To Be Me Review 1

Two boxes from the Cool To Be Me range appeared on my desk last week and we set about working through them over the weekend. An education-focused set of boxes and resources that are categorised according to age and theme, Cool To Be Me helps kids and parents discover and reinforce social and emotional skills, with a view to creating self-confidence and bringing children closer to a better understanding not only of themselves but of other people too.

Each box includes a set of enchanting story books, an activity book, worksheets, puzzles and games. Using a comprehension exercise type approach, each storybook is read (spoiler alert – these stories are really very cute!) and then activities relating to the stories completed. We loved the crosswords, games and short quizzes that were included. Oh and the fridge magnets and stickers are fun too, serving as little reminders of what we have talked about when going through the boxes.

Cool To Be Me Review 3

But, aside from the fun activities, the Cool To Be Me resources work as a communication tool, whereby parents and children are sparked into conversations about important topics. My daughter was ill over the weekend so we spent a lot of time cuddled up in bed with these books and resources, and chatting away about the concepts we uncovered. It’s really been a great way to not only spend a little quality time, but also help her better feel confidence within herself.

So, if you’re (like me!) always looking out for cool ways to conquer your late night worries and help your child get a better grip on emotional and social intelligence, the Cool To Be Me range could be just up your street! Oh, and it’s made in SA!

This is a review post. The Cool To Be Me team sent me two sample boxes to use and explore the programme for review purposes. 

For UM. Because, birthday.

It’s your birthday. How funny-wonderful it would be for you, this year, because the wedding has been planned to fall just after your birthday. It was planned around your special day. I think you would’ve liked that. I wish you were here.

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P said a funny thing the other night, how my kid is sounding more and more like me, every day. Yet, when she speaks, I don’t hear me. I hear you. Like an echo of a time gone by, you’re still audible, just that your voice ekes out from within a throat you don’t use.

I see you in her gawky elbows and the way she’ll do the ‘hand-thing’ when she sees something she likes. It’s impossible that she learnt that from you – you’d not done it in years after Dad died. So, really, mom, is that you in that there hand motion?

I see you in her long, craning neck as she peers into the kitchen and asks ‘what’s for dinner’.

I see you when she gets frustrated and that just makes her more determined to do something.

I see you in the funny little moments nobody else would see. Where they see me, I just see you.

I could go on and tell you how I wish you could see all of this. How I’d only-half-jokingly tell you to move in next door to us. The cats would’ve loved it. I would’ve loved it. You and I would’ve been irritated enough by our close proximity to absolutely love it.

But I can’t move you in next door, or festoon your birthday with cake and gifts. So, instead, I’ll stand outside in the twilight tonight, with a glass of red in my hand and toast you. I’ll keep your voice within mine as I help my brother’s wedding happen tomorrow. As I take my place at a table, ruffle the hair of my many, many nieces and squeeze the hand of my daughter, I take you with me.

And while my kid plays in the garden with the dog (oh you would’ve laughed at him) and her little big voice exclaims in glee, I’ll hear you, all of a sudden, not so far away from me.

Happy birthday Mum.