You know your kids are spoilt when...

It's hard to find that perfect balance between loving your child and spoiling your child.

You're moving along through life thinking you're doing an okay job. No-one's needing therapy. No-one's on medication for their nerves. Then your kids do, or say something that confronts you with the fact you might have been a little too nurturing. The following is a true account of the results of my excessive parenting.

You bring your child a glass of water at the dinner table. They respond "I didn't order water".

You ask your child what they want for lunch. They respond "a toffee-pop sandwich". They are shocked when you decline.

Your pre-teen child requests you make her an appointment  for 'a cut and colour'.

You take your child shopping. They choose a pair of denim shorts. The price tag states $105.00. You say "these shorts are over a hundred dollars!". Your child just looks at you. You explain they will have to pay for said shorts from their own account. They put the shorts back and ask to go to The Warehouse.

You ask your child to do the dishes. They fall on the floor sobbing about how they have to do EVERYTHING.

You drive your child to school because it's raining. You drop them at the gate. They say "can't you drive in?"

Your child surveys the fridge, bulging with food, and shouts "there's nothing to eat!"

Your child crashes your Valentine's dinner and talks for 45 minutes, non-stop, giving you a blow by blow account of The Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Your child has a complete meltdown when you refuse to combine part of the garage into their room to give her a walk-in wardrobe.

Your child explains to you that she plans to change her room decor every year. This year's theme will be X. She asks what her budget will be.


And the list goes on...


Let me know in the comments below if you've had similar experiences.



As always, have a great week.

Grace

 

 

 

What I've been reading...

I've always been an avid reader. Not necessarily an intellectual reader, let's be truthful, I'm in it for the entertainment. But whether you want intellectual improvement or purely vacuous entertainment, books are the answer.

Reading is a wonderful refuge. I've been shaped by the books I've read just as much as my real-life experiences. You can read my previous post on why I love to read here.

I can almost review my life according to its literary trends. There was the 'young-girl-finds-her-power phase thanks to Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew. The unfortunate, but on reflection, probably necessary Barbara Cartland years. Georgette Heyer taught me about history and linguistics. Then along came Maeve Binchy, who reconnected me to my Irish roots and is a master of characterization. Then came university and the text book years. Anatomy and physiology won-out over fiction. These I refer to as the Literary Lean Years. Fortunately for my soul, they did not endure long.

So many good books, so many stories and ideas, so much inspiration.

So how do you find a good book? I've found great reads through magazine reviews, library noticeboards, even by eavesdropping on other's book conversations. I cold-browse library shelves and I adore second-hand book shops. I love new book shops too. But second-hand adds something special, almost romantic to a book. And, importantly, it keeps dollars in my pocket for even more books. Occasionally I might even buy a book for its aesthetic appeal alone. It looks amazing, or is so old I can feel the history seeping from its pages.

I thought I'd share with you some of my latest enjoyments.

I recently visited a book shop in St Kevin's Arcade, Auckland. I love visiting this arcade. It's Art Deco era architecture is worth the trip alone. Lead-light glass fills the atrium with sunlight and the view over Meyer's park and the city is breathtaking. The arcade is filled with a mix of cafes, and tiny barista shops alongside vintage and retro-inspired shops, including The Green Dolphin. The Green Dolphin is the wardrobe-sized variety of book shop (if you didn't read the link above on why I love second hand books and my favourite type of bookshop you can read it here,). Three people and the shop is crowded, five people and we're falling over each other. cash only. I bought two books for the sum of $25. Far more expense than my usual charity shop finds but far cheaper than a new-book shop.

Eats, Shoots & Leaves by Lynne Truss.

Its about punctuation essentially. I bought it because I love to write almost as much as I love to read. Writing is a skill and it's one in need of constant improvement (particularly for me as I can't spell worth a damn and my punctuation could be described as ...developing). I expected a dry book of instruction that I'd have to force myself to endure. Instead I received an entertaining book by someone with an infectious passion for punctuation. The chapter on the apostrophe had me crying with laughter. Who would have thought a book such as this would be so entertaining? That's the beauty of a great, yet unexpected book find.







Vita & Harold; the Letters of Vita Sackville-West and Harold Nicolson 1910 - 1962, edited by Nigel Nicolson.

I am very fond of volumes of letters. I mourn the passing of proper letter-writing. I don't think, in the future, volumes of emails will have the same feel as a proper handwritten letter. Volumes of letters are an amazing insight into our past, how people lived and how they thought. This volume was no exception. If you don't know these people (and I admit I had never heard of either before this book), they are English and wealthy. Both were writers, and you can still buy Vita's books on Amazon today. Harold was also a diplomat and many of his letters are set during WWI. His description of visiting the front (the main line of fighting) is savage in its imagery. I can barely read his description of the noise and the chaos, and the wounded arriving, and the flowering cherry tree under which sat buckets of body parts cut from soldiers, without crying. It lends new appreciate to why we celebrate ANZAC day. Not only is the historical content fascinating, Vita and Harold's relationship is riveting. They were married in 1913 and over the course of their relationship wrote over 10,000 letters to each other. That's 192 letters a year! They really loved each other, despite each having multiple affairs, Vita famously with Virginia Woolf. Some of the letters are a little over the top, but if nothing else, you'll be inspired to write a love letter of your own.


Let me know in the comments below what you've been reading. I love recommendations.



As always, have a great week.

Grace

A disaster and a new relationship

There are a few relationships in life that make such an impact on a girl she is never quite the same again.

My own relationship began in the late 90's. His name was Mark and when he ran his hands through my hair, I knew my life was about to change.
He stared into my eyes and said "are you ready?".
"Ooh yes please!" I relied, feeling goosebumps break out all over my arms.

I'm speaking, of course, about one of the most sacred relationships in a woman's life. One built on immense trust. One (hopefully) of longevity. One that's not easily replaced. One that is, arguably, essential.

I'm talking about the relationship between a woman and her hairstylist. That person to whom we entrust our crowning glory. That mane of femininity so important to our self-imagine that I have spent vast amounts (I hope The Bloke doesn't read this post!), I repeat VAST amounts of money upon it.

I know of woman who have been with their hairdresser longer than their husbands. When you find "The One" it really is life changing. Mark and I were together for five years. I traveled many miles to get to him and he was worth every minute of my time and every dollar from my bank account. I left his salon feeling like a million dollars. Every. Single. Time.

However Mark eventually left me for the bright lights of Australia. I was devastated, and my hair has never been the same again.

Since Mark, I have been to innumerable salons, stylists, and colourists. Eventually when I had the Misses A and B, I gave up going to the salon altogether. It was just too disappointing. I'd enter, full of hope and determined that this time I'd discover Mark II (excuse the Zephyr pun!). But it was never to be.

Years went by, my hair was randomly cut, and frequently coloured by me in my bathroom courtesy of L'Oreal nice and easy.

In 2016, I decided I had to let go of the dream. Just bite the bullet and get back into the salon. I started going to a local place. My stylist was perfectly fine, but not like Mark. I left happy, but not with that feeling of joie de vie that Mark bought me.

When my last appointment was due, Mum had just died. I couldn't face going into the salon, the same one mum went to. I couldn't sit there and make small talk while my heart was broken. So I cancelled and coloured my hair at home. Just after Christmas I needed another colour. I thought I'd just do it myself, again. But this time was different. Disastrous. Horrifying.

I used a different brand. I can't recall it's name. My hair came out an amazing luminous rich red. Then my hair started to come out...altogether!

I have always suffered from 'hair fall', a polite way of saying that as soon as I get stressed, within a few months, my hair starts to fall out. So at first I wasn't too worried. I thought, well with all the stressful events of 2016, its not surprising. But this time was much worse. Each time I washed it chunks of hair would be on the shower floor. Every time I brushed it more would fall out. The bathroom floor was covered in strands of red hair. I panicked. Would it stop? Would I go bald? Would I have to get a number one and start from scratch? What it if NEVER grew back...Eek!!!!

This was no time for penny-pinching. I made an appointment with a pricey but reputable salon.
"I need your best stylish", I told the girl on the phone. trying not to sound as desperate as I felt. "Someone really, really good".
"Don't worry" she said, "We'll take good care of you".
I didn't really have much hope. But I didn't want to go bald without a fight either. I'd researched on the internet and things didn't look good.

I arrived at the salon early, and met the stylist. Her hair looked amazing. Was that a good sign?
"It's not as bad as you think" she said "we'll do a treatment, and cut it shorter, it'll look much better".

"Okay" I said trying not to cry, thinking about cutting off my long(ish) hair.

"I'll get someone to wash your hair and do the treatment" she said. I was promptly led off to the washing station by a 12-year old with facial piercings. She said not a word, but proceeded to wash my hair with enthusiasm and vigour. Ten minutes later I was back in the stylist's chair, feeling like I had shaken baby syndrome.

An hour later I left the salon. Still no goose bumps, but happy that I appeared to still have a good amount of hair on my head. In fact, although it was shorter by about fifteen centimetres, it did appear to be healthy and thicker than when we started.
I thanked her, thinking this might be the beginning of an important relationship. My eyes strayed to her waistline. I prayed that was abdominal obesity hanging over the waist of her trousers.

"When would you like to come again", she asked, "I'll be leaving in April, to have my baby, but we should have your hair in good shape by then".
NOT abdominal obesity then, I had suspected as much. Another promising relationship turned to dust in my mind.

Trying to not sigh, I booked in my next appointment. I guess we should always make hay while the sun shines.

As always, have a great week.

Grace

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