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Just Randomly throw stuff


I feel kind of ashamed writing this post but I also feel it might help some of you, make you feel better about your lives and about being on earth in general. So here goes. Please forward this on to anyone who might feel that they are being a shitty parent. It’s a short read as I am comatose tired (hormone therapy for cancer sucks balls!)

Plus the hunk is working tomorrow and I’m doing the ‘mentally preparation’ thing so that mommy won’t go to jail. It’s going to be a cereal with no milk and LOADS of screen time kind of day. Bonus if we brush our teeth, 1000 points if we get dressed.

Here it is, the bit to make you feel normalTonight I threw stuff at the jungle gym. Not sure what I was actually aiming for, it was quite the unexpected and spontaneous act. And it was brilliant, as in throwing with the focus and enthusiasm of an Olympic athlete. Shoes, pot plants, pets, toy trucks, anything I could get my hands on. I’m terrible at judging distance and so I would like to say that the back door is about 5 meters from the jungle gym. But it’s probably more like 2 meters at most. Let’s agree on 4 meters. I have skills people!

Yet I’m torn between being proud of fat arm for throwing like a high school jock and feeling guilty for emotionally traumatising Bailey for life. TORN. I broke her favourite pot apparently. Never even knew she had a favourite. But the sound of that pot smashing to pieces was disturbingly satisfying. It’s me and the broom tomorrow and very possibly some stitches and shit…

What I can say in all honesty, is that I always thought that I ‘throw like a girl’. Well chew on this you cheap asshole coaches who bit your nails and ate Lipice (for real, for another blog post), while we sweat it out on the field. I hit that jungle gym every single time. Pots broke and plants went flying and thank goodness Mr Jackson (our gangster cat) and the three resident hadedas were not within range. (Hadedas mate for life, ours is a couple plus their retarded / nerdy clever son who won’t move out. They are always around and they cost us a small fortune in cat food every month). 

What, you may ask, drove me this? Well, waking up unnaturally early with news about Fortnite and not understanding a single word of it. EVERY DAY. Of course all these updates are delivered expert auctioneer style WHILE my girl wails because Tom is breathing too loud or because her school shirt suddenly sits too high, or too low, anything really. Amidst this, the third child is hanging on me, begging for a tractor with a stinky bum that he thought he had wiped. AND in all of this the hunk and I are trying to have a Scrum meeting of sorts to plan our day. Whilst brushing teeth. And the dogs are going bat shit crazy at that over zealous retired person who has to walk their 15 dogs at the break of dawn. Sometimes I just cannot handle. I know you feel the same.

The noise, the sensory overload. Those of you who follow me on Instagram will know that I’ve asked a friend and neighbour to write a letter, asking that the girl child in our house must please stop being so loud early mornings as it traumatises their Dachshund. And that it is a matter of life and death. That the poor dog is close to having a heart attack and surely we don’t want that on our conscious. We already throw pots and steal plants from verges. We need to show that we are decent citizens. (About this issue; we have tried grounding, Tabasco, taking toys away, never having a party again, calling Santa, the Bunny, never seeing Mia again, you name it.)

Emotional blackmail is our last resort. I will let you all know if it works in which case my intellectual neighbour will write you a personal letter loaded with guilt for a small fee.

Last word; after my last PET scan came back clear I allowed myself to fall apart a bit for the first time in over two years. Just to be safe I went to see a psychiatrist. We both agreed that I did not need to be there, uncomfortable silence followed, then silly grins and giggles. And then, since I had paid the equivalent of one month’s school fees for this session (three kids), we kept on chatting. More like chin wagging really, like old buddies around a fire. We spoke about authors we like and TED talks, restaurants to avoid and most importantly; which brand of noise cancelling headphones would be the best buy. He agrees that a pair is imperative to restore and maintain mental health.

I’m saving up. I’ve been considering getting a pair for years but have always worried that I won’t hear a child when they’ve broken a bone or stuffed Lego up their nose. Truth is; they will find you when they need something. Little kids have a uniquely evolved and very powerful sense of smell to find their parents. You can be in the bathroom or hiding in your car, your closet, your garage or under a tree, or even on the other side of your fence, broken leg or three legos up their nose, they will find you. So start saving with me today.

Stop the self loathing. We are all just doing the best we can.


  1. Let’s go for coffee – for serious let me know when you are free next week – I’ll tell you a story that will make you feel amazing about yourself 🙂 Ps. We have explained to the kids that there are adult words and kid words…
    Thank you for the compliment!


  2. You are just absolutely incredible, Karen Jackson!! I DEMAND that this is a big part of your movie one day. You have a ridiculously incredible talent and it is really so brilliant that you are prepared to share to help others…

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Lady, how the HELL do you continue to write about what is going on inside my brain, and address (most of) the same issues I grapple with continuously. I’m having the hardest time controlling my temper lately and have resorted to ‘saying the eff word’ in front of my kids twice already – in the space of 2 days / 1 weekend. Such outburst resulted in gushing fat tears from each child since the word is ‘SOO bad Mom’! Ugh, I can’t even blame hormone therapy or fat arm (have 2 of those, au naturale).

    Liked by 1 person

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