Leuca

We drove all the way down to Leuca, right to the tip of Italy's heel.

There is less rubbish by the side of the road here.

Leuca was gorgeous - quiet and sunny.

The husband and I drank coffee and wine, ice cream.for lunch (the only gluten free option).

Smoked olive oil (what a find!!) for the husband's lunch.

We followed the coastal road north towards Otranto, but were too pooped to go explore Otranto too.

Back to Lecce.

Wild figs everywhere!

Tonight - our last night in Italy - we'll return to last night's steak restaurant for dinner.

Food is good here, and for a gluten-infused country like Italy, they are very aware of the celiac's diseasers who cannot indulge.

We miss our boys terribly.

They go with us all the time.

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Brindisi to Gallipoli

Breakfast in Brindisi.

We strolled the boulevard, drank double fortifying cappucinos.

We stopped at Porto Selvaggio, where I waited in the car while the husband walked down to the coastline.

I'm having a pathetic pain day, and I have a good book.

Then on, to Gallipoli.

It is a wonderful place, for its simplicity and beauty, on a ledge of the Ionian Sea.

Just Go.

We had a long drive, nearly gave up on Gallipoli after we stopped for lunch at Santa Maria di Bagno.

Italy has an outward-culture: it screams 'Look at me!'

Gallipoli was different.

We drank Limoncello.

We accidentally crashed a funeral where black-clad gents rested against a building outside the church.

(We only noticed on exiting the church)

We are sleeping in Lecce for 2 nights.

We have a nice apartment with a well-stocked bar and terrace where we can sit outside watching the swallows dipping high.

Tomorrow: Otranto and Leuca.

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Brindisi

The plane.

Beautiful views of the Alps and the Croatian coastline.

Wowzer.

Brindisi. 

Run-down but building it all back up.

I love the chaos and the potential.

Will it keep its character?

Or sell out to the almighty god of Tourism?

An Electric Ave Maria at the Piaza Duomo.

The Catholic Church is trying to keep up with whatever is hip & happening, and in this case it is a Neon Halo.

The husband and I ate too much.

A mountain of gluten-free Risotto.

There must be some genetic tolerance for carbohydrates built into the Italian DNA.

The youth all look the same.

Stove-piped jeans, rolled up, will be the new rage.

We saw the exchanging of pills of ill-repute on the street.

Boys have big hair, girls have short skirts with black tights and dark lipstick.

It's like Rick Astley-meets-The Adams Family.

Tomorrow Lecce, Otranto and Gallipoli.

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The very worst part

It has to be leaving my boys behind while the husband and I prance around in Italy.

So I let Son#3 fall asleep in my bed, while Son#2 is sleeping at grandma's in the guest flat and Son#1 is watching tv with the husband.

The anxiety of 'will I see them again'.

I'll only get to kiss their cheeky cheeks again on Tuesday night!

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Hard day's night

I am pain-suffused this morning.

There are grey hairs (!!) to colour away.

Laundry and groceries, a life to organize for loved ones in the Nether Lands while the husband and I are in Brindisi this weekend.

It sounds like fun but I'm not looking forward to the travel-bit.

But plonk me down on a chair with Limoncello in hand and I'll be a-okay.

In a while, I'll try to put the eye patch on Son#2 again.

I expect ranting and raving.

One keeps doing things, regardless of pain because one wouldn't have any kind of life otherwise.

Pain is a snake, and I slither along with it on its back.

There are flowers on the pear tree and sunny, blue skies all around.

Today will be o.k.

Then I got a letter from the university where I teach, stating that they expect improvement only in the looooong term.

A stubborn part of my disordered personality shouts

'I'll be the judge of that!'

But they're probably correct, and that miffs me no end.

Flyyyy, fly awaaaaay.

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Fisticuffs and repetition

A loooooong day.

Son#2 (with whom I had a godawful clash) started skateboard lessons.

Within an hour he was staying upright and going down ramps.

We ate tortillas for dinner, which made life feel summery and nice.

Tomorrow, attempt #2 to see Son#2's eye specialist.

The hospital cancelled our appointment WITHOUT LETTING US KNOW.

I should charge them for the time and petrol it cost me, never mind the pure grief and suffering trying to get that dreaded eye patch on Son#2.

And tomorrow we have to do it again...

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Five-ism

A full 5.

Brothers with mussed morning coiffures.

Son#3 had fun.

At school he sat on a throne in his class all day.

We ate pancakes for dinner and he fell asleep in bed with me.

Our meeting with the principal was emotional and futile.

Even getting Son#3 tested won't change a damn thing.

Now to let it rest.

Different school?

Traumatic for Son#3.

Same school?

Acceptance?

Toughtoughtough.

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Sauerkraut

P.M.freakin'S.

I did lots of things, and we had sunshine all day.

Things#1 and 2 had their school performance, which entailed repetitive movements to a movie soundtrack.

The teacher, young and hormonal (and who won't help Son#2 out of Bullydom, hence my bitter disposition), required attention (by jumping up in the dark and starting to mimic the kids' moves).

I don't know why she did it.

It's like Facebook: 'Look at me (key concept) being involved with my pupils/dynamic/showing up you useless bunch of no-good parents'.

I'll shut up now.

I'm not feeling the flow of positivity towards the school.

We have a meeting with the principal tomorrow.

And we are getting Son#3 tested for school readiness.

He's turning 5 in the morning.

I could not stop kissing his 4 year-old cheeks tonight.

Blissful boy.

Son#2 and I had a fall-out before bedtime - he has a splinter which I refused to start stabbing at with sleep-deprived far-sighted eyes.

My reasons weren't sufficient and he turned into a pyroclastic flow.

This boy can ERUPT like Vesuvius.

Now rain.

Sleep.

And then some.

Keep on keeping on

It is 3h30 in the dark morning hours and I am debating going downstairs to drink tea (or not).

Son#3 has a bed next to mine and has been coughing the hours away.

I may have slept for an hour, perhaps less.

My brother turned 44 yesterday.
Happy happy brutha.
He's been on my mind of late.

It will be a busy day, a busy week.

Sons#1 and #2 are performing their school plays 3 times, Son#3 will morph into 5 year-old-ism on Tuesday.

Meetings, parties, visits and then on Saturday, the husband and I will fly to Brindisi.

It was a beautiful day with playing outside, barbecues and 6 kids from the neighbourhood threading in and out.

There are (always) problems (in everyone's lives).

But we live a charmed life.

And sunshine makes me happy.

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Some days

Some days you wish they could just stay this way forever.

Forever!

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Will it really?

I'm not sure yet.

I did the laundry, made breakfast, then lunch.

Son#2 is gung-ho and dead-set on going to an obscure party held at the rugby club - which we will certainly NOT be attending and each conversation about it does end in tears.

He comes in every 10 minutes, just to repeat the same request and then get the same disappointing answer, with the same response.

Things#1 and #2 have been playing-fighting with a friend in the street.

The ice cream van sang its Mr Sandman-tunes outside again and we ran out, the kids walking back inside with ice cream-licking smiles.

Thing#3 is being uber-cute, quite happy in and out of an old cardboard box.

 You don't need an awful lot of toys to keep kids happy.

Simple things: boxes, a car or 2, a football.

I washed the baby buggy, and put the buggy, our old couch and bunk beds on the Dutch version of Ebay.

 I want to clean.

I want to get rid of all this stuff that clutters my mind and life.

Pity about pain and low energy, but one has to start somewhere.
Strangely, my right middle finger hurts like hell today - just the finger I feel like using too.
Suspicious, Universe.
Suspicious. 

Cut me loose, I need to float away.

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Mad about the boy

I mean, really.

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1992

Top row, third from the right.

Curls and that dreaded school dress which was threadbare at the end of my high school years.

I owned one dress, refused to let my mother buy another, lest she spend money on an institution that I abhored. 

Does anyone actually have an enjoyable puberty?

The girl with the flower on her head was my best friend,

but one of those that you need to keep your back to the wall with.

We don't have much contact anymore, which is good.

I simply skipped school for probably half of my matric year, unable to muster the energy to show up.

My parents - bless them - were in full support, being outsiders too.

Got into university anyway.

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Chain-chain-chain of fools

I phoned the Centre for Youth and Family for help.

Son#3's failure to thrive at school leaves with me with a terrible taste in my mouth.

On Monday, I have an appointment with a school in the next village.

My friend Karen is hyper critical of schools, yet very content with the school.

The idea would be to move Son#2 (bullied) and Son#3 (unrecognized).

We shall see.

Tomorrow morning, a colleague is dropping by.

And while I appreciate the gesture, it isn't necessary.

I'd rather watch a movie with my mum.

Or read a book.

Or clean the house.

Anything rather than pity.

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On your own

Yikes!



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The Point

I saw a new immunologist who thinks that I'm in a prodromal phase (i.e. initial phase) of a systemic autoimmune disease.

Blood tests, results next week.

He seems to be connecting dots, and although that is  exactly what I wanted - someone to look at the big picture of my illness - I feel so, so very sad about his conclusion.

Lupus?

Scleroderma?

He said it can take years before we get to a clear diagnosis.

I am going back in 3 months' time and need to speak to my GP for pain management.

Home again.

Meeting with Son#3's teacher plus other kindergarten teacher.

Son#3 is definitely not continuing to the next year. 

He 'plays too much', especially with younger kids.

Horror of horrors, a toddler who plays.

Tsk tsk tsk.

We have NOTHING to say about this, no control.

I'm fervently hoping that we are wrong and the teachers are right - because we want what is best for Son#3.

But this complete lack of control of any direction of my life got my goat today and I threw a tantrum at home.

What oh what is the point of this blooming existence?

We are born, life-strife-people-problems and then we all die anyway.

I am struggling today.

My mother listened patiently.

Thanks mum. 

Beauty Seeks Parlor

The most brilliant titles accompany the advertisements for cats at the animal shelter.

'Beetle seeks drive'

'Feisty butterfly for the advanced cat lover'

and indeed,

'Beauty seeks Parlor'.

Literature found in the most unlikeliest of places.

Poetry can be discovered anywhere.

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Warming up

It is the first warm day of the year.

My mother is washing the garden furniture, I raked the soil-y patches in the lawn and sowed grass seeds - a gargantuan mistake pain-wise but nice nonetheless.

Sons#1 and 2 have gone off armed with shorts, t-shirts and a soccer ball.

Son#3 is happy as a lark, playing with water.

Look at them lily-white legs.

We might go in search of slippers for the boys.

Then again, we might not.

All I know for today is that I love the sun on my skin.

Wish we could have this everyday.

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Wait

My mother has arrived, and it is wonderful.

Simply wonderful.

Even Mother Nature is celebrating: blooms and budding trees all around.

The husband is closing the stairs in the kitchen so we (read: he) can make a cupboard to chuck our shoes in.

Sons#1 and #2 played with a friend-with-no-manners while #3 was off to a Knight-party.

I'm in a lot of pain.
When you think it can't possibly get any blooming worse, it sometimes does.

On Monday I'll see the immunologist at noon, then Son#3's teacher in the afternoon. 

Son#3, who is failing kindergarten, and who can strangely read already and pick out the correct letters for words from a letter line-up.

Yup.

So we wait.