Cleaner with Stories

She was cleaning my house.

I was writing a proposal.

Every now and then she talked to me.  She had lots of stories.

My son was sleeping in his crib and I needed to maximise my free time.  I knew that I literally had 20 minutes before he woke up.

Just then, my mobile rang.  Damn! It was the courier guy, delivering my package.  We agreed to meet in the basement.

The planned one minute job turned into 15 minutes.  The guy was thick.  He was circling the block, using the wrong entrances. We were playing cat and mouse. There was also a language barrier.  He spoke no English. My Dutch was pretty bad.

During the wait, I thought about my son.  I knew he would wake up and look for me.   I also thought about the cleaner. I reckoned she would use her motherly instincts to deal with him, if need be. 

When I returned to my apartment, I could hear my son screaaaaaaaming from a distance.  He was really screeching!

I ran to the door. The cleaner opened.

I was expecting to see my son in her arms, while she tried frantically to calm him down.  I planned to apologise for the delay and then thank her.

Instead, she had a vacuum cleaner in her arms.  The noise had obviously woken my 1 year old.

I said “Where is he?” and she calmly told me that he was in his crib.  She had closed the door and left him there. Crying.

I reacted immediately!  I said “What happened?” and she said “Oh, he needs to learn!”

 

As if I needed to hear more, the cleaner added another little story.  She said that her boyfriend who was now in prison had taught her this wonderful method of “teaching” kids, before they lost custody of their daughter.  At first she found it difficult to ignore the baby, but then she came around.  She said “You need to try it. It works!”

I wanted to slap her.

To me, there was an issue.  To her, there was none.   She was there to clean, and that’s what she planned to do.

Her capacity for insight was limited.  Her benchmark low. Her emotional tank dry.

We were clearly on different pages. Different planets. And neither of us was “right”.

I decided to give her the rest of the day off.  And, my house looked like a jumble sale for the next 2 months.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

To Listen or NOT to listen

It was nearly Christmas.

Everyone was talking about their holiday plans. Most were going skiing in Europe and then back to South Africa for a beach holiday over New Year.

I could not even thinkkkkkk of taking leave. Firstly, I had only joined the company a month or two earlier and secondly, the most junior person on the team always stayed put. I accepted my fate maturely.

About 3 days before Christmas, and on the last real shopping day, I got the call I had been waiting for. I was free to pack up early and go home. I was elated.

I planned to light a candle for my deceased granny (old tradition), pick up my Christmas pudding from my mom, book my Secret Santa Girls Lunch and finally get all the little gifts for my family. I was excited.

As I was driving out of my office, I got a call. It was from a colleague. She needed my “help”. 

I listened. 

She had a deadline to meet and was not going to make it.

I listened some more.

She explained that she had loads of “important” things to do.

I continued to listen.

She had gifts to buy, cocktails with friends, carols by candlelight and oh yes, a spa day. She simply had “no time” to do her work and she wanted me to do it. It was a 5-day job that required working over Christmas in order to meet a submission deadline.

She sensed my energy dip, so she added something extra. She explained that she had already talked to the CEO of the company and “cleared things” with him.

She ended her pitch by adding that she thought that I “wouldn’t mind” because I had “nothing exciting to do anyway”.

I stopped listening. My ears just stopped playing ball. 

For a moment, the CEO ploy flashed across my mental dashboard as I envisioned beautiful gold stars next to my name and a promotion. Fortunately, that shit didn’t last long. I came to my senses. Quickly too.

I said “I can’t help, I’m afraid” and when she said “And why not?” I said “Ear trouble”. 

I did!  I could have high-fived myself right there, I must say!

I hung up and went to light that damn candle. 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Loaded Questions – Short-Short Story

Each time she asked a question. I became uneasy.

The question was always loaded.   Guaranteed.

I found this exhausting.  Mentally and emotionally exhausting.

At times, I refuelled.  I got ready. I fired.  Game on.

But most times, I retreated.

My reasons for not playing the game varied.

Sometimes I was just not in the mood for the game.   It happens right?

Other times, the stakes were too high. The casualties too precious.  The possible fatalities strategic.

All in all, I reckon the learning experience was invaluable.

And today, I am grateful.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

NOT your Friend

He was 50.  I was 20.  We took the bus together 5 days a week.

I asked him questions about his wife and children. He asked me questions about my ambitions and dreams of traveling the world.

It was cool.

So, bright and early one Monday morning, just before the bus arrived, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. Someone peeking through a curtain.

It was his wife.

My instinct told me to abandon the conversation. He was just getting started telling a joke. He was very animated.

The next time I saw his wife, I said “Hello Mrs X! You must be excited about your trip”. Her husband told me that he was planning something special for their anniversary.

Her response left me cold.

She said, “Listen little girl. I am NOT your friend”. 

Friend? Who said anything about friends?

The next time I saw her husband, he was full of smiles again. He had a bunch of brochures from a travel agent in his bag. He said “I will let my wife choose the best ones and give you the leftovers, okay?”

I was excited. I reallllllly hoped she would leave the Contiki Tours of Europe one for me.

Then my dear mother (bless her wicked vocab) stepped into the soapie right on cue.  She said, “Do me a favour? Please don’t talk to those f*ckers again. You don’t need other people’s twisted views and insecurity issues in your life”.

And of course she was right.

Mothers always are.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Blue Monday

I was having a shit morning.

It was Monday.  My husband left for university at 6am in the pouring rain because he was taking an important exam. My daughter spilled her cereal all over her new dress. My son had the world’s worst case of chicken pox and I was due to participate in an important Skype meeting.

That’s when the doorbell rang.

It was a social worker.  She was there to check on our “living conditions” and the “wellbeing of the children”.  It was a routine visit.  I just wish the stupid tart would have warned me!

My hair was a mess, I was wearing a formal shirt and red lipstick (getting ready for my Skype call) with my husband’s pj pants stained with baby food (because that’s all I could find when the damn doorbell rang).

My house looked like something out of a horror movie. I reckon the “living conditions” scored very low.   My kids were both crying, one because she felt embarrassed about her wet clothes and the other because he was itchy and hungry.  I reckon the “wellbeing of the kids” did not score very highly either.

Talk about first impressions huh?

The woman spoke to me in Dutch.  I did not understand.  My daughter laughed loud! She said “Mamaaaa, your boobie is open”.    It was true!  My breast-feeding son had been having his drink and in my rush, I completely forgot to put the boob away again.

The visit ended quickly.  She jumped on her bicycle and left.  I never heard from her (or the department of social services) again. Thank God.

BUT, I spent the rest of the day in turmoil.

What did she think of me? Did I look like a bad mother? Would she cause trouble? Did the children seem okay? Did she think I was crazy? Did she rate my boobs? Would she call the cops? BlahBlahBlahBlah!

Stupid woman on a bloody Monday morning!!

After a few hours of that head storm, I thought to myself “Damn this! Enough! Grab a hold of yourself.  Youuuuuu cannot control what’s done.  It’s done!”

And just like that, I channelled my inner Iyanla and focussed on what I COULD control.

I cleared my diary, took the spotty baby and the sweet girl out for a picnic.  Ahhhh!  Peace at last.

As we sat down, my daughter said “Mama! Mama! There’s your friend”. 

Yes, you guessed it!  Miss-Stuff-Up-Other-People’s-Mondays herself.

That’s when I had my first stroke of genius for the entireeee day.  I said “Let’s play tent-tent Everybody hide!”

And we did.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Voluntary Ignorance

Her parents were not educated. His were.

Her parents had money. His were broke.

This was no ordinary situation. In fact, it was positively unique. 

It did not really matter when they met.

As time went by, it mattered lots.

The educated ones turned their noses up whenever they could.

The ones with money toned down their wealth as far as they could.

In their last fight, the guy screamed and said “It’s a damn pity that some people CHOOSE to remain ignorant!”

The girl paused and said “I could not agree more!”

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Boobs, Business & Morons

My client was angry!

They were angry because they felt that service was not up to standard.

Their company CEO was due to visit the event.  He was bringing the Deputy President and some other important people.

Shit was happening.

So, I did the right thing.  I swopped my high heels for flats and literally RAN around with the team trying to fix a couple of things.

Hours went by.  I was still running.

I did not eat breakfast.  That was fine.

I did not make it to wee when I needed to.  That was fine too.

Lunch came and went.

But gosh, by 3pm, my body said STOP.

I had a little baby at home and when I couldn’t nurse, I needed to remember to express. Express? Oh crap!  That small matter of sitting still for 15 minutes to get milk out of my breasts.  Yes, that!

I felt like I was about to burst.  I had to sit down.

So, I ran to my car, got all the shit I needed and went to find a secluded spot.  A nice, dark corner on a stage, behind a curtain where no one would find me.

I unbuttoned my shirt.  God, I had no time!   I just removed the whole damn thing and sat there topless.  Breaaaaaaathing and getting ready.

As the pump started, I felt so happy!  The relief and release of hormones was magical.

But then I heard voices.

They kept saying “What’s that sound?”

The pump kept going.  Djooom Djoooom  Djooom. 

I peeked out behind the curtain.  God! It was the CEO of the angry client!  He was waiting with his entourage for the important delegation.  I literally could not escape.  There was no way.

That’s when I heard an angel’s voice. 

Some daft person said “Oh! That’s just the aircon.  They’re getting a technician to fix it”.

Hallllleuia!  Saved by a moron!

I continued to pump, continued to giggle and continued to enjoy the surge of endorphins only a nursing mother knows about.  Nature’s drugs filled my veins and I have lived to tell the tale.

And in celebration of Women’s Day in a month, allow me to remind you Goddesses that we are life!  We are the incubators of God’s breath.  We are miracles.   We are powerful beyond our knowledge.

We have boobs and we know how to use them.

Let’s celebrate that together, we are magic.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.