I took my wedding ring off. Once.

 

I took my wedding ring off. Once.

26 April 2024

I’m rather fond of My Grantie. In fact, I absolutely adore him.

 

In addition, I’m also partial to the institution of marriage and all that it represents. Maybe because I’m in a very happy marriage. Funny that! I love being one half of a partnership and being married to my best friend. I love the symbolism attached to marriage and as such I’ve never taken my wedding ring off. My Grantie put it on my finger at our beautiful wedding on the 6^th of April 1996, in my grandparents’ garden, in front of all of our gathered friends and family. And it’s a day that is forever immortalized in my mind as being absolutely golden. Every single thing was perfect! It’s no surprise then that I’ve never taken my ring off.

 

But perhaps, that’s not 100% true. Cause I did in fact take it off. Just once. And I didn’t really want to do it then either. I don’t remember the details too clearly, but I do remember crying a lot when I was forced to do just that.

 

I had always wanted a big family. And am so happy that I got to have at least three beautiful kids. In a perfect world, I’d love to have more. But alas, My Grantie was never keen and that ship has clearly sailed by now. My eggs are no doubt hard boiled and way past their sell by date. Which is a pity. If I thought that there was any chance of possibly sneaking another one past him, I’d give it my very best shot. Believe you me!

 

Not long after Luke was born, I was already eagerly looking forward to having another baby. But I had thought that 3 years would probably be a good age gap, so I was willing to work round about that schedule. Very patient on my part if you ask me.

 

And we were over the moon when I fell pregnant, right on schedule and our 2^nd baby was due on the 28^th of February 2001. I remember being so excited to announce our happy news. Wanting to shout it from the rooftop. Telling everyone that I could in person and phoning those that I couldn’t see to tell them too. Such an awesome time in one’s life.

 

Until it’s not. And you go for a regular scan and the doctor says that the baby is looking a bit small and they then spend a disproportionate amount of time looking around on the sonar screen. Being ominously quiet while they’re doing just that. Finally announcing that a follow-up appointment was needed just two weeks later. So I was a bit worried, but it would be fine. It would all work out. I was convinced of that.

 

But alas, the follow-up scan was not the joyous occasion that I had eagerly anticipated in advance. Sadly there was no heartbeat and I remember the doctor telling us this. And this awful, heavy, dreadful silence filling the room. For a seemingly very long time. Complete and utter disbelief. I simply could not comprehend that it was possible. Please say it wasn’t so.

 

Unfortunately it definitely was and a few days later I was scheduled to go in for a D & C at our local hospital. Not a nice experience at all. It wasn’t that it was physically painful. I don’t recall that at all. But emotionally I was completely and utterly distraught. Remember shortly before going into surgery, when the nurses came around and asked me to remove my wedding ring. I was gutted. I begged them to let me keep it on, as it meant that My Grantie would still be with me. But they wouldn’t budge. Protocol, policies, procedure and such was quoted. Which I do understand. They’re merely covering themselves, but it was symbolic to me too.

 

And so I took my wedding ring off once. But never again.

 

When I was wheeled out of surgery, it just so happened that my house doctor was also in the pre and post recovery room. He is a very, very dear friend, whom I love very much. And just seeing his familiar face meant the world to me. But it also opened the flood gates. Somehow think it was the first proper ugly cry I had had since my Dad had passed away two years previously. He assured me that all would be fine in the end, that we would have another baby and that he was very sorry for our loss. And I’ll always remember his empathetic kindness.

 

Of course, he was right. A few months afterwards, I fell pregnant again. And Amber was born with a mere 3 year and 10 month age gap between her and Luke.

 

One of the strangest things that I can recall with vivid clarity from that day, is that before and after my surgery, I was in the maternity ward at the hospital. I suppose it could also be called the gynaecological ward. And though I do know that it is not intentional, I thought that it was a bit cruel. Before and after my surgery I could hear babies crying. Lots of happy new fathers and siblings in the hallway outside of my room. New grandparents too. It was such a happy and wonderful place for them. And it struck me that there was clearly a lapse in compassion in the medical system.

 

Anyway, things obviously worked out the way they were meant to all along. Maybe it made me appreciate my kids all that more.

 

I still think about that baby every so often. Especially close to his or her due date. But the ache is no longer as harsh or as fresh as it had been. I still have some of the early scans pics and a few clothing items that we had bought. But time mellows things. And I did end up fortunate enough to have two more babies thereafter.

 

In hindsight I’ve thought it’s also uniquely symbolic that I did something so unique for that baby. Something that I didn’t do for any of my others. I took my wedding ring off. And for a small slice of time, it was just the two of us.

 

Now as for my Grantie, he’s never taken his ring off either. Because he can’t. His wedding band consists of two rings that are linked together. And they’ve become so tight that there is no way he could get it off again. Which suits me just fine…

 

 

 

 

Filling in official forms, makes my head hurt. A lot!

 

Filling in official forms, makes my head hurt. A lot!

25 April 2024

I’m rather fond of admin and don’t mind doing it at all. Weird, right? Cause I think most people hate it.

 

Now I’m not saying that I actively go out there and look for admin stuff to do, but I’m quite happy to just knuckle down and do it. It’s kind of non-thinking work. You simply just get on with it and usually you can see the results of what you’re doing. The pile of papers gets less, your inbox shrinks, stuff gets chucked out and everything sort of goes where it needs to go. So the end result is rather satisfying. In addition I'm methodical, so I find it all rather logical.

 

So given the above, it might be quite surprising to discover that filling in official forms, does not fill me with joy. At all.

 

There are so many senseless boxes to tick. And should you tick them or make a cross? The boxes are really small. You always have to use a pen and I’m more of a clutch pencil kind of gal, and have a great fondness for an eraser (my kids have urged me to not use the word rubber…). So many boxes seem to require the same information over and over again. And I sometimes find the simplest of questions on a form rather challenging.

 

I mean given the fact that my postal address and residential address is the same, why should I need to tick where I would like to receive my correspondence? It’s the same bloody place. Besides which, why does anyone actually need to know where I live? It’s not that I mind, but having to fill my whole address out twice means that there’s lots of room for error. Also, when last did I receive anything in my actual physical mailbox outside my house? Everything is done via email, right?

 

I’ve recently started a new job and I absolutely LOVE it!!! So grateful for the wonderful opportunity, awesome company, fantastic working environment, fabulous colleagues and really great bosses. In fact, I thoroughly enjoy my role in my new job. I’m learning and growing and I’d like to believe that I’m making a valuable contribution. Well, maybe not just yet, but definitely in the future. One that will hopefully increase as I skill up and become better at my job. For now, I’m thinking I’m probably more of a bother than a help, but in time I'm positive that this will improve once I’ve gained more experience.

 

But just the other day, I had to fill out a really, really basic one page form for my boss. So yes, it was a form for SARS with a lot of little boxes to tick and complete. And I had to fill in an employee’s personal details, ID number, Company number, employment dates, financial details, etc. But let’s keep it real. I had all of the information in front of me. Albeit in a different format. It was a very simple matter of transposing information from one form to another. Hardly rocket science.

 

Apparently it was not that simple. For me. My boss printed a single page for me to complete. It didn’t take long for me to make my first mistake. In black ink. But fear not. Was I not issued with my very own bottle of Tipp-Ex at work? Surely this would be a very quick fix. So I painted the mistake away, blew the Tipp-Ex dry, made my correction and studiously completely the form. Delighted that I was finished, I took it to my boss and proudly gave it to her.

 

She took one look and said that it would not be accepted by SARS. So she printed me another copy. Felt a bit embarrassed, but it’s just one page after all and anyone can make a mistake.

 

Completed my 2^nd attempt and realized that I’d filled in a wrong line. Knew by now that Tipp-Ex was not an option. So I sheepishly went to my boss and explained that I’d unfortunately made yet another mistake. Apologised and asked her to print it for me again.

 

My 3^rd attempt went really, really well. And I finished the whole thing. Before I realized that I’d filled a December salary amount into a January block. I could not believe my stupidity. By now I was mortified. My first reaction was to drop my head on my desk and I got the most inappropriate and uncontrollable attack of the giggles. Couldn’t believe that I’d done it yet again. Cringed at the thought of bothering my boss yet again to ask her to print me a 4^th form.

 

Still I could not stop giggling. Eventually sent Grant a message and told him what an #eejit I was. Finally plucked up my courage, tried to school my face into a look of remorse (which I really felt, but I do tend to giggle inappropriately when I get nervous, ruining my sincerely remorseful look), knocked on my boss’s door and confessed once more. To top things off I giggled while confessing and over explained what had happened.

 

To be fair, she was most patient with me. Didn’t blink an eye. And went ahead and printed me another 3 copies. Just in case. And just as well… She's clearly a wise woman and had sized me up by this stage.

 

Delighted to report back that I finally completed the form accurately and without mistake. However it did take a rather disproportionate amount of time, paper and ink.

 

Now, this fear-of-form-filling moment of introspection, made me think of other forms. And I had to wonder if anyone else ever felt the same way?

 

And then I remembered…

 

There was this one time my Amber had to go to the doctor and I accompanied her. Once we announced our arrival at reception, the receptionist handed over a clipboard and form that needed to be completed with Amber’s personal details. I knew for a fact that I DID NOT want to complete this form. In addition, I could turn my aversion into a learning experience for Amber. Which made me think. Had she ever really filled out an official form of any kind?

 

I delighted in handing the clipboard over to her and informing her that it was time for her to fill in her own form. One of the “perks” of being an adult.

 

It was a lengthy process and she had lots of questions along the way. And hey, I so get it. I also find forms confusing. Clearly, I’m not very bright. Not saying that she isn't. But I know for a fact that I'm not. She was a first-timer.

 

We got to the bit where they asked for the contact details of her next of kin. So I told her that she could simply add my name, surname, contact number, etc.

 

The following question on the form was, “Relationship”.

 

Now I didn’t think that would be a hard one for her to complete. In my opinion, the relationship question was an easy one. I’m her mother, hence my details. Piece of pie.

 

Until she stumped me with a question she whispered loudly to me…

 

“Why would they want to know if I’m single or if I’ve got a boyfriend?”

 

I guffawed. As did the receptionist.

 

So there you have it. Forms are truly baffling. To many of us. In addition, it’s also clearly a hereditary condition. Sorry Amber!

Having three children basically makes you a bouncer

 

Having three kids basically makes you a bouncer

21 April 2024

Having ONE child makes you a parent. Having TWO makes you a referee. THREE or more? You’re basically a bouncer.

 

I somehow foolishly hadn’t quite anticipated everything that my role as being a mom would encompass.

 

I had anticipated the flood of love. The labour-intensive honour of looking after a small and needy baby. The privilege of showing an eager and inquisitive toddler the world. The miracle of joining and enabling a young pre-school child in discovering their world. The years spent guiding a young child through primary school. The challenge of teenagers, eager to explore their boundaries and experiment with greater independence. The responsibility of nurturing a child into an adult who is responsible, kind, confident, caring, loving, capable, has a great work-ethic and everything else that goes along with raising a fully-fledged human being.

 

I was all prepared for the above. I didn’t quite know how I was going to achieve it, but I knew what the end goal was. And I was fairly confident that I would be able to pull it off, growing alongside them. Stretching not only their boundaries and understanding of what it would all entail, but also mine. We’d be in it together. A partnership of sorts if you like.

 

Now what did really take me by surprise was some of the by-products of raising children.

 

And few things sum it up better than this random quote I came across a few days ago. In fact, it captured it perfectly. Having one child makes you a parent. Having two makes you a referee. Three or more? You’re basically a bouncer.

 

Having only one child, when I had my Luke was fairly uncomplicated. Yes, it was challenging and we both had to muddle through this parenting thing together. But I had way more time with only one child. My attention wasn’t divided. And I was only dealing with one set of challenges at a time. When I was potty training, then I was potty training. That was the phase we were in. No other distractions or difficult areas of parenting to traverse. When it came to teaching him anything for the first nearly four years of his life, he was my sole focus.

 

And then, when he was 3 years and 10 months old, Amber was born. And things became a little bit more tricky. In fact, I was super complacent before Amber was born, thinking that I would absolutely rock this two-children parenting gig. I mean, I’d already done it once before, right? How hard could it be? Surely I was an expert by now? I’d already done all of the challenging stuff once before.

 

But somehow, because Luke was already nearly four years old, he had become fairly independent in many ways. Able to bath himself, dress himself, brush his teeth, eat on his own, etc. And when Amber was born I was once more flung back into full-time dependence from a teeny tiny little baby. I had forgotten in the nearly four years that had passed how big the time investment was with a small baby. Cooking supper with a baby on your hip. Your life divided into roughly four hourly feeding intervals. A quick trip to the shops no longer merely entailing putting a safety belt on a child in a booster seat. No way sirree bob. It encompassed a cumbersome snug-and-safe baby seat. A torture device to carry. A huge baby bag with extra nappies, a spare dummy, blankets, snacks, usually more than one different change of clothing in case there was an explosive nappy situation, to name but a few critical essentials. The explosive nappy thing happens more often that you can actually imagine. These are always hugely impressive. In a bad way, if you catch my drift.

 

When Luke and Amber were both tiny they were firm friends. But once they got a little bit older I discovered that my kids were not immune to what inevitably happens. Siblings do what siblings do. They bicker and annoy each other. The vie for attention and they want the same toy or even random object. Who knew two kids could fight over an empty toilet roll. But hey, they do. So in addition to parenting two kids, I also played a starring role as referee. I swear they would get a kick out of just bickering. And developed it into a competitive sport of sorts. Hence, I refined my role as referee. Yay me. Sigh.

 

Cole was born two and a half years after Amber. And this time I wasn’t surprised by the needs of a small baby and the addition of another child into the mix. Amber was still relatively small and at one stage I had two kids in nappies. I’ve spoken to many people with three kids, and they all seem to feel roughly the same. The jump from one kid to two kids is sometimes quite big. But by the time you add a third child, you simply just go with the flow and they’re born into the chaos that already exists. Nothing really fazes you. You’re already doing multiple things at the same time. In my case I was doing the primary school run with one kid and helping Luke traverse the whole new world that was school. Homework in the afternoons after school. Packing lunch boxes, school sports, constant play dates with friends, helping at school cake sales, Cubs on Friday afternoons, karate lessons twice a week and so it goes on. Amber was a very attached toddler and demanded lots of my attention. We’d do fun things together at home in the mornings while Luke was at school and baby Cole just chugged along and did everything and went everywhere. So I was juggling three kids at three different stages in their lives and all of the challenges that forms part of that.

 

And then Cole got slightly bigger, developed his own personality and became a little person. And then there was definitely 3^rd player in the game. Imagine having a 3 year old, a 5 year old and a 9 year old. Now I’m doing drop-offs at 3 different schools with 3 different drop-off and collection times. Everyone is doing some form of extra-mural. Luke was doing school sport, karate and Cubs. Amber was dancing and doing Playball. Cole was swimming and doing Playball. And all of them wanted playdates all of the time. It was wonderful. It was wild. It was absolutely crazy. Yet I didn’t even realise it at the time. It was just life. And I completely and utterly loved it!

 

However as they got even bigger, my role changed once more. In addition to being a Mom I was now not only a 3 player referee. But also a bouncer.

 

It was ridiculously busy. Manic at times. And involved a lot of mental mathematics to keep it all together.

 

But here’s the thing…

 

I loved every single minute.

 

Moreover, I was desperate to add a 4^th player to the game.

#truestory

You get two kinds of guitars - electric and ?

You get two kinds of guitars - electric and ?

14 March 2024

I absolutely adore kids. And not just my own.

 

There is just something so completely and utterly magical about little people, that I cannot help but be drawn to them and love them. In addition, I’m not selective of their ages. Babies, toddlers, small kids, bigger kids, and even those grumpy and attitude-filled teenagers. I simply always find a way to connect with them, draw them in and have a conversation with them. I think it’s about gaging where they’re at in their growing-up journey, tapping into that and embracing what’s currently happening to them. I can chat to even the most off-the-wall hyperactive kid, shy little dreamers, as well as sully teenagers. They would of course never admit it, but they actually like to be heard and to feel as though their opinion counts. It’s easy to draw them out. Especially if you use their lingo (but not overly so, nothing more cringe than an adult trying to say sick things, like sick), appear to be indifferent and don’t make too much eye contact. That’s with the teenagers of course. Little kids want your full on attention focused on them.

 

But without a doubt, one of the greatest gifts of children (spanning the whole variety of ages), is their take on life. The way they see and perceive the world around them. Their interpretation of so much that we take for granted is disarmingly refreshing. As adults we can become so jaded and often words, sayings and experiences lose their impact. We become numb to it. It’s just part of life. Been there, done that, seen so much. In addition, as adults we don’t questions as many things as we probably should. We just accept. Like why does your nose run, when it can’t do so at all. Its doesn’t have feet. And speaking of feet, how come we have fingertips but not toe tips?

 

Now with little people, everything is a marvel. And the world is a giant place filled with endless opportunities and experiences. Just waiting to be discovered. Just imagine how incredibly exciting that must be? Just close your eyes and ears and imagine discovering something for the first time. It must be incredible!

 

A major upside of little kids and their perception of the world, is the apt way they have of describing things or summarising something that’s happened. Extremely refreshing and usually very funny too. Truly unique.

 

My brother used to live in Joburg for many years, yet he always travelled as a musician. And when he came to the Cape, he used to stay with us. We loved it. He never wanted one of the kids’ rooms. Instead he always opted for the couch as he was a night owl and would enjoy falling asleep with the TV on. So he was always at the centre of our family life.

 

Albert recalls visiting one time, when Amber was about six or seven years old. A touring musician is invariably packing a lot of instruments at any given time. And any visit from Al was no exception. This time, Amber showed particular interest in his numerous guitar cases and asked him to show her what was inside them. He dutifully started off with some of his electric guitars. She appropriately oohed and aahed. Full of knowledge of what they would be used for. After all, she’d seen him performing countless times.

 

And then he opened up and revealed an acoustic guitar. And she bubbled with excitement, eager to show off her knowledge. “Ooooohhh! I know that one. You use it to make Afrikaans music.”

 

Albert was floored and no doubt tickled pink, bursting out with laughter. Funny enough he only told me the story last week and I guffawed too. Such an entertaining description of what acoustic guitars are exclusively used for.

 

I rest my case. Kids are highly entertaining. In addition, I do understand where she was coming from. Her logic was rather appropriate. Though the Afrikaans music genre has grown in leaps and bounds, there is still a large portion of it, which is performed with a, shall we say, “softer” hand.

 

 

 

 

I think I'm back, but let's see

I think I'm back, but let's see

5 March 2024

So here’s where I’m at. Older than I was the last time I did this. Blegh! So what. Still don’t feel any older. Don’t really act older either. Amber occasionally asks me to grow up, but it sounds like a really boring endeavour. So I’ve decided against it.

 

My kids are all adults. Kinda! Basically, which means that I’ve got nobody left in school. Yeeeeehaaaaa! Which is actually a big up to me, cause it means that I made it through school, a total of 4 times, including my own lacklustre first attempt, back in the day. Though it does make me a bit sad. I’m one of those really odd people, who seriously enjoyed the school run thing. As well as the whole having kids at school thing. Odd, I know. But I always knew it was a season in my life and I’m partial to seasons and enjoying every phase of the parenting journey along the way. I was also extremely aware of the fact that while the days might seem long, that the years would be short. It really would be gone very quickly and then it would be over forever. Never to be recaptured again. Yes, as previously mentioned, I’m odd.

 

As for the school run, it meant chatting to the kids in the car. Captive audience and all that. They couldn’t escape. So, a fair amount of the time they had bloody earphones on. But mostly we took turns listening to each other’s music. And we talked. Sometimes about meaningless trivial things, like “What’s for supper?”. As well as figuring out the logistics of fetching which kid, where and at what time. But we also spoke about other stuff. Real stuff. Life stuff. Like, why you can’t feel it when somebody licks your elbow? Did tortoises have eyebrows? And why we really couldn’t attempt to finally enforce 3 day weekends every single week. Mondays were overrated after all. Important discussions like that.

 

I always got the very best and latest school gos, fresh, fresh, FRESH! Amber, without fail, delivered the juiciest and most detailed stories. My favourite. I also always got stories from Amber when she was still in high school and beyond, and I would be the lifting mom to and from parties and chills. The minute she’d get in the car, usually with a passle of other girls, I’d ask the burning question that’d been on my mind since the moment I knew she was going to a party, “So, who cried in the bathroom?”. Cause it’s a well known and I’m sure documented fact, nay phenomenon, that at any teenage girl gathering or party, some young girl (occasionally more than one) was always going to cry in the bathroom due to some idiotic boy either ignoring her, or paying too much attention to her, or for drinking too much, or for saying something highly inappropriate, or for not saying something highly appropriate, or for not commenting on her outfit, or new hairdo, or for his own ridiculous fashion or hair choices, etc. Absolutely endless opportunities. So this was definitely a highlight of late night lifting and well worth the effort of staying awake in order to fetch from parties. Yes, I volunteered for this exact reason. Hey, I’d take my pleasures where I could find them. Not that I encouraged or looked forward to some young girl having an agonising time, it was just a given thing, that it would happen. Promise I’m not cruel. It was more about the fact that Amber would so eloquently regale me with these stories and no doubt enlighten me with said idiot-boy’s stupid behaviour. Now, given the fact that I am also in possession of two boys, I’m sure mine also caused a fair amount of bathroom time. Boys! Girls, I tried my best. And I’m really, really sorry. They’re a foreign species at the best of times.

 

Cole’s stories usually involved his escapades and the reaction of others to them. Highly entertaining and I simply always laughed out loud. We all did. To this day, nothing has changed. Delighted that he’s still the same and I so enjoy his quirky, unusual and refreshing take on life as well as his fabulous social commentary on everything. Definitely unconventional, usually ridiculously apt and somehow spot on. It’s truly a gift. However I simply NEVER got a bloody thing from Luke. Not really much of a sharer that one. Still not. Secretly convinced he works for some or other government agency, enforcing him to practice the discreet sharing of minimal knowledge. I mean, he might actually want to share more. But who knows. He might have to kill me afterwards, so it’s a bit risky. Though to be fair, he would always entertain, by filling me in on the latest school fight or disrespectful student-to-teacher moments. Think he lived for those. Kinda weird that given that, he did a teaching stint in Thailand and absolutely loved it. However, come to think of it, corporal punishment is very much a thing in Thailand. Though foreign teachers could not administer violence themselves, I’m sure he was allowed to watch. 😉 Seriously though, he taught kindergarten kids. You know the age where little kids still love their teachers and are eager little sponges, excited about absorbing knowledge. And he completely and utterly thrived and embraced it with utter joy. Still makes me smile when I think about it.

 

Anyway, so here I am again. Writing, albeit rusty. So, I’m not going to commit to doing this daily, but I’ll definitely try for more frequently. How’s that? It’s a start, and I’m looking forward to it.

 

 

Post 15th Birthday Chill Survival Tales

Post 15th Birthday Chill Survival Tales
21 June 2019

Post 15th birthday chill survival tales. It is possible for 5 boys to eat 20 burgers. The words, "Dude" and "Bra", can with a moderate degree of success be incorporated into the same sentence about 5 times. But a 6th attempt is just one too many. Add 5 boys, 20 burgers, chocolate cake, gassy cooldrink and chips into a fairly small confined space and mix. The result is only going to bed at 4h30 in the morning. Some boys make healthy choices like drinking water instead of gassy drinks and avoid sugar, chocolates and sweets. Weird. Refreshing, but weird.

Boys like dancing. Go figure! Stomping is beeeeeg. Like girls, they also spend a fair amount of time in the bathroom. However it's not habitable thereafter for lengthy stretches of time. Playstation is still popular, but so is bouts of Minecraft, voice noting is king and YouTube videos rule. Inactivity for long periods of time require physical recharging activities such as wrestling, throwing a ball, hand tennis and jumping. At times dangerously high testosterone levels require masculinity tests such as chili eating contests. They really danced after that!

The presence of a mother can occasionally act like truth serum. I have enviably accurate Intel on who sucked face with who at the most recent party. Or is it whom? Occasionally, 2 boys sucked face with the same girl. Though luckily not at the same time. Sometimes the lips were missed entirely, and in true vampire tradition, they headed for the neck. Eeeuuuwww! Don't know if this is a sign of virility? Once again, eeeuuuwww! Oddly enough, the girls in question "proudly" post pics of themselves on social media, sporting their love bite. Most peculiar. Back in the day, chicks used scarves (even in summer), makeup and plasters at a push to cover up hickeys. Cole successfully chatted up a "hot" 17 year old girl at the Mall yesterday, got her number and chatted to her via WhatsApp. Was going swimmingly until he let it slip that it was his 15th birthday. Chatting has ceased. With that girl.

Chains around the necks with locks are VERY in! It's quite acceptable for everyone in a group to wear one. Black is a cool colour. Polo necks have made a comeback. Deep voices travel. Boys don't laugh, they guffaw. Morning walks to the Cafe around the corner include all modes of transport - walking, skateboarding, and if you're The One and Only Cole, hopping on a pogo stick. All the way! Why be normal? Had I made a triple batch of flap jacks for breakfast, they would've polished that too.

Boys can be very, very sweet. Even offering to wipe down a table and pack the dishwasher. Happy to schlep mattresses to and fro. I baked a chocolate cake quite late last night. In my over-zealous attempt to make it look zhoosh with icing and grated white chocolate on top, I tried to turn the warm cake out of the pan too soon. Predictably the cake collapsed. Looked seriously messed up. Patted it back down in the pan again, tried to ice it, but only really succeeded in lifting off the top layer of cake. Giggled a lot, tried to fill the holes with icing and blur the overall effect with grated chocolate, but you could see things had not gone according to plan. One of boys looked kindly at me and said, "You can just say it's meant to be chocolate brownies. It will still taste the same.". And he was not only kind, but right. It was huge and they pretty much devoured it. Straight out of the pan, all gooey and warm chocolatie. Yum!

You can plan a "party" for 2 weeks and it can turn into a production, with half of the kids not being able to attend. Or you can quickly rustle up a birthday chill in less than 24 hours and wing it. No frills, no fuss, and absolutely perfect in every single way. So love being a mom. And soaking up all of these experiences and memories. Being a mom is a blessing and a gift. And a busy house is just my favourite! #momglow

Faces cropped out to protect the fairly innocent...  Twins, right!  Matching polo necks, chains with locks, black jeans,  rolled up (well, duh - obviously), oh and white shoes.  On a side note regarding the chain with the lock, we've had a few near-chipped-tooth-escapes. Locks are helluva heavy.  Not really a good combo for an active young boy, fond of wrestling, hand-tennis, randomly rolling around with the dog, hockey in the garden, excitable games of PlayStation, …

Advanced Level Badges - Taking my mom's-group-secret-society, to the final level

Advanced Level Badges - Taking my mom's-group-secret-society, to the final level - Achieving badge earning crowning glory - Professional, proficient, prolific, pro-frigging-tastic!!!

18 March 2018

By now, most moms have graduated to the advanced level badges.  The final stages.  The highest of the high.  You have passed both the beginner, as well as intermediate stages (see previous 2 blog posts).  So now this is where it's all at. By this stage, you are not only professional, but also proficient, prolific, and all round pro-frigging-tastic!

Eat your heart out Baden Powell, my society is waaayyy cooler!

• Recitals/Concerts/Eisteddfod’s/Gradings/Graduations/Prize Givings Badge – these are the long-suffering moms.  The ones who have sat through 3 hours of prize giving, only to watch their little cherub, go up, for 11 seconds, to receive a certificate for choir attendance…  Eisteddfod is my worst.  The opportunity for disaster is just too ripe.  Like your kid or someone else’s forgetting the dance moves and freezing.  Or singing their solo off key.  I physically age at these events.
• School Meeting Badge – this one needs no introduction.  Places of education have a propensity for meetings.  Of the lengthy kind.  The requirements of this badge, are at least 7 PTA’s.  However if you are presented with the necessity to attend 3 PTA meetings on the same night, at the same time, at at least two different schools, the requirement drops down to three.  Been there, done that.  Wished I had a clone.
• Book Covering Badge – this badge can only be achieved in January.  Moms joining our group in February, will have to endure a whole 11 month long wait, in order to qualify for this badge during the following January.  Now the whole cover-the-text-book-with-plastic thing is not too bad.  Nor is the whole cover-the-workbook-with-pretty-paper-before-covering-it-with-plastic thing.  The problem comes in when you have 3 kids.  Each having a minimum of 11 subjects.  Some requiring more than one textbook.  And more than one workbook.  You can literally find yourself with a hundred books to cover.  It is wise to train your kids to do this arduous task themselves, or to assist you at the very least.  Even if there job only entails cutting bits of sellotape.  Fanning you cool with an old Ideas magazine, and making you coffee.
• Mom’s Taxi Badge – there is an automatic exclusion on this badge for mothers who live within walking distance of school.  In addition, if their children do no extra-mural, off school premises, they do not qualify for this badge either.  To best qualify for this badge, said mother needs to preferably have more than one offspring.  Personally if you’re aiming at getting your badge quickly, I can recommend 3 kids.  Each of them doing extra-murals at the same time, at different venues.  Furthermore at least one child has to be teenager, requesting midnight pick-up times.  Bonus points are earned if you live in another town to the one that your kids do their schooling in.  I found that this was one of my easiest badges to complete.  One Wednesday afternoon was all that it took…
• Lost Property Badge – mothers with children with ADHD are also easy-achievers with this badge.  They are proficient in digging through lost property boxes at various schools.  They mark every item said child takes to school.  In more than one place.  However, most importantly, they never send nice towels, best shoes, new clothes, good cutlery and crockery, or favourite items along on school camps.  These items will never return.  It can be noted that sleeping bag covers, should be cable tied to the zipper of sleeping bags.  These mothers spend the GDP of some African countries on slip slops every summer.
• Split Personality Badge – this badge goes to all mothers of teenagers.  These mothers experience moments of deep concern.  When they look at their former-sweet-children, who have suddenly changed into hormonal-teenage-horrors.  Occasionally these mothers consider counselling, medication, alcohol (for themselves) and exorcism, as a means of reaching their former darling children again.  Please note, that changes in personality, generally run concurrently with physical changes in the body.  You know exactly what I mean.  Apparently, they will eventually morph back into human life form again.  I’m currently waiting as fast as I can…
• Delaying Tactics Badge – aaahhh, yes!  The old Delaying Tactics Badge.  This badge can only be awarded under two circumstances.  The requirements are strict and adherence is expected.  You may only qualify for these badges at:  Bedtime, Homework/Studying.  Children do anything, say anything and behave in any way, to avoid these two unavoidable outcomes.  Occasionally, they will even fake their own death.  They will need innumerable bathroom breaks, profess starvation, have leg cramps (phantom – have you tried making a poo yet?), stomach cramps (phantom – have you tried making a poo yet?), headaches (phantom – have you tried making a poo yet?), they will be thirsty, and my personal favourite – have the longest, boring, most dull, unimportant story to tell you.  Taking 13 looooooong minutes.  In which time, you can feel yourself aging.  Please note that it is important that the mother in question, refrains from clubbing the child with a TV remote (loads of red tape).
• Cake Sale Badge – this badge is awarded to those mothers who lovingly bake and make home-prepared treats for cake sales at school.  Numerous times.  Over and over and over again.  There comes a point, when you feel that you will never get the smell of popcorn out of your hair (sorry, I don’t bake – popcorn is about as good as it gets from me).  However, fear not.  This badge is also awarded to those mothers who do the selling at cake sales.  The ones who end up paying in an exorbitant amount of money for the poor kids who just don’t have enough cash on them, and you don’t have the heart to say, “No my love, you can’t have a chocolate cupcake”.  These mothers handle sticky coins and help little fingers to open wallets.  They run after kids who forgot their change and they patiently give little kids the chance to feel grown-up by doing their own selection and timeously counting out their money.
• Telephone Badge – this is a special one.  There is a reason, the old chord phones of yonder were replaced by hands-free portable ones.  Few things are more trying than a child who discovers, 17 seconds after you’ve taken a phone call, that they need to ask you a super-dee-duper important life-and-death-question.  Like, does Barney have a belly button.  Yip!  At birth, all children have an inbuilt sensor, that goes off.  Mainly when you’re on the phone.  They’re hungry, they need you to wipe their bum (they like to holler this loudly, so the person on the other end of the line can hear it), they’re thirsty, they’ve got a sore foot (have you tried making a poo yet?), they’re killing their sibling, or my personal favourite – the whole super-dee-duper important life-and-death-question thing.  Like, why is the grass green or why are bananas bendy?  Which brings me back.  Phones with chords were fazed out.  As a safety measure.  To protect children.  From irritated mothers.  However, it can be noted that some of these mothers did use these chords on themselves, in self-mutilation.  I really understand.
• I’m-Hungry-Badge – this badge can be attained at any time of the day or night.  However, it is easily achieved during certain critical moments.  The half an hour leading up to you cooking supper.  The half an hour after you’ve just cleared the table from a meal and they’ve assured you that they’re full.  Any shopping trip ever.  Particularly when you’re in the aisle of torture (the sweet and snack aisle), or when you’re waiting at the till and the tills are simply lined with all things sugar.  Actually, any time they leave the home and they know that you’re carrying your wallet, you’re vulnerable.  You are not immune if you’ve just fed your child.  Because here’s the trick – these hunger pangs are not actually hunger related at all.  It can also be said that kids have a fondness, which they’re fond of declaring loudly (to anyone willing to hear – the elderly makes for a great audience), for expensive items.  Like watermelons out of season, when they cost the same as a rump steak.  I can really recommend hearing loss (don’t forget your earmuffs!).  However, I usually have healthy snacks on hand.  Apples, carrots, etc.  Ironically, upon presentation of these food alternatives, they usually find themselves feeling full after all.  Hunger gone.  It’s a miracle!
• Story-Time Badge – this badge is only for those mothers with small children.  Obviously.  You qualify for this badge, once you can quote a book, verbatim, from front to back, without even opening the book.  Extra points are given for being able to quote the page number.  Even more points are earned for being able to do this feat, when being randomly woken up at 3am.  The expert mother can even doodle the appropriate pictures.  Badges are also awarded to mothers who bravely dodge the, “just one more story”, request, 943 nights in a row.  Irrespective of how many stories she has already read to the child.  Or the lateness of the hour.
• Sleep-Dodge Badge – most mothers complete the Sleep-Dodge and Delaying Tactics Badges together, as there is some common ground between the two.  However some kids take the whole sleep-dodge thing to a whole new level.  There is a reason kids are for well-known for their amazing creativeness and imagination.  The dramatic child goes with the, “there’s a monster under my bed” story.  The clever mother, though sympathetic in the beginning, must harden up and be smart.  Especially if this is the 23^rd consecutive night in a row the child has dished up the same story.  Particularly if the child has already exhausted the other Delaying-Tactics resources to no avail.  And said child is exhibiting no obvious sign of fear and is in fact sporting a smirk.  Because they are indeed laughing at you.  I was the lucky recipient of a gold-star-medalist in the Sleep-Dodge stakes.  My little cherub could projectile vomit on cue, in order to avoid sleeping.  Yip, on purpose.  For fun.  To avoid sleeping.
• Glitter Badge – this badge is given in conjunction with playschools and preschools across the world.  It entails liberal dusting of all artworks with glitter.  In fact, excessive use seems to be encouraged.  Kids tend to come home, covered in glitter from hair to toe.  The most pesky place to remove said glitter, is from the actual scalp area.  True story.  Glitter is truly, the gift that keeps on giving.  It never ends…..
• Roadtrip Badge – I am only giving you 4 words.  These are the only words needed to explain this badge – “Are we there yet?” These words are usually uttered at 7 minute intervals.  From the start of your four and a half hour journey.  Non-stop.  By various kids.  However, brief reprieves do exist.  At every 42km enforced bathroom break demand by the kids.  Irrespective of whether there’s a bathroom in sight or not.  Sigh.
• Show Badge – aaahhh yes!  The Show Badge.  This is not to be confused with the concert badge.  The show badge, describes the little home-plays kids tend to do.  Or should I say, little home-style theatre productions.  Rule of thumb – they will not be well rehearsed.  You will be required to clap enthusiastically, irrespective of talent, plot line and props.  These “productions” (I use the term loosely), will usually be rather lengthy.  So make sure your seat is comfy.  I once had to endure a 23 minute dying scene by one of my kids.  In the scorching hot sun.  I nearly expired from heatstroke.  And boredom.  And my hands were sore from clapping.  I’d mistakenly assumed that my enthusiasm will speed things up.  Sadly, it encouraged my “dying swan”, to make many near-recoveries, before finally, mercifully succumbing.  Truth be told, I nearly assisted him to meet his maker in the end, by wacking him over the head with the little kiddie chair I had to wedge my bum into.  It was a near escape.
• Birthday Party Badge – this badge is awarded to the mother who has lovingly baked and self-prepared every edible treat, for the kids and the parents.  She’s packed party packs, colour-coordinated everything, bought matching balloons, risked fainting from blowing up the balloons, and lovingly made personalised birthday invitation for all of the little guests.  This badge is also awarded to the mother who simply sends an sms out, 3 days before the proposed party.  She scoots down to the local bakery on the morning of the party, to buy any cake she can find.  She randomly buys edible treats for kids and the staying moms alike.  She no longer does party packs and simply resorts to bowls filled with sweets on the table.  Kids have pockets, don’t they?  They can choose their own treat to take home.  If there are leftovers.  There’ll be balloons, if she remembers, but it’s not a given.  I’ve been both these moms.  The party-mom-over-achiever and the last-minute-dot-com-party-mom.  I can confirm that the kids have equal amounts of fun, either which way.  They don’t care who made the cake.  They just want tartrazine, sugar and food colouring.  And lots thereof. 
• Dance Party Badge – brave, brave, brave moms.  The thing with a dance party is this – dance parties only ever occur when there are hormones involved.  Which is why little kids don’t want dance parties.  Because if you’re a boy, then girls are gross.  And vice versa.  The first rule of thumb, that teenage hormones are a brewing, is the request for a dance party.  Unfortunately, dance parties are an after-dark-event.  So have your spies.  Be vigilant.  Personally, I can recommend headlamp torches.  Easy to spot the little buggers in the dark, when they’re trying to sneak off to have a smooch.  Stealth is everything.  Because basically, your precious child, that you’re going to all this effort for, does not really want you to be there at all.  Their requirements of you are simple – send out the invites, make sure there’s food and cooldrink, ensure the music is loud, and make yourself scarce.  It is a proven fact that sexist division will occur for the duration of the party.  With boys hanging in one corner, laughing and goofing off.  And girls titivating in the bathroom and having big girlie dances with each other.  Until 3 minutes before the first parent arrives.  And everyone finally starts dancing.  Together.  Strange but true.
• Sleepover Badge – this badge is only awarded to parents who have hosted sleepover parties.  Regular average one-kid-only sleepovers don’t count.  Cause the thing with sleepover parties, is this – THEY DON’T SLEEP.  It is a cruel misnomer, calling these parties a sleepover, when in fact they don’t.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  Instead you’ll be treated to lots of giggles if it’s girls, pillow fights with boys, make-up spilled everywhere with girls, farting with boys, pieces of pizza on your couch, popcorn kernels under foot, loud guffawing, a pile of lost property afterwards, jumping on your chairs, running in the passage, etc.  With a bit of luck, the early faders will start to wilt after midnight.  But the die-hards will be loud and rowdy till about 3am, only quietening (if you’re lucky), after dire threats.  Which gives you about 2 hours if you’re lucky, before the first ones start waking up again at 5am.  However, this does all change when they’re teenagers.  Sort of.  They go to even bed later, but if they’re boys, they’re in a man-cave.  Girls watch movies until the early hours.  They rise later, however it might be for different causes altogether…
• Boardgame Badge – this applies to all games, played whilst sitting down.  And though boardgames are the norm, cards do also qualify.  Go-catch-a-fish in particular, played 23 times in a row.  It’s really a chore and requires diligent work to continuously lose.  Snap, however is also a qualifying game.  Monopoly is the easiest game to play in order to get your badge.  Mostly because the average game lasts about 5 and a half hours.  And your 12 year old is a loan shark, charging exorbitant rates, as the banker.  Making you pawn your precious Clifton and Westville too.  It is very hard to withstand their boastful gloating when you land on their expensive property, with its rather distasteful and excessively flamboyant 3 hotels.  On one property.  On occasion I’ve considered offering my real car as capital surety, in order to pay back my debts.  Because the truth of the matter is, they won’t let you bow out gracefully and admit defeat.  They enjoy watching you suffer.  And it usually gets worse.  After offering to donate your kidney and a spleen just to get off their empire, chances are you’re going to land on Chance and get lobbed with a fake dentist bill.  For the very same 12 year old, with his crooked teeth.  Jeez!
• PMS Badge – this badge is obviously reserved for mothers of daughters only.  Once a month, a body-snatching alien swoops down, and turns your already-hormonal teenage daughter, into a 2 headed beast.  One who bites and snaps at anything and everything.  I suggest you throw chocolate at it.  It tends to help.  Alternatively there is a muzzle.  Though this is apparently frowned upon.   Please go into this with your eyes wide open.  No matter what you say or do, you are clearly wrong and insensitive.  When you reach breaking point, I suggest you concentrate your efforts on consuming the chocolate yourself.  And make a grab for your earmuffs at the same time.  
• Star Chart Badge – effective though the old star chart is, it demands dedication, perseverance and persistence.  There comes a point, in every single star chart experience, where I’m at least 2 days behind, because I’ve run out of stars.  Or rewards.  Or both.  All mothers make this same mistake.  It is exhausting.  And at some point, it just becomes ammunition in your child’s Delaying-Tactics game as well as their Bedtime-Dodge efforts.  Do not get roped into playing their game.  You must remain strong.  Do quick hand drawn crooked stars in blue pen if the need calls.  And leftover Spur mints from your handbag are ample rewards at a push don’t you think?

The moral of the story is this – us mothers have it tough.  It is one pitfall after the next.  Until you have that one magical moment.  When the stars are aligned.  Your kids are achingly sweet.  And you simply know – it’s all so worthwhile, and I’d do it all over again.  Because every mother knows the undisputable truth – THEIR kids are the best.  And they wear those hard earned badges with pride.  Because it means you’ve walked the walk.  Not only talked the talk.  You’ve put in the time, the effort.  And you’ve given your heart.

Us moms.  We rock like that.

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