My mom, sister and I - each parenting a teen

 

My mom, sister and I - each parenting a teen
14 October 2014

Never in my wildest dreams, would I ever have envisioned this scenario.  The one where my mom, sister and I, are each parenting a teenager.  At the same glorious time.

What a funny twist of fate.

Last week, saw the three of us, spending two nights together.  This is always a highlight.

Yet every so often, we’d find ourselves grumbling about “our” teenagers.  Cause though my mom and sister are each parenting a stepchild, they’re fulltime mothers to those stepchildren.  Kids who live with them, that they’re raising, and that go to school from their homes.

But while I’m whinging about my annoying and hormonal sixteen year old teenager in Grade 10, my sister is whinging about her annoying and hormonal seventeen year old teenager in Grade 11, and my mom is whinging about her annoying and hormonal eighteen year old teenager in Grade 12.  Crazy!

Through consultation with my posse, I can concur that there is definitely a recurring theme.  Self-obsession.  Self-indulgence.  As well as a decided preoccupation with food, clothing, their social lives and their virtual social media lives.  Furthermore, there is large scale disenchantment with parental rules, the necessity for formal education and the by-their-standards abysmal amount of money at their disposal. 

How cruel life treats them.

It is awesome to have my girls on my side.  My mom and my sister.  Who better to consult with, and to bounce ideas off? 

Many of my friends who are parenting teenagers, sadly no longer have the luxury of a parent to consult.  Their mothers have passed on.  Are no longer there.  Not only is my mother still around, she’s also right in the very thick of parenting a teenager.  I can tap directly into the power source, from someone that I greatly admire and respect as a parent (just look how great my brother, sister and I turned out - J).  I can actually see her parenting at the same time as me.  In addition, I thought that without a doubt, my sister’s kids would be younger than mine.  She’s nearly seven years my junior.  Yet three of “her kids” are older than my eldest.  Funny, that!

How peculiar, that we’re all dealing with it at the same time?  The very same joys.  Kids and their curfews.  The dangers of social drinking.  Have they been secretly smoking or not?  Have their cell phones and i-pads morphed into their hands?  Their shoddy attitude towards chores and helping around the home.  Their propensity for thinking they are far superior to us, in every possible way.  Their assumption, that their intelligence far surpasses ours.  Their body language, which portrays their frustration with our pedestrian attitude towards all things they deem we don’t understand. 

It is indeed true what they say – rent a teenager.  They know everything.

Few people can make me feel more thick, dense, and all round stupid, than my teen.  And I’m clearly not alone.  They have a disdainful way of talking down to one.  As if they’re explaining stuff to a toddler.  And not a very bright one at that.

Anyway, such is life.  Grateful for the support.  Cause all three of us, are in the same boat.  At the exact same time.  Perhaps we should look for a life raft for three?  Abandon ship? 

Alas, it is a  wonderfully enlightening experience doing this jig together.  Cause we compare notes, and laugh together.  At our kids.  At each other.  And at ourselves.

So I’ve had a scary thought.  If we’re all parenting teens of a similar age, does that mean we’ll all be grandparents at a similar stage too?

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I'm Lombard-less

I'm Lombard-less
2 September 2014

I had the oddest sensation this past weekend.  As if I was set adrift across a vast ocean.

I was completely and utterly Lombard-less.  Please note that this is not to be confused with being leg-less (leg-less involves large scale consumption of alcohol).  Though I do believe that occasionally the two can collide and mesh.  Forming a marvellous whole.

Anyway, back to being Lombard-less.  This is a foreign experience.  Anew to me.

And I can kind of equate being Lombard-less with being rudderless.  Cast away.  Aimlessly floating.  No clear destination in sight.

Cause here’s the thing – the entire Lombard clan (barring a handful of us), went away together.  To an in-house, family-organised music festival.

The bloody bastards!!!  I have decided to scrap them all from my Christmas card list (This is not the time for modesty – my Xmas cards are pretty spectacular.).  But a lucky few will be excluded from the Christmas card freeze - Adam in Bangkok.  Maria, Gareth and Nicole in Joburg.  As well as my geriatric grandparents.  They are forgiven.  But as for the rest?  Hah!  They’re toast!

My uncle Dan, and my mom, Maggie, are the master minds behind an annual music festival held just outside George, at a marvellous venue called Far Hills.  Guests are per invitation only.  Bands are hand selected (dipping largely into the family music base).  And the entire atmosphere is apparently magical.  Special.  Unique.  Phenomenal.  Incredible!  Or so they say…

You know how you get little Garagista boutique wineries?  Well, this is kind of the same thing.  A home-grown, boutique style music festival.  Without the fancy schmancy.  No corporate sponsors.  No bright lights and big wow-wow.  Just real music.  Played really well.  By really good musicians.

What’s not to love?

A lot I tell you!!!  Because I bloody well wasn’t there.

Everyone had a ball.  Thoroughly enjoyed themselves.  It was chilled.  Relaxed.  Entertaining.  Sublime. 

That old evil, “work”, raised its ugly head and prevented me and my family from going.  Alas, such is life.  One can’t do everything all of the time.  And I often think of my sister who missed many family events while they were living in the UK.

In total they had about 250 peeps at the weekend long gig.  Most festive by all accounts.

I was very touched by everyone expressing their disappointment that we wouldn’t be there.  And I got the occasional, “We’re missing” you message during the weekend.  Their photos made me smile and really happy for them (still not bumping them back on my Xmas card list).

And though I had wanted to be there very badly, I told them all, I’d do the next best thing in their honour.  To show solidarity for their great event, as a measure of my support, and my missed opportunity.

I’d sulk the whole weekend.  In commiseration with myself.

Alas, it didn’t work.  I don’t do sulking. 

Even though I don’t see my family all the time, many of them live really close.  And all of them are just a phone call away.  Knowing they were all together, congregated in one place, having an absolute blast, was bittersweet. 

And I’ve realised - us not being there, was not really their fault (well, it would be rather sad if they didn’t get a card this year).  It was all me.

Next year.  I promise.  Next year.  Oupa and Ouma will just have to be all Lombard-less on their own.

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The Lombard siblings are fondly knows as The Big Five. A sighting of them grouped together is very special indeed. Every single time they're all together, we do photos. From left to right, Willem, Bettie, Dan, Maggie and Jac. Love them all!

Albert giving it stick

 

At a glance, I spot 8 Lombards in this pic. But there could be more.

Yet another Lombard-filled pic. In fact, I swear I spot my grandfather at the back. And I know he wasn't even there!

Katrine, the gin in her ear, and the dentist

 

Katrine, the gin in her ear, and the dentist
14 August 2014

It is a well-documented fact, that my sister has an extreme fear of dentists. 

No, I don’t think you understand.  Extreme.

Now to be fair, as a profession, dentists are generally not all that well liked.  Which hardly seems fair to them. 

They don’t hurt people on purpose.  In fact, in order to prevent hurting people, they give them an injection, that anaesthetises them.  Minimising pain. 

In addition, they’re usually kind enough to wait before commencing with drilling work, until the drugs have kicked in and your mouth is blessedly numb.

So do they deserve all this bad press?  All this paranoia?

Well, yes. 

I’ve got my own theory.  It’s not so much the pain, as the creepy noises when they’re drilling away and working.  The awkward conversation they’re trying to make, while you’ve got a spit-sucker and numerous dental equipment in your mouth, and you can’t answer back properly.  The dentist smell.  The silly little pictures on the ceiling, or the mobiles they have dangling from the roof.  The stomach churning you experience in the waiting room, listening to someone else having some work done in the chair.  The stupid little cups, with mouth wash, that you end up dribbling down your chin.  That idiotic fat-tongue feeling afterwards.  For me there’s definitely a correlation between the fat-ness of my tongue and my IQ.  The fatter and clumsier my tongue feels, the more intellectually challenged I become.  And act.

Yes, so it’s perfectly clear – I’m not really a dentist fan per se.  Or should I say, either.

Yet, I don’t have the whole irrational fear thing going for me.  I mentally take a slice of time, the bit while I’ll be at the dentist, and I put it in a bubble.  I remove my body from my brain, disconnect, and simply get on with it.  I don’t think about it before the time.  And to be honest, I’m never really hurt at the dentist.  Actually I rather like my dentist a lot.  She’s kind and gentle.  And she understands my garbled talking while I’ve got the spit-sucker and dental equipment in my mouth.  I’m guessing that learning how to really listen to people with speech impediments, forms a large part of dental training and school.

But my sister, Katrine?  Well, she takes dentist-fear to a whole new level.

She cries when she makes the appointment.  A few times.  Usually over the phone to the receptionist.  Then in remembrance of having made the appointment, she cries.  Numerous times.  Dread fills her stomach and wets her palms.

The day before an appointment is usually the worst.  For her and her family.  She’ll break down a few times.  Crying intermittently.  But by now, her family understands.  Her husband and kids humour her.  Tease her.  Yet treat her with empathy and kindness at the same time.

The drive to the dentist is interspersed with tears.  And she normally succumbs to a fresh outburst of tears, upon entering the reception area.  Often blubbering on the shoulder of the receptionist.

I remember when she had to have her wisdom teeth removed.  She came to stay with us, and I took her and fetched her from the dentist, and was basically there to hold her hand and calm her down.  We had reason to phone the dentist’s rooms before the removal, just to double check some or other detail.  Can’t quite remember what.  But we needed to ask the dentist something about the painkillers she had to use, or something like that.  And upon explaining our need to get some info, the receptionist put her hand over the telephone receiver and told the dentist in a loud stage whisper, “It’s Mrs Auld – the one that cries so much”.  True story.

Part of Katrine’s process in between crying, is indulging in excited and fast nervous chatter.  Talking about anything and everything.  Usually too fast.  Not making all that much sense.  I believe adrenaline kicks in and she powers on, on pure hysteria.  Hoping that the sound of her own voice will calm her down.  It doesn’t work.

While over in England, she had cause to go to the dentist again.  A familiar dentist, she’d used before. 

She followed her usual pattern.  Tears.  Anxiety.  Stress.  Fear.  Nervous chatter.

And then, in an effort to calm her nerves before her appointment, she decided to go down to the municipal pool with her daughter, for a swim.  She assumed it would be both relaxing and distracting.

However, she got water in her ear.  And couldn’t hear a blessed thing.  Now she’s pretty deaf at the best of times.  Having water in her ear, simply amplified (very funny), the problem.

I think she just felt off kilter.  And terribly out of sorts.  Not in control.

Now she’d heard this old wives story about getting water out of your ear.  Supposedly the density of alcohol is different than the density of water.  Which would help to burst the water bubble trapped in your ear, leaving you water-free once more and able to hear perfectly.

And so, mere minutes before leaving for the dentist, she asked her stepson Cory, to quickly give her a hand.  The first liquor she grabbed hold of was a bottle of Gin.  Cory happily obliged, tipped a bit in her ear, and I’m assuming didn’t spill too much in the process.

However, marvellous though this plan seemed on paper, it didn’t work.  The water was still in her ear.  She still couldn’t hear.  She was still crying.  She was still scared.  She still chattered nervously and way too fast.

And now she stank of alcohol too.

I believe she cried in reception when she got there.  Cried in the chair, when it was finally her turn.  Kept on saying pardon, cause she couldn’t hear.  Kept on giggling nervously in between.

She was mortified when she realised that the dentist must think she’s really odd.  Apart from the crying and babbling that is.  And then she tried to explain why she reeked of alcohol.

“I’ve got some Gin in my ear.”

I believe he gave her a very, very odd look.  Most likely mentally making a note, “Sure she’s a young mother – must remember to phone Health and Safety.  She doesn’t sound all that stable.”

Recognising his very strange look, Katrine then compounded it by waving her arms around, pointing at her ears, and saying, “I’ll take it any way I can get it.  Just shove it in.”  Yes, that would be the nervous chatter I told you about.

I’m surmising that by this stage he was visualising rehab at the very least.

However, I suppose on some level, he was rather used to her by now.  Having lived through more than one consultation before.

She eventually joined the dots between the reeking of alcohol, the wild gesticulating, the odd expression, the tears, the excessive chatting, and the bubbling too. 

And upon explaining the situation to him properly, he burst out laughing.  And thought it was very, very funny.

 
Which I believe in turn made him question not only her dental health, but her mental health too.

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Just an average Lombard get-together

Just an average Lombard get-together
15 July 2014

So what to do when a cousin comes down from Joburg for a week?  Well, have a get-together of course.  What else?

My lovely cousin Maria, or Mia as she’s known to most of us, graced us with her presence for a weeklong visit to the fairest Cape.  How lucky are we.

As a fairly legitimate reason to have a family get-together, it was ideal.  However we are known for throwing random family get-togethers for no apparent reason either.  We’re weird like that.

Even a small hang-out, that not everyone is able to attend, makes for a huge amount of people.  And thus, we indulge in the standard practice of bring whatever and we’ll share.  Making a virtual smorgasbord of food, where everything is fair play.

I love days like these.  There are always pockets of people everywhere.  Youngest kids, playing with a ball in the garden.  Teenage kids, huddled over a screen, either watching funny YouTube clips, or showing off something else on the computer or TV.  Huge guffaws of laughter all the time.  Random chatting about whatever interests teenagers.  Sport inclined men, hovering in front of the TV, watching some or other sport.  Admonishing the constant traffic of people in front of the TV, to please move away.  Women mingling in the kitchen.  Much laughter too, whilst sorting out the meal, and chatting up a storm as well.

However, this shifts all of the time.  People interchanging and connecting.  Across age barriers.  And on this occasion, we had four generations.  Pretty standard fair.

Laughter usually forms a common thread, as well as the all-pervasive air of love and family.  I think it is rare for such a large group of blood relatives and relatives by marriage to enjoy one another’s company so much.  To get genuine enjoyment from the presence of others.  Everyone is accepted and celebrated for who they are.  It’s just the most relaxing, and easy feeling of comfort being around these people.  Like slipping into a pair of comfy pajamas at the end of the day.  You can say anything, do anything.  Just be yourself.

Knowing you’re loved, cared for, and accepted simply for being you.

No stress, no tension, no rivalry, no problem.

I had the most incredible stroke of good luck, when I chose this family to be mine.  I could’ve been stuck with a bunch of uptight duds.  Perish the thought!

And so on our family day, we ate.  We laughed.  We chatted.  We scrambled for the best spot in front of the fireplace.  We took photos.  We ate some more – pudding too!  We shared stories. 

We embraced.

And we loved.

Lombard for life and damn proud of it too.

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A mix of gals in the kitchen - milling about

Cousins Elaine (left) and Mia (right)

Admiring the beautiful photo's on the covered outside stoep

Some of the gals

The womenfolk, from left to right - Charmaine, Elaine, Mia, Alex, Katrine, my mom (Maggie), Ouma Helene, Moi, Amber and little Honeypot in the front

The leeetle gal cousins, though technically, Amber and Honey are the daughters of cousins, and our lovely Alex is a cousin's husband's daughter from his second marriage - which bizarrely still makes her a Lombard. There is no escaping it.

Now just the gal cousins and their offspring

Gal cousins some more

The older gals - my aunt, Charmaine, my gran, Ouma Helene, and my mom, Maggie

Somehow Katrine and I qualify as both younger (wishful thinking) and older (more appropriate) gals

Having a laugh

My decided to aim for a Lombard cousin photo - and it didn't take long, for someone to haul out the big life size Levi's poster of Albert. Well, just because he wasn't there, didn't mean he couldn't be in the photo.

And then we all decided to face the same way as him, with big wide open smiles and laughs. We thought we were particularly funny.

Still, we thought we were funny

It was but a short leap from there... It just takes one warped mind.

And all of a sudden, my brother was sporting black stockings and a mean pair of red boots

He sure loved those boots!

Practically put a swing in his step!

Elaine stepping forward to try and admire her legwork

And then, seeing as the whole leggings look was working so well for Al, he decided to change into a pair of grey leggings, with an awesome pair of black boots. Well, to boot.

And then it was my turn. It takes a fair level of skill to match the real legs with the not-so-real legs. It's all about perfect alignment.

And I happily succeeded. It practically made me burst forth into a skip!

And just randomly hang around. Looking to my left. With two sets of hands.

Even The Pot had a go

Chilling around inside. That would be my man, with his hand on my sister's...hip? Arse? Thigh? Never mind. They're practically siblings too.

Katrine was a knobbly-kneed 10 year old when Grant and I started dating. And they have a very, very special bond. Mutual adoration and lots of love.

Amber-Berry and Pottie. Hogging the fire!

Willem and Charmaine - our charming Lombard hosts. Absolutely adore them! Such amazing, special people.

Cousin best friends - Mia and Elaine

The boy cousins

I could've married my sister

I could've married my sister
12 July 2014

No, I don’t bat for the other side.  Nor am I really all that into incest. 

Still, I could’ve married my sister.

This past week, my beloved Grantie was away on a business trip.  And just per chance, my sister phoned up and said, she felt like a sleepover visit.  Which was absolutely perfect.  Cause I’m pretty much in the mood for one, all the time too.

We only live about forty minutes away from each other.  But during the week and in term time, it feels like we’re in different provinces.  Occasionally I nip through for a morning, in between dropping kids off at school and fetching them again.  We always have an awesome time.  But it’s a very limited visit.  About four hours or so.  Perfectly golden in its own way, as it is solo time for us.  No husbands, nor kids.  We trawl the little antique shops and though we never really buy, we do lots of admiring of beautiful things.  We stop at one of the trendy coffee shops and have a Cappu or a Latte.  We sit on the bench on their stoep, admiring the view of the bay.  And we talk.  Non-stop.  Squeezing as many words as possible, into a relatively short time.  But most of all we laugh.  We have that kind of relationship, where we’re just always genuinely happy to be around each other.  We both have a silly sense of humour, and we enjoy celebrating the funny side of life.  At the same time, she’s my sounding board, and my greatest champion.  Which I in turn, am to her.

So, back to our sleepover.  It’s school holidays, so we would have time.  My husband would be at the coal mines so to speak.  Her husband would be in his studio, recording his latest album.  Our kids would be on holiday, and we wouldn’t have such a time restraint on us.  And then I had a brain wave.  What if she came through really early, and we parcelled our youngest kids off to the holiday club for the morning.  That way we’d really have a ball.  Now, we love them lots, and all that, but they’re busy.  And a brief reprieve to ourselves, while they’re out having a blast, would be a real win-win.  And so it came to pass.  Cole and Honey spent two fabulous, fun-filled mornings, at the holiday club.  Much to our delight and theirs.

However, my daughter is doing rehearsals for an upcoming dancing show.  Sometimes, twice a day.  Then there’s costume fittings and trips to the fabric shop for costume materials too.  My eldest son, is in a gym frenzy, spending a fair amount of time exercising.  Requiring driving him there and back.  And thus, Luke and Amber would need lifts to and from too.  Also, I’m currently helping two friends with three businesses.  Make any sense?  And thus I’d have to spend time doing that too.

The bonus being that lots of this work is super creative and fulfilling.  And Katrine was extremely happy to jump right in and help me too.  Being creative is fantastic and fulfilling.  Being creative with my sister?  Indescribable.  What a joy.  In fact, she thanked me and said, “Thanx so much for organising this fun creative game for us to play while I am visiting”.  Yes, she’s silly too.

So apart from all of the above, there’s the usual shopping, cooking, etc.  And for the duration of her two night sleepover, we formed a perfectly matched partnership.  Heading off in different directions at times.  Me collecting two kids at one place, while she’s dropping a different two kids at two different places.  And swopping over every so often.  Conquering and dividing shopping and cooking.  Sms’ and phone calls back and forth, “I’ve got pasta, bacon, peppers and onions for supper, anything else you need while I’m at the shops?”.  To which an average reply was, “Nope, that’s it.  When I dropped the eldest two off at dancing and at gym this morning, I got milk and bread.  See you at home, in a little while.”.

At night, after supper, when the youngest two kids were busy playing up a storm, making forts and the like, and the eldest two were busy watching a movie in one bedroom, or playing PlayStation in another, the two of us sat.  Perfectly in sync.  Crafting, chatting and laughing away, while a chick flick provided the best background ambience imaginable.  We indulged in face cleansing sessions, and lying on my bed, chatting and laughing.  In fact my stomach was sore.  Sometimes, the six of us, were all together, watching a movie, or enjoying a meal. 

But basically, it was harmony.  Like a magnificent, perfectly orchestrated and timed synchronised swimming display.

Which led me to believe,

I really could’ve married my sister quite easily. 

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Maggie's 60th Birthday Party - Hidden Track

Maggie's 60th Birthday Party - Hidden Track
15 May 2014

In time honoured and true Rock ‘n Roll befitting tradition, I thought it was only fair that I added a little Hidden Track to my blogs about Maggie’s 60^th Birthday Party.  Apart from the obvious A Side and B Side of course.  In a sort of nod and salute to some of the great musical giants so admired by Maggie (and me).  And the rest of the world too.

Though for many people, Maggie’s party was the actual evening music doo, for us lucky few, it really was a weekend.  A family reunion, even though we generally see one another extremely often and have a very busy and very active Lombard Family Group Chat.  Therefore it wasn’t just a few hours of fun.  It was two nights and three days of friggin awesome!

On the Sunday morning, after the party, we decided to quickly take a family photo of Maggie and her three kids outside in the garden.  As we hadn’t really taken a proper one of the four of us all together.  And one needs to commemorate these occasions.  But here’s the problem.  Some clever photographer (there were many, and I don’t want to name and shame, but the main guilty culprit photographer has a really big beard and his name rhymes with Bob), decreed that we should face the sun, so that we wouldn’t have shadows, bright light behind us, dark pic, etc.  Problem being, that the sun wasn’t so much bright as it was blinding.  We had five, I repeat FIVE people taking pics at the same time.  And every single one is dismal.  Horrendous.  A hideous and very funny joke.  Scrunched up faces.  Watering eyes.  Closed eyes.  Hands covering eyes, looking down, etc.  Truly terrible. 

But what was so extremely funny, was that once I saw my photo’s that my Grantie had taken on my phone, I started asking family members if they had better ones.  And being the kind people they are, the Lombard WhatsApp group was quickly pinging away, with everyone sending in there pics.  And though they are absolutely awful, there is a certain charm to them as well.  I will include these at the end of the blog.  (Btw - on the blog the pics look really small.  If you want to have a good look at them, for those that are interested, just click on one of the pics, and it will pretty much fill your screen and give you the option to scroll on to the next pic.)

However, first I thought, I’d share the speech I did at the party (Yip, definitely going to disinherit my brother and sister for once again nominating me to speak – at times, being the eldest really sucks!)

 

As the eldest child, apparently I am the chosen one – having been selected to make a speech on behalf of the three Loubser children, in honour of our amazing Mom.  The one and only Maggie-Lombard-Loubser-Frost-Nagel.

Few people have the honour and privilege of inspiring so many.  Of being a role model and example to all who have basked in her light.  Cause that is what Maggie is – she is a ray of light.  Touching and changing the lives of all who know her.  And making the world a better place, simply by being in it.

I propose that the word Maggie be included in the Oxford English Dictionary.  The Oxford Russian, The Oxford Chinese, Portuguese, French, Italian, German, etc.  In fact every single copy in every imaginable language.  As it is a word that means so much.  It means love, warmth, acceptance, enthusiasm, caring, kindness, dedication, perseverance, being ingenuous, loyal, innovative, mother, friend, helper, creative, thinker, joyful, gracious, encompassing, forgiving, passionate, nesting, home-maker, gardener, bright, generous, unique, quirky, giving.

Maggie is capable of whipping up the same level of enthusiasm for a wedding, as a chick flick movie fest.  A simple slab of Cadbury’s Whole Nut is appreciated as much as a designer five course meal. 

One of her greatest gifts, is her ability to make someone the sole focus of her attention.  Everyone is equal, valued and loved.  She truly listens – not only with her ears, but also with her heart.  She has time for everyone.  And therefore everyone has time for her.

As a mother, she was always different to the moms of my friends.  Funny ha-ha as well as funny peculiar.  A defining characteristic.  And the amount of funny-Maggie stories are legendary.   Like the time, she gave Grant, Luke and I an awesome little wicker basket filled with tiny little white eggies for Easter one year.  We were at Kirstenbosch watching the Blues Broers at the time, and we were munching away.  They were absolutely delicious.  As we were about to leave, I asked her where she got them from.  “Oh” she replied, “It’s those Smartie Easter Eggs”.  So I said, “Really!  They were so good.  I thought they only made multi-coloured ones.  Didn’t know they made plain white ones.”  To which Maggie calmly replied, “Oh, I licked all the colour off”.  Grant gagged for ages afterwards!

 

At any large scale Lombard gathering, the most often heard refrain is, “Ask Maggie”, or “Maggie knows”. Everyone turns to her for advice from what to wear, what to eat, when to eat, where to put things, where things are, to where to go.

 
She is unforgettable.  Is revered and loved by many.  Held up high. 

Mommy, I wish only happiness for you – today and always.  No one deserves it more. 

Your children and their people adore you – one and all.

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Albert really suffering - the rest of us trying valiantly

 

Now Katrine and I are suffering

 

The gals are trying really hard, but Al's given up

 

Maggie and I sort of holding it together - Albert looking really weird

 

Ironically the pic of our backs and bums is the best one

 

Still suffering!

 

 

Clever plan - we thought. All look down and then at the count of three we'd look up and smile, minimising sun exposure.

 

Epic fail - again!

 

Two scrunched faces, one closed eyes and another grimace

 

Hysterical laughter and losing it completely

Realising it's probably not going to work out after all - still laughing uncontrollably

Albert can't even open his eyes!

"He did it!" - it's all Albert's fault - the rest of us tried really hard!

Decided to make my Mom a Memory Box for her birthday. First I took a plain tin, which I covered from top to bottom with stamps.

Used Modge Podge glue goop which I got from the craft shop. Took about half an hour to make from top to bottom and it dried practically instantly. Way cool and I love the way it completely transforms the tin. Bummer was the fact that I used my Mom's stamps - very cheeky I know. Longest part of the project? Sorting the stamps out first and making sure I only used stamps that she had duplicates of.

Got beautiful Scrapbooking paper, and cut hearts out of it - 112 to be exact.

 

Wrote a personal and special memory message on each and every heart. Some of them unique memories that just my mom and I have or stuff from my childhood. Things like, "I remember watering the garden with you when I was little", "Lying with you, Al and Kat on Daddy's arms in bed", "Making Flap Jacks on the glass stove tops", "You being at Cole's birth", "I love the way you know my kids", "Having Cheese Meltz for lunch on Saturday afternoons", "Playing piano duets together", etc, etc. etc. Writing down the memories and recording them for my mom was really special and I absolutely loved doing it.

 

Put all of the hearts into the tin

 

And filled up the empty spaces with Kit-Kat fingers - her favourite chocolates