Having a weird mom builds character

 

Having a weird mom builds character

5 May 2024

I’ve heard it said, many times before. That one of the key factors in building character, is having a weird mom.

 

Which quite frankly, explains a helluva lot.

 

I think Albert, Katrine and I have that covered. Our darling mom, Maggie, has certainly ensured that she’s lived up to her end of that deal. She definitely did her bit. 

 

And man, has she. Thanks Maggie!

 

She is constantly doing the wackiest, oddest things ever. And as such, I think it’s aided us in not sweating the small stuff. In taking things in our stride.

 

Now this has made me wonder. Did she pass the baton forward, to her girls. Cause aren’t we both moms too?

 

I suppose that the most equipped people to answer that question would be our kids. They’re in the firing line so to speak.

 

Which means that I can unequivocally confirm, we’re carrying on with the family tradition. And very proudly so.

 

My kids often bemoan their weird mom status. I’m sure that’s code for the fact that they’re actually celebrating it. Right?

 

And as such, I’ve got absolutely no doubt at all. That our girls, will be weird moms too. And delight in the privilege while they’re at it. Cause why be boring and normal, right?

 

The wonderful world of Noma Bar and negative spaces

 

The wonderful world of Noma Bar and negative spaces

30 April 2024

Have you ever seen something randomly, and just absolutely fell in love with it?

 

So just the other day I was aimlessly scrolling through Facebook. And I saw something purely per chance. As one does.

 

And the next thing I knew, I went down a wonderful, magical and imaginative rabbit hole.

 

Those kinds of things are usually my very, very best!

 

So pray tell. What did I see?

 

Well, it just so happens that I saw an image of Mr Spock.

 

Aaaaaahhh, yes. Mr Spock. Blegh. So what. I’ve never been a Trekkie, so I was just about to scroll past. And in hindsight, I’m actually surprised that I didn’t do just that. Star Wars? I absolutely LOVE Star Wars. But Star Trek? I’ve always found it very meh. So not my jam at all. Even as I kid.

 

But then something caught my eye. And once it did, I couldn’t believe it. Moreover, I was intrigued. And I wanted more and more and more.

 

And what a treasure trove I discovered. Cause Noma Bar is an artist who has perfected the art of negative spaces. He cleverly uses minimalist images and quirky characteristics of famous characters, to paint a whole picture. Mostly doing this, whilst only using two colours.

 

So take Mr Spock for example. I was just about to scroll past the image of him, when I noticed that the winking eye was in fact, the very famous Star Trek salute. And I was helluva impressed. It intrigued me how he could portray so very much. But actually doing so very little.

 

And as for Steven Spielberg? He perfectly encapsulates Steven Spielberg by using key images from three of his most famous movies – Jaws, ET and Jurassic Park. Absolutely brilliant! See if you can spot them.

 

Noma Bar has the ability to create a soulful and evocative image by using simple clean lines and almost provocatively highlighting a distinctive feature or character trait. Albeit of a famous person, movie character or even a concept. And I think it’s truly genius! Enjoy!

 

I present to you, Noma Bar.

 

 

 

 

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

Us women have the most important job when it comes to home projects

 

Us women have the most important job when it comes to home projects

20 April 2024

Have you ever had the dubious “honour” of assisting your husband or partner when he’s wearing his handyman-hat?

 

Now don’t get me wrong. A bit of home DIY is always an exciting thing. Especially if it’s a project that I’ve requested. If you catch my purely selfish drift.

 

Putting something up in the garden fills me with great excitement. Adding a repurposed shelf, a mirror, or a picture is awesome. And then I’m all eager. Usually asking for weeks before the handyman-hat gets donned and the task is done. And I so get it. For the handyman in question, one has to work up the energy or perhaps appetite to do such a job. Sometimes it’s actually easier to have a whole bunch of these type of things that need to be done. And then rather than stretching them out and doing the odd thing here and there, simply waiting until you’ve got a veritable collection of handyman chores that need to be accomplished before you dust off the tools and work up the appropriate amount of relish to get cracking and tackle it all together.

 

However…

 

Something unexciting like redoing the wiring on the toaster, or sorting out the messy bird’s nest of wires behind the TV does not even slightly fill me with enthusiasm at all.

 

Dreary to the extreme. Yet I do know, that these kinds of projects are equally essential. Yes, they’re tedious. But it’s important as well.

 

Now the problem comes in when I’m roped in to assist. I’m a helper by nature. Eagerly throwing myself into any task to aid someone. Always willing.

 

But when you have the questionable distinction of being responsible for holding screws in your hand, or handing tools to the handyman, it’s not all that thrilling at all. Then there’s the vacuuming afterwards to remove all of the debris. And usually, inevitably, there are some supposed essential and critical bits, that have somehow become surplus to requirements. Why are there so often screws and all manner of odd assortments left behind once something has been assembled or “fixed”? Perhaps the makers of such items like to just throw them in there. You know. To add a dangerous element of surprise and confusion. Drawing out the torture? Evil bastards!

 

Alas, as a seasoned handman-helper, I’ve become accustomed to this. Hence there’s always a random jar or old ice-cream tub in our garage. Filled with leftover bits and bobs. Who knows, one day they might even be needed.

 

So to every other handman-helper out there, I feel you. The pressure can be unbearable, but somebody has to do it.

Duct Tape and Cable Ties - The modern man's answer to everything

 

Duct Tape and Cable Ties - The modern man's answer to everything

16 April 2024

I have a certain family member, who delights in seeing any potential breakage in his home, his car or anywhere else for that matter, as a challenge to whip out some duct tape, and create some magic.

 

Forget the old super glue or finding-a-new-screw method. That’s so old school and yesteryear. Why bother, when a good old strip (or rather a multiple amount of strips) of duct tape can do a much better job. Creating a delightful addition to a formerly beautiful item of furniture, or whatever else tickles your fancy. I suspect that this guy, finds the addition of a colourful strip of blue or silver duct tape far more aesthetically pleasing to the eye. Creating a wonderful uplifting effect on a previously functional item.

 

In fact, he takes his artistic creativity and flair to the next level. Not merely “fixing” something, ensuring that it looks almost the way it once did before he "fixed" it.. He rather opts for a quirky curve to a former straight up bedside lamp. Clearly improving on what was once there. After all, why not?

 

And then I started thinking about it a bit more. Doesn’t My Grantie do exactly the same? Our snackwhich maker is a missing a screw that we cannot find an exact replacement for. Hey, no problem! Blue duct tape to the rescue. Is it pretty? Hell no! But does it work? Hell yes! Problem solved.

 

Which started me thinking even more. Is this creative fixing obsession, merely limited to the humble duct tape in order to cure all ails? Why no, there’s another equally awesome fixer-upper solution to any problem that the humble duct tape can’t fix. Yip, you guessed it, cable ties. We have a variety of colours and lengths. And boy, does he love those bad boys.

 

And then once I started investigating, it came to light that the original family member I mentioned first, is also a firm believer in the restorative properties of cable ties.

 

Do you think there’s a pattern emerging here? Do they teach it at Boy/Man 101. Maybe there’s a subsection of the course material titled, “Duct Tape and Cable Ties – How to effectively use these on anything and everything”. Perhaps the follow-up module is titled, “Uplifting a once-broken item into a fixed creation of unequalled beauty”.

 

But hey, I’m not going to knock it. I’ve got a few fixer-upper tricks up my own sleeve as well. Albeit of a slightly different variety. Dinner a bit boring? Hey, presto! Just add garlic. Supper need a spot of pizazz? No problem. Cream and mushrooms will perk that unappetising sucker right up. Still no culinary joy? Fear not! A spot of chilli will effectively nuke and mask absolutely anything.

 

So, there you’ve got it. Men have their go-to tricks. And us gals have ours.

Please note that certain names were not mentioned in this blog. In order to protect "the innocent"...

For the love of all things red and stripey

 

For the love of all things red and stripey

28 March 2024

Simply for the very longest time, I have been absolutely obsessed with stripes. And the colour red.

 

Like, is too mild a word. It just doesn’t pack enough punch. Or accurately describe how much I just gravitate towards it. In any shop, I’m inexplicably drawn to anything stripey or red. It’s like an implanted tracking device, that just steers me to seek it out. I notice stripes and the colour red everywhere. My cupboard bears testament to that exact fact.

 

So pray tell, where does this come from? How did it start? And most importantly, why? And how come my strive for the colour red and stripes is so overwhelmingly strong?

 

Surely it’s odd, right. I mean, I get that people like certain things. But how did it start and what was the cause?

 

And then it hit me. Like a big red, stripey lightbulb.

 

I’ve got it all figured out. And it’s really quite obvious how it happened. And what led to this strange affliction.

 

Basically, there are two reasons:

 

1. KFC and the Colonel’s secret blend of eleven herbs and spices
2. Gondolas and my desire to go to Venice

 

It’s hardly rocket science.

 

I am obsessed with KFC. It’s hands down my favourite food in the whole world. And let’s keep it real. I’ve got lots of favourites. There’s so much to choose from. A lamb chop on the braai, a delicious salad, biltong, bacon, a roast meal with all of the trimmings, a good curry, a delicious pasta dish. But KFC is top notch stuff. Without equal.

 

In addition, going for a gondola ride in Venice has been on my bucket list forever. So many people have told me that I’ll be disappointed. That it’s dirty. That it’s overrated. But I simply don’t care. I really, really, really need to experience it some day. Having  a gondolier serenade me whilst we’re slowly making our way on the canals sounds heavenly to me. A dream come true.

 

And that’s when the penny dropped. There’s a very strong convergence, between two of my biggest heart’s desires.

 

KFC’s signature colours are red and white. With some stripes added for good measure. And gondoliers wear red and white, or black and white stripey shirts.

 

It was fated. The two dreams collided. And forged and even stronger union.

 

And hence it was written in the stars. A done deal.

 

The only thing that could possibly be better than going for a gondola ride in Venice, being steered along and serenaded by a gondolier wearing a stripey shirt, would be to have some KFC at the same time.

 

Heavenly perfection!

Where it all began - the origin

Man-logic. Evidently it's a real thing.

 

Man-logic. Evidently it's a real thing

26 March 2024

Man-logic. It’s a foreign concept to me. Unchartered territory. Though I’ve been on the receiving end of it often.

 

I wonder if men feel the same about girl-math? Because that is also a real thing. To be fair, so is girl-logic. So there is that.

 

We all have our own unique reference system. Possibly based on something as random as our gender. So weird, given how advanced humankind is, and how far we’ve come, that so very often it still resorts to which bits you’ve got.

 

Grant and I love watching Survivor. I know. Judge me if you want to. But I’ve simply always loved it. Maybe it’s just Jeff Probst. Then again, who could really blame me? Because just look at him. He’s Jeff Probst. Which is more than enough explanation. Need I say more? So why am I rambling on about Survivor? Well, whether you know the principle of the game, or whether if you don’t, I’ll give you a quick rundown. Eighteen strangers are dropped off in a remote location. And they’re usually divided into two teams of nine contestants each. Think NO amenities. No spare clothing. I don’t like to think about bathrooms and how they go about that particular necessity, but basically there isn’t any. Which is why I choose not to think about it. Occasionally, if the producers are feeling generous, they’re given a bag of rice. Yet no flint to make fire. No pots. No bedding. Nothing. They’re basically given a water bottle, access to a well and a big pristine beach, mostly with a bit of a jungle attached to it, and then they’ve got to figure it out. Rewards like flints, cooking utensils and fishing gear can be acquired by winning challenges. Every three days or so, a contestant from the losing team (after a challenge), gets voted out. And so the numbers dwindle. Until you’re eventually left with one ultimate survivor. On day 27 or something. Can’t remember.

 

But basically, in order to eventually win and become “The Ultimate Survivor”, you need to make alliances. The big twist in the game, is the fact that the people that you include in your alliance, will eventually be voted out. By you. Yet, you need them to vote FOR YOU at the final tribal council. Really clever twist. Now what I find ironic, is that so very, very often, alliances are based on gender. Kinda like, “we’re a bunch of girls – let’s stick together”. So weird. I had always imagined that there would be more important factors to consider. Yet, more often than not, it’s once again simply decided, because you’ve got the same equipment. It is odd, right?

 

So what exactly is girl-math? Well long ago, shortly after Cole was born, I was a real porker. And I decided to join Weigh-Less. As they do every single week when you go for your weigh-in, they quite obviously get you to stand on a scale, and they record your weight on your very own chart. Really nifty, so you can track your progress, or lack thereof. And I remember weighing myself at home, just before I left to go weigh in for the first time. And I couldn’t help noticing that there was a 400g difference between my scale and theirs. And so, since the first week, whenever I weigh myself at home, I automatically take off 400g off the number on the scale. Cause why wouldn’t I? More than nineteen years later and I still do it to this day. It’s girl-math and it suits me perfectly. Regardless, I can fault that particular logic. Makes sense to me.

 

Anyway, so the point I’m trying to make, albeit rather lengthily, is that men and women are supremely different. On so many levels.

 

So take my beloved Grantie, as an example. We absolutely LOVE our cats. But for longest time, there has been a ginger tomcat that comes calling after we’ve gone to bed. He doesn’t cause a fight or anything. At least not anymore. He simply saunters through the cat flap and helps himself to the virtual smorgasbord selection of cat food that we’ve got. For our cats. Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind. Feeding the hungry and all. But My Grantie takes it very badly. Mostly because initially this ginger cat used to terrorize our cats and fight with them. However by now, they’re used to him. They just steer clear when he’s around and lay low. Watching him with extreme boredom from a safe distance. Which somehow incenses My Grantie even more. Where’s their fighting spirit? Why don’t they stand up for themselves and boot him out? A contributing factor, is also the fact that this is indeed not a poor homeless and hungry stray. He lives a mere three houses away from us and has a very happy home life, I’m sure.

 

Regardless of this hapless cat’s circumstances, Grant takes exception. He’s got a low-level radar system, that stays primed and ready, right through the night. Cat flap noises often causes him to get up and investigate the cause. Even though we’ve got two cats. And they both use the cat flap too. What can I say? Boy-logic at work. Though to be fair, once Grantie’s meds kicks in, he sleeps deeper. And occasionally the offender does trespass without being caught in the act. Now as for me? I could sleep through a bomb going off. Or a band rehearsal. And have done so many times in the past. The band rehearsal. Not the bomb. Noise doesn’t faze me in the slightest. Still marvel at the fact that I woke up for my babies in the night when they were little. It’s a miracle!

 

So My Grantie has devised a cunning plan to thwart the ginger cat’s unwanted presence in our home. A deterrent, if you like.

 

A wooden rocking horse ornament. Yip. A rocking horse. I. Have. No. Words.

 

The wooden rocking horse is meticulously and strategically placed just inside the cat flap every night. So the “perp” gets sufficiently frightened and deterred, should he want to enter.

 

Yip. Every single night.

 

Grantie recently went to Joburg for a work trip for two nights. And every night he reminded me to place “the fierce beast” just inside the cat flap.

 

So here’s the next obvious question. Does it work? Is it an effective deterrent? Is the tomcat appropriately traumatised by the horror of a beautifully ornate wooden rocking horse?

 

Well, of course not. I suspect he thinks we’ve merely decorated. Or placed it there to welcome him.

 

Regardless, it gets placed nightly without fail. Much to my amusement. And I think our cats’ and the tomcat’s too.

 

Boy-logic. It is absolutely priceless. And I do love it so.

 

Either which way, it’s got huge entertainment appeal. So I’m all for it.

 

 

I run a criminal empire based on lies, and I've roped my kids in too

I run a criminal empire based on lies, and I've roped my kids in too

23 March 2024

I’m a very firm believer in always telling the truth. It’s something I feel quite strongly about. Cause the thing is, that should I lie, I will still know it’s not the truth. And I’d have to live with me. It would bother me terribly.

 

I will tell the truth, even if it puts me in a bad light. Even if it’s hard to face. Because it’s the right thing to do. Even when lying would be so much easier at times.

 

But there is a distinct grey area. Strange though that may sound. Especially given my strong convictions.

 

There is an unusual phenomenon that I have encountered. And it’s called, “A Beautiful Lie”.

 

And though I feel strongly about honesty, I’ve also been known to indulge in the occasional beautiful lie.

 

I suspect that if we’re all honest with ourselves, we’ll admit to doing the same.

 

So what makes a lie beautiful? I think it’s when you tell a lie, in order to spare someone else pain. To ease their mind. To give them comfort. I’m not talking about lying about “big” things. I suppose a beautiful lie could be qualified as white lies.

 

Now as for white lies? They are without a doubt beautiful! And I’ve definitely spun many porkies along the line.

 

I encouraged my kids to believe in Father Xmas. Not only that, I actively fed the lie. And wove elaborate and detailed magical tales. Creating and feeding their imagination, firming their belief in wonderful, happy things. Stretching out their innocent childhood for as long as possible. Moreover, once my eldest son, Luke, discovered the wicked truth, I roped him in on my master plan. So we could keep the younger two believing for as long as possible. I recruited him to the dark side. And then once again, once Amber found out, she too joined the criminal gang. So we could draw it out for Cole. Furthermore, I equipped them with the tools of my trade, in order to assist them with this. Showing them the ropes. Honing their skills too. Without a doubt I corrupted them all in. Because in turn, Cole has helped to keep the magic alive for his younger cousins. So he too joined the family business.

 

I blatantly lied about Easter. With great fanfare and pizazz. Bunny footprints throughout the house and garden, Easter egg treasure hunts and I indulged in every little smidgeon of wonder that I could squeeze out of Easter. Once again, as they got older, all three of my kids joined the criminal family business. And proceeded to feed the fiction for others too.

 

The tooth fairy and the tooth mouse were delightful too. How could they not be?

 

These are all fairly obvious lies, I suppose. Part of the ritual of childhood and growing up. But there were many other little lies along the way too. “Yes, Cole. I’m sure you could win a bear in a physical fight”. Age three. Just to give you some perspective. It’s what we do. Cause these little lies, help to build their confidence. Without them turning out delusional. I mean every kid eventually gets to realise that they can’t win a bear in a fight, right? Well, everyone apart from Cole. Who is still strong in his convictions. But that is just Cole. And I sincerely hope that he’ll never change. It’s a huge part of his appeal. His unwavering optimism and belief in himself and his abilities. All without being arrogant along the way.

 

But you do also get other little lies. Lies you don’t necessarily indulge in to lengthen your children’s childhood. Yet, these other little white lies, are somehow no less noble in their intent. Possibly they’re even more pure and infinitely beautiful too.

 

My most beloved step-grandfather, Oupa Pietie, got a wee bit confused towards the end of his life. I quite simply completely and utterly adored him. I enjoyed visiting him fairly often and we’d just chat about random things. Towards the end, he would ask me how my granny was doing. The very same granny who had died during Covid. And I would tell him that she was doing really, really well. Cause I believed that to be true. She was doing well. Wherever she was. I’d ask him about his day, and he’d tell me that he had gone to see his mother and his first wife, and that he’d been fixing a gate or a fence on his farm. And I would tell him that I hoped he had a wonderful time and ask him how his mom and first wife were doing. Sometimes he’d tell me that him and my granny had gone to the shops that very morning or that they went for lunch at their favourite restaurant. And I’d marvel with him and make all of the appropriate noises. Because it didn’t really matter. And it made him so happy. The world he was in, the one where he still got to spend time with my granny, his first wife and his mom, was such a wondrous place for him to be. And so, I not only indulged him, I encouraged it.

 

When I was a teenager my much loved Ouma Cathy knitted or crocheted me a pair of bootie slippers. Just like the kind that babies wear. Man alive, but they were hideous! I swear, if you had those bad boys on your feet, there was no need for birth control in any way, shape or form. Serious passion killers. I didn’t even wear them once. But she was so thrilled with her handywork and was so delighted with them, that I assured her that I absolutely loved them. In addition, I encouraged her to make a pair for my brother and sister too. Hey, it wasn’t fair that I was the only one to suffer. They had to go through it too. A rite of passage of sorts and I felt it was an easy way to torment them at the same time. And you know what? She was pleased as punch and over the moon that her gift had really hit the spot. White lie? Most definitely. But for such a good reason.

 

Because even though telling the truth is important. Somehow, so is lying.

 

A beautiful lie is a thing of incredible beauty. And I’m all for it.

 

So go out there. Tell the truth at all times. Unless you can do an even better thing. And lie. In which case, I encourage you to go for it. Lie through your teeth. And make someone happy.

 

 

 

 

I have a wonderful ability to ignore things I don't like

I have a wonderful ability to ignore things I don't like

21 March 2024

I have a wonderful ability to ignore things I don’t like. It’s truly magical. And maybe it’s my superpower? Hey, who needs invisibility or the ability to fly in any rate? Super physical strength? Can’t be bothered.

 

Now the things that I ignore have no importance in my life. Which I suppose is kind of obvious. Hence I am able to banish them from my thoughts. Mostly forever more.

 

Dust? Poppycock! There’s no such thing. Bad weather? What’s bad weather in any rate? Who decides when it’s bad. I’m very much a summer gal, but all weather is good. It’s supposed to fluctuate and change. How can you be super excited and look forward to spring when you haven’t just had the beauty of winter? Such a weird concept. Weeds in the garden. Baloney! It’s green stuff, grows on it’s own and it even makes oxygen. Major bonus in my books. Dreaded anticipation before a dentist’s visit? Don’t have it. Make no error, I don’t enjoy visiting the dentist in the slightest. Even though my dentist, Lelanie, is simply the loveliest person ever and we usually overrun my regular appointment by yacking away, with much laughter. And the social side of the visit is always awesome. I can just ignore the anticipated visit, by not thinking about it, until I’m sitting in the chair. And then I do myself a huge favour by taking my glasses off, so I can’t see the reflection of what she’s doing in her glasses or her beaming overhead light.

 

Loadshedding, though not great, is an opportunity for us in our home to listen to music. We chat. I love to read. I amble around in the garden. We just do other stuff. So yes, it does take a bit of forward planning when it comes to meals and things like that. But they’ve got this handy little app called Eskom Se Push. As we all know. It’s bloody brilliant!

 

I think it’s important to focus on what’s good. What makes you happy. What gives you joy. And I can confirm with unequivocable conviction that dust gives me no joy. And I have an ace up my sleeve. My miracle domestic goddess. My most beloved Monica. But hey, she’s a short gal like me. Don’t think she sees all that much dust either. And I’m all for it.

 

Maybe this superpower ability of mine is what always ensures that I’m upbeat and positive. Filled with gratitude at all times. It’s truly a gift and I am so incredibly grateful for it. See what I did there…

 

It’s slightly more difficult with taxes and bills. Tedious forms that need to be completed. Boring grown-up things. So I’m not entirely blind. I can adult up when I need to and deal with things of that manner. But it’s a very, very small price to pay. Depending on the particular bill, of course.

 

So here’s my suggestion. Don’t sweat the small stuff. Put it in a bubble and blow it away.

 

Life is way too short. And you only get one. So enjoy every precious moment. Make some mistakes. Make the really good ones more than once. But embrace the art of living. And see the beauty and magic all around you.

 

Dust is inconsequential after all. So is supposed bad weather. Not to mention weeds.

 

Unless you feel like partaking and you enjoy a certain particular strain of the devil’s lettuce. In which case, you do do. Enjoy some jazz cabbage and live it up!

 

 

Attention-seeking-sneezing

 

Attention-seeking-sneezing

16 March 2024

Sneezing is one of life’s greatest free pleasures. Personally, I love sneezing. Random fact. Sure you’re delighted to know this about me…

 

But I can imagine that if you’re a sinus sufferer, then perhaps sneezing is not all that much fun. I suppose for them it’s accompanied by itching in the nose, a post nasal drip, a constant upper respiratory irritation, congestion and the like.

 

Now My Grantie is a sinus sufferer and takes antihistamines every single day. And has for pretty much most of his life He also knows what his triggers are. So he avoids dairy products and the like, but still he gets it. It would obviously be worse without the meds, so grateful for any minimizing of his symptoms.

 

However, when it comes to sneezing, my man is a frigging pro. He doesn’t do a gentle dainty sneeze. One of those fun ones that I love so much. Nope, he goes all out. Picture ear piercing volume, which kind of sounds like an extremely loud shout. Imagine an overly dramatic animated version of sneezing, like you’d see in a kids cartoon. Multiply by one hundred. And you might get close to what I’m dealing with. They’re simply always unexpected with no advance warning at all. In addition, he has a fondness for multiples. Nothing as conventional as a one and done. No sirree, bob. That would be boring.

 

Personally, I’ve got a theory. He lies in wait. His timing is impeccable. He prefers silence. It assists him with the element of surprise. He has a personal preference for confined spaces. Like the car. Where there is absolutely no escape at all. Now our car is never quiet, cause we’re always listening to music. Yet I still never expect it. Another fondness of his is late at night in bed. But he’s not all that discriminate. Any random opportunity will suffice.

 

And because of the unexpected element linked to him sneezing, as well as the deafening volume, I’ve resorted to calling it his “attention-seeking-sneezing”. Sooooo excessive and flamboyant. He’s got a dramatic flair for it. And he indulges in it often.

 

Maybe he’d actually like me to have a heart attack? Or perhaps he simply loves the way it makes me jump and flinch. Who can tell? What I do know however, is that it’s a passion he indulges in extremely frequently. With great obvious enjoyment.

 

Now my sister, Foefie (her name is actually Katrine), has heard him sneezing often. So she’s also been on the receiving end of one of these little surprises. And the first time I called it his attention-seeking-sneezing, she laughed. She could so identify.

 

Cause here’s the thing. Foefie’s husband, Robin (whom she fondly calls her Sock), does exactly the same. In fact, he’s upped the ante.

 

She recalls that one night in bed, he surprised her in the death of night with an extreme session of attention-seeking-sneezing. So much so, that she actually counted.

 

Twenty seven times. Yip! Twenty seven. Now that’s taking this underappreciated skill to the very next level. She did however confirm, that nobody really feels like a bit of tonsil hockey after one of these. Not all that endearing and enticing in making one indulge in the late night romantic arts at all.

 

So here’s where I’m at. The “Loubser” brother-in-laws are truly gifted. For now, Katrine and I are avoiding telling the two of them about each other’s skills. Sure, they’ve heard each other sneezing before in the past. But nothing too hectic. My fear is this. Once they know that each of them now have an impressive sneezing reputation to uphold, they might take it to the next level. And neither of us think we’re strong enough for that. Perish the thought.

 

Just picture it.

 

Competitive-attention-seeking-sneezing. And absolutely frightening thought.

 

Gesundheit! Say it! Don't spray it!

 

 

 

A catch-up with Mildred. My KFC loving alter-ego.

 

A catch-up with Mildred. My KFC loving alter-ego.

9 March 2024

Hello Dearies! It's me, Aunty Mildred.👵🏼

 

I've read on the Facebook that it is always good to introduce yourself to people. My Harold (may he rest in piece) was also a firm believer in looking someone in the eye, shaking their hand and saying, "Harold's the name". 

I was looking at the KFC on that Interweb (Isn’t it a wonderful thing? All of that clicking. Though it does takes a bit of time with my darn arthritic fingers.). Anyway, I was hoping to spoil me and the other crinklies with some chicken over the weekend. But unfortunately I see that there are no specials. It is okay. Maybe I'll ask them at the retirement village, "Autumn Years", to see if they can round up the bus and we can load up a few of the gals and go to that drive-through thingy and get everyone an ice-cream. One of the blessings of having dentures, is that ice-cream is so easy to eat. Why, I can take my teeth right out and suck to my heart's content. Agatha say’s it’s unattractive and very unladylike. But what does she know? She’s just jealous cause mine are far nicer than hers. That underbite of hers is most unbecoming.

 

I’ve always loved that Colonel and his secret blend of eleven herbs and spices. Personally, I’ve always thought that he’s rather soft on the eye. Much like my Harold’s younger brother, Cecil. But that’s a story for another day. I might even have had a chance with him, had that mean spirited Winifred (thrilled by how badly she’s aged) not flashed her skinny legs at him. Or perhaps it was that apple pie that she so shamelessly insisted on making for “the family”. All the time! Out of the kindness of her neighbourly heart. Well, I saw right through that, I did! Brazen hussy! You can’t try and pull a blatantly obvious trick like that without raising suspicions. Perhaps it was for the better that Harold rather preferred my milk tart. To be fair, it’s not the only tart of mine that he liked… If you catch my drift. Oh boy, I bet Agatha will raise her eyebrows again. That biddy better watch out, she doesn’t have many of them left. And she does a terrible job at trying to colour them in.

 

So back to my beloved Colonel’s chicken delights. Now I’ve always been a very big fan of his. Why just the other day, I was speaking Gerald (he moved into Autumn Years a few months ago – shame, his dear Nellie passed away), and whilst playing Bingo, we spoke about our favourite foods. And would you believe it? He loves it too. I’m liking this common ground. And I think it might lead to something in the future. Now, to be fair, my future is not all that long. So I might try to nudge him a bit in the right direction. By making some pie? 

 

Look, it’s not that I don’t miss my dear Harold (may he rest in piece), but Gerald is a wonderful cravat-wearing-gentleman. And don’t you just love a snappy dresser? In addition, he’s got a full head of hair! None of that unattractive comb-over stuff. And he doesn’t smell of moth balls. Also a huge big advantage. His kids are all grown up and happily settled, living far away. So they won’t be interfering. Which suits me perfectly!

 

Anyway, dearies. I have to go. Agatha has just popped in to let me know that the Bridge game is starting now at 1pm and I still want to fluff up my hair and change out of my slippers. At least, that's what I think she said. I didn't feel like her ragging me today, so I turned my hearing aid off.

Wait, now that I think about it, Gerald will be there too. Perhaps I should just dab something nice behind my ears. Perhaps I can allure him with my perfume? And a smidgen of lipstick won't go amiss either. Why, I might even try to stay between the lines this time. Though I have seen on the Facebook that the young people do so like those big lips. Personally I think they resemble pufferfish. But I'm a modern woman. And more than happy to do my part by trying to stay up to date with what those milleniums (or is it millenials or maniacles?) are doing. So wish me luck. I shall report back soon.

 

Keep well dearies,

Your Aunty Mildred 🍗