Month: January 2011

Twinnie twin twin

I know we are only just a month into the year, but I’m already suffering from a little party-fatigue, so I sent Etienne off to a party with Daniel on Saturday.  I also feel like I don’t get to spend any time with Mignon and Isabel, just us girls. 

So, I had a big plans.  First a little R&R quiet time on the couch with Barbie Mermaidia as we needed some quiet time before going out for supper.

Then we were going to paint toe nails.

And then we were going to decorate Marie biscuits.

And all of this was going to happen whilst humming something wholesome.

In reality this happened:

We cuddled on the couch, I close eyes for 30 seconds before they get pried open by little fingers “Word wakker Maaaammmmmaaaa!’ (Wake up Mommy!)

They then ran off, I find them giggling in the sandpit, playing their own little twinnie-game.  I started trying to pry them away and realised that they were actually just happy being together, playing by themselves.  So I sat watching them from a distance and marveled at how they can play and play and play.  They didn’t even want juice and cookies!

I eventually managed to coax them inside with Marie Biscuits, pink icing and smarties and fun was had by all. (Which reminds me, I still need to wipe icing off some really strange surfaces…)

I’m going to send Etienne to more parties, I can see why he doesn’t mind staying home with the girls, they’re a breeze!

ps: As I opened my eyes this morning, there Daniel was, telling me he’d like a Rapunzel party.  My children spend A LOT of time discussing party themes.  It ranges from Princess and the Frog parties to Scooby Doo parties.  We just nod and smile.  And I pretend to not internally wring my hands in the sheer terror of not living up to their expectations. Is it just me?

Edit to add:  Just re-read this.  Please don’t think the girls don’t fight and I live a hipster life.  It’s all sand and muck in reality and no time for being smug.  Just so you know.

And moving along swiftly..

to a topic I am very passionate about: Leftovers.

I have a friend (who shall remain unnamed, the not-so-innocent must be protected!) that keeps leftovers for ages.  She claims that they can buy a cooked chicken from Woollies on a Sunday and keep it in the fridge until the Thursday and then make Chicken-a-la-King from it.  By choice. To add injury to insult they also eat leftover vegetables. (she knows that I’m writing this post by the way, it’s a bit of a dare)

In our house whatever doesn’t get finished at supper either goes in the fridge for lunch the next day, to the doggies (sniff), the domestic worker, the freezer (rice), the tortoises (salad), the compost heap or the bin.  We hardly ever leave food in the fridge, mostly because we know it will get forgotten and will come crawling out several weeks later.

So, I have cleverly created my first poll ever and would like to know if you eat leftovers.  Please humor me and vote, I have an intense need to know.  Really.

Goodbye Kramer

This is a blog post about our Labby we had for almost 12 years.  If you don’t enjoy soppy stop reading immediately as it could get ugly.

You still here?  Good!

Kramer was a Labby of sorts and he was the very first thing Etienne and I acquired, by default. We had just started dating in 1999 and went for drinks with my dear friend Christy.  She mentioned that this awesome dog had followed one of her staff members to work.  So, off we went the next day to have a look at this dog and fell in love on the spot and took him.  (Etienne was sharing a house with a friend at the time)

We called him Kramer because he used to slide into a room like Kramer from Seinfeld, he sure knew how to make an entrance.

He was the loveliest of lovely dogs, even though he used to fart up a storm, but he has steadily been deteriorating over the last few months.  And Etienne and I operated in denial as we knew what a visit to the vet would mean.

BUT.  I used to house-sit for my BIL and they had this cantankerous old Doberman that they just kept alive for far too long and I promised myself I would never ever do that to one of my animals.

He started losing far too much weight and hair and I just couldn’t take it anymore so my Mom and I took him to the vet today (with Etienne’s permission).  She took a good look at him and started talking about possible treatments, but mentioned that it would probably be best if we put him down.  Which we did, with much crying.  I stayed with him, but my Mom preferred to go outside.

We told Daniel that  he went to doggy heaven, and he promptly asked us if he could have another ‘Kramie’ so we said maybe, if he takes good care of Jack, the puppy we rescued in September.  So he goes up to Jack and says to him ‘Jack, Kramer has gone to the doggy place, but we’ll get another one’.  And Etienne and I were wiping tears like mad people.

There’s probably no use crying into the dishwater and poor Jack is wandering around the house looking for his friend and life will carry on, so this is my ‘moment’ and one day when my kids read this they’ll remember the great dog we had.  And our house is really empty.

Here’s a pic of Kramer and Daniel:

ps When I was walking earlier I saw a couple with exactly the same dog.  Odd.

pps Ironing is like therapy for the unemployed.  I did a LOT of ironing this afternoon.

Hellllooo!

Hello everyone,

just a quick pop-in to check up on all of you and ask you to please pop in at this forum and see if you can offer any advice?  I know most of you don’t have twins, but a lot of you have more than one child and some more of you are single parents.

Please!

ps Miss you all terribly, will visit regularly, but you know where to find me too 🙂

The things we choose to see

Are you normal?  I mean, as in do you think you are normal?

Yes, I know, we all have issues and hangups, but generally speaking we probably regard ourselves as pretty normal and well-balanced people with a fair grip on reality.

I sometimes wonder about the things that might be blatantly obvious to other people that I miss.  Recently someone made quite a nasty comment in front of other people relating to my fondness for tweeting and making a direct correlation to my parenting skills.  I was a little gobsmacked and made my displeasure known after I had recovered, but it really stung.

I also have a friend who knows a family that refuses to acknowledge that their child probably has some serious issues (jeez, is that vague enough for you?) and we probably all know a family like that.  And when it directly impacts on your own child and a rather scary way how would you get the message across to those parents?

My question is this: at what point do you say something to that parent?

Those of you that know me know that I am of the bull-in-a-china-shop variety (and I always regret it afterwards).   I made a comment to a friend recently and she took it to heart and is thankfully still speaking to me.  But what would have happened if she chose to ignore me?

Which brings me back to normal.  I think my family is pretty normal, but what if we’re completely insane (read: me) and everyone’s just too damn petrified of us to say anything?

Maybe we’re just quirky.  I read somewhere recently that you shouldn’t leave old age to be eccentric, so I’m going to embrace that and be normal but quirky and slightly eccentric!

How’s that?

I’m just finishing drinking my juice klaar

This sentence came out of Daniel’s mouth tonight.

And I promptly corrected him: ‘Ek drink net gou my juice klaar’ At which Etienne corrected me of course:  juice – sap.  And I rolled my eyes.  As you do.

We send the children to an English school and they speak Afrikaans exclusively at home as it is our home language.   In principal it’s a fantastic idea and it certainly worked for me as people often comment that I don’t speak with an Afrikaans accent and I went to an English pre-primary school.

My question is this:

How much should we correct him?  Should we just muddle along and quietly correct him (which we try not to do too often)?

Any parents in the same position that have some suggestions?

Why men should not accept party invitations

We have aquaintances that recently moved back to Cape Town.  Etienne got a call last week inviting us to their house-warming party.

Generally I’m always keen for a party, but I got my much anticipated and long awaited iphone late on Friday and we had people over for supper on Friday night, a little trip to the emergency room that night* and a hetic day on Saturday, so needless to say all I wanted to do was stay home and play with my toy (the phone people, minds out the gutter please!)

But alas, the Inlaws were coming to babysit and off we went, me with visions of leaving sneaking out after an hour.  As we drive up to the house (very late) we see only 2 other cars and it dawns on me: this is not a party, it’s an intimate dinner party.  Gulp.  And glare at Husband.

Lovely, lovely people and beautiful house.  They don’t have kids or animals yet and it was quite refreshing to:

  • be able to sit down for longer than 30 seconds
  • without a child on my lap/hanging on my clothes/chewing on the hem of my shirt
  • be able to walk barefoot without stepping on some sharp object or getting stuck to the floor because SOMEONE messed SOMETHING and didn’t TELL anyone.
  • stop and admire their beautiful picture frames, strategically placed at about mid-thigh
  • sit on their couch on a pre-fluffed pillow that isn’t covered in juice/yoghurt/unidentified fruit
  • admire the sheer beauty of unmarked walls/floors/furniture

I felt like cackling like a madwoman when I heard half-way through the evening that ‘they’ are preganant, but I kept it in until we got to the car.  Just.

Luckily the company was great and we all laughed until we cried and our faces and stomachs hurt!

*Isabel was chasing Etienne in the kitchen and ran head-first into the edge of the kitchen cupboard.  I must confess I kind of freaked out at the sight of the blood, but my friend Carmen and I took her to the hospital and they glued her back together.  She was a real trooper, didn’t cry once!

The kids looked like they had been through the wars, because Mignon decided to take a black bike onto the trampoline and promptly did a nose-dive, bike and all.  People are going to start to wonder…

This is the damage:

Of parties and gaggles of children and courtesy and grace

How do you like the title of this post?  Confusing enough?

Let me clear it all up.

One of the things I love most about Montessori is “courtesy and grace”, one of their underlying principles.  It’s not just about please and thank you.  It’s also about respect for people, animals and the earth.  Which might sound a bit lala, but bear with me.

As you know we have 3 children.  And those children have class mates, Daniel in his class and the girls in theirs.  Which, because they are all at the same school, means that there are lots of families with siblings in both classes, 1 child families in either class or families with much older or younger children.

All these children have birthdays and most of them have parties.  The kids that have siblings in both classes are fine, usually all my children are invited and we all go along.  The parties I worry about are the parties where the family has child only either in Daniel or Mignon and Isabel’s class.

Before you jump to conclusions, the reason I worry is because I feel bad for that Mom feeling pressurised to invite All My Children, because I want to shout PLEASE don’t invite all of us.  Sometimes it’s nice to just go out with one or 2 of them, you get to spend some time with them.  Ok maybe not so much, because the really good parties have wine, but anyhoo.  And parties are expensive.

Here’s the thing though: sometimes the invites are ambiguous and I so hate to ask ‘Excuse me, but how many of my children did you want me to bring?’  Why? If you have known me for a while you’ll know that tact isn’t really one of my (many) strong points (read: I’m far too straightforward for my own good).  I battle with gracefully asking difficult questions, I feel too awkward and am petrified of coming across as pushy or rude.

So readers, any good advice?  And if you are thinking of inviting only 1 or 2 of my children, that’s completely fine, really!

ps Just to prove how lovely my children are, check what Daniel left for us last night for bedtime reading.  How sweet is this boy?

Pink storiesp

Yesterday afternoon someone popped in as I was pouring some juice into cups.  Daniel and Mignon had pink cups and Isabel a yellow one.  There is always a shortage of pink cups in our house.

My guest then commented on how cool it is that Daniel drinking out of a pink cup doesn’t phase me.  So my mind did one of those ‘whooooooosh’ thingies and I realised that we don’t colour co-ordinate much.  If you want the pink cup, great, have the pink cup.  And pray that there won’t be an argument about who gets THAT particular pink cup.  Same goes for spoons, bowls and food.  Yes, food.

Daniel has a particular fondness for pink and we could choose if we wanted to fight with him about it “oh look, here’s a blue cup, why don’t you want the blue cup?”  Nah.  I say, let him have all the pink he wants until he decides he doesn’t want it anymore.  And wear his sisters’ crowns, fairy dresses, wings and wands to his heart’s content.

I did however wonder about where I should draw the line this morning when I was applying make-up in the car and he also wanted base, powder and lipstick.

What do you think?  Where do you draw the line between cute and a little weird?

Whilst you think let me brag about how nicely they are all getting along at the moment. (neither of these are posed, just so you know, that’s why they’re a little blurry)

(yes, I know the couch is filthy.  I found a grape squashed between 2 cushions last night)

Pre-school anxiety

I just had an sms from a friend asking how to deal with your little one’s pre-school anxiety and here are my thoughts.

I linger at my kids’ school in the mornings partly because I want to make sure that all 3 of them are settled in and happy and partly because there’s such a nice family atmosphere and I enjoy chatting to the Moms and Teachers.

It’s HARD to leave your child at a school, whether you’re a Mom or a Dad and often I’ve seen people ask how they will know when they have picked the right school.  The simple answer is that the right school is the one where you least mind leaving your children.  Really.  And trust your gut.  If something doesn’t feel right probe and ask until you’re happy, otherwise you’ll spend more mornings crying in your car on the way to work than you absolutely have to.

Managing their expectations:

Tell them all about their school, find out the teacher’s name and talk about the teacher before you get to the school (if possible), especially if it is their first time going to school.

Saying goodbye:

I did a bit of a test last week when the kids had holiday camp.  When I started to leave Isabel was close and I gave her a goodbye kiss and I saw Mignon sitting happily in the sandpit and thought I would avoid drama if I snuck out.  I mentioned to the teacher I was leaving and not saying goodbye and we decided to see how that went.  Trues Bob, next morning Mignon was very anxious, so I’m never leaving her again without greeting.

First day and beyond:

When the kids started at school I also found that the first day normally went like a party and they couldn’t wait to be rid of me.  But they do strike a bit of a wobbly roundabout day 2 or 3 or 4.  That’s fine. They are aware that they are being left in an environment that they are not yet familiar with.  My advice here is also simple: Distract, distract, distract.  Hang around for a couple of minutes, acknowledge their feelings, give them a kiss and a hug and then head for the hills.

I have seen new kids that have settled in in a snap and I have seen little ones that have taken weeks to settle. It very much depends on the child.  I have also noticed that children that are a little smaller than their peers tend to take a little longer to settle.  But if your child is in the right school they will settle down, promise.

What happens when you walk out the door:

Don’t underestimate the power of manipulation.  They are crafty little buggers, our children.  Sometimes I have also seen little ones cry like there’s no tomorrow and the minute Mom leaves to it’s all smiles and happiness.  And Mom sobs quietly in her car.

In a nutshell:

Trust your gut.  And give it some time, every child is different.