Month: October 2011

At War with 4

One of my favourite people on twitter, @mamabook, wrote this post about her 4 year old and is doing a blog hop.  We find ourselves just over and under that very special age at the moment, but I still have some gems to share.  Also, several of my friends have referred to it as the Fucking Fours.  I wouldn’t really know as I spent most of Daniel’s year of being 4 in a red wine induced coma.  I am stocking up as we speak before the girls hit 4 in March.

Even though Daniel turned 5 in May already, he recently started stomping his feet.  It fills us with mirth and we can’t help but laugh the times it doesn’t drive us mad.  And he sulks.  A lot.  That’s new too.  But mostly he goes and sulks in his room, so it doesn’t really bother us.  And his Barbie always goes with.  He loves his Barbie.

Because the girls are “second” children we forget that they are still quite small as they really give us a run for our money.  So in a sense they act a lot like 4 year olds already.

Mignon is just a girlygirl and loves pink and handbags and babies.  She has this silly laugh that makes the other two laugh, so it’s all good.  I will say this though: she’s a shrieker.  Those people that warn about the damage clubbing does to your hearing should spend some time in our house.

Isabel.  Well.  Her thing is “no thanks”.  As in: Please pick up your shoes/towel/clothes?  Standard response, delivered smartly: No thanks.  She has always had what my Mother calls the Gramophone Effect down pat.  She will keep repeating what she wants in a monotone voice until she either gets it or falls asleep.  No kidding.

What are the things that your 4 year olds do or did?

 

An Aftercare question and Poll

As is usual for this time of year I have been angsting about childcare for next year.

Daniel is going to Grade R at the school down the road and we are working on a plan for the girls for next year that could potentially be spectacular.  But it’s still in the works.

It’s around Daniel’s aftercare that Etienne and I have had many arguments disagreements heated discussions debates conversations.  See, it’s like this: Etienne had a stay-at-home Mom all his life.  In fact, he only went to any kind of school when he was 5, which certainly had it’s own set of challenges.  I, on the other hand, had 2 parents that worked full-time.  (I’m not whining about it, I totally get that they both had to work.)

The reality of my after-school life was that I was at various stages at home in the afternoons with a domestic worker, a latch-key child, in aftercare and with a lady who had a really creepy husband.  The only time my Mom was at home was the 3 months she was on Maternity leave with my sister and I was in Grade 1 at the time.  So, understandably I am really worried about what would be the best for Daniel, especially knowing that he leans toward his Dad’s introverted personality type.

Right now it is just not possible for me to not work full-time as sucky as that is, so we need to make a plan.

So here’s a little poll and I would very much appreciate it if you could vote and leave a comment if there is something I didn’t cover.

Please note:  I want to know what your reality is and would welcome any advice you could possibly give.  Even if you tell me to just suck it up.

A nice wake-up call

I am Afrikaans.

It’s not something I hide, but after so many years of reading/working in English I find myself battling to do business communication in Afrikaans.  For my generation which grew up during the last days of Apartheid I live with a lot of “Afrikaans Guilt”.  I (wrongly) assume that people would judge me because I am Afrikaans when, in fact, only a single person has in all the time I have been working.  (And he didn’t want to speak Afrikaans in an Afrikaans Call Centre despite being told that is was a requirement as he felt it was “the language of the oppressor”.  But that’s a whole other story)

Last week I interviewed a really awesome guy with dreads.  Because I’m so inquisitive we ended up talking about how to maintain dreads (carefully and with special soap) and meandered through his family history of being Tswana and ending up in Cape Town as he had quite a distinct accent.

We then ended up talking about how people judge you on the way you look and speak and I ended up “confessing” that I am Afrikaans.  He looked absolutely horrified and said that I should never apologise for being Afrikaans, there’s nothing wrong with it at all and that I should be proud of my heritage.

It came up in conversation with friends this weekend as well and our friends suggested that African people possibly embrace Afrikaans-ness more because tradition and heritage is (rightly!) so important to them.

I wasn’t really going to bother writing a blog post about this, but then happened to read this article this morning by Phillip de Wet in the Daily Maverick.  He is a self-proclaimed “once-Afrikaans mhlungu”.  I saw those words and they were quite jarring.  So much so that I scrutinised the comments to see if it was just me that noticed it.  I’m so happy I’m not alone.

I am Afrikaans.  So is Etienne and so are our families and children.  And proudly so.

You don’t suddenly become “Un” something you grew up with that is your heritage.

Edit to add:

Right after I published this post I had a guy in my office that marked African, Coloured and Other under Race on his application form and very helpfully added that he was Swazi.  So I asked why he ticked Coloured.  No, he says, I don’t speak Coloured.  What language is Coloured I ask.

Afrikaans he says.

Like it’s a whole other race.

I just laughed.

 

Do you dare to go Bare?

One of my favourite awesome people at Women24, Lili Radloff, wrote this column recently and challenged women to go barefaced.

My Mom has this thing about “Never leave the house without earrings or Lipstick”.  In fact, I risked getting fired when I was working in Hospitality when a really strange boss wouldn’t let any of his Public Facing staff wear earrings and I simply refused to take my small, unoffensive pearls out.  (and No, I wasn’t working with food at all)

Then I moved on to work in Corporate, then Not and now I’m back in Corporate.  In the Not time I didn’t wear make-up at all.  I couldn’t be asked, and it really didn’t bother me.  My only concession was Lippy.  I did initially feel a little guilty about subjecting the other Moms to Barefaced Me, but promptly got over that.

In The Time Before Children I had money to spend on expensive make-up, but these days I just smack on some base, lipstick, eyeliner and mascara as I’m running out the door and only on week-days.

I don’t wear make-up because I have to, I wear make-up because I like to.  Maybe it’s because I’ve survived the gauntlet of nappies and vomit and breastfeeding and sleepless nights (mostly).  I’m slowly but surely reclaiming ME after all that pregnancy and childbirth silliness.  I like being girly.  Make-up is part of the package, like wearing nail varnish, a nice necklace or bracelet, which I only started wearing recently again as now none of my kids will be ripping them off my neck.  And nail varnish (in all colours) has become a standard expense in our house.

You know what is more important to me?  Taking care of my skin.  My Mom had me wear eye cream from the age of 21 and learnt me respect for the sun. You only have good skin when you are young, it is up to you to take care of it.  (at the risk of sounding like my Mother)

So, I don’t mind the girliness of it all as long as it is in moderation and I would rather be teaching the kids to take care of their skins and be comfortable in their skins.  And I  won’t force them to wear any form of make-up if that’s what makes them happy.

All that matters in the end is that they are happy.

 

The Fine-print

Sometimes I feel like I somehow missed the fine-print in my Parenting Contract.

The fine-print that is all that stuff that is not strictly Black and White.  Not the Ten Commandments “Thy shalt not kill thy sister” kind of stuff.

For example:

As much as they wind me up beyond belief, I hate that any of the kids might feel unfairly treated/unloved in any way.  I want to run screaming to the hills when they fight over something and I have NO idea who’s it was in the first place.  They never mentioned that when I signed my contract.

Like the little ice cream stick that almost caused WW3 between the girls this morning.  Yes, an ice cream stick.  That little piece of wood that an ice cream is on.  There were tears, there was screaming. Omigod.  Definitely not in the fine-print.  Etienne diffused that one by distracting Mignon with a sticker.

Then we get to the car.  Isabel gets in front. (front airbag is disabled and they take turns to sit in front) (there is a Schedule for this).  (trust me)

Etienne had already left, so I wasn’t on top of the Schedule.  Daniel (after unsuccessfully looking for his shoes and already slinking to the car with slumped shoulders) comes stomping outside.  And crumples in a heap of tears.  It’s HIS turn to sit in front. Mentally I rolled my eyes and furiously started oh-ming like I’m in a Yoga class.  Because I KNOW Isabel is by far the most stubborn of the 3 and no mere mortal was going to move her from that seat.  Regardless of whether she was right or wrong.  Also not in the fine-print that one.

A little verbal shuffle ensued, in the drive-way of course, in full view of all the neighbours, but eventually Daniel was in the back after Isabel solemnly promised that it was her turn to sit in front.

Which of course it wasn’t.  And she knew very well.

Etienne will have a word with her when he collects them this afternoon.  And she will apologise to Daniel.  And then I will also apologise to Daniel when I get home this afternoon, because I know he won’t forget.  Another thing they forgot to mention in the fine-print.

Here they are on Sunday, waiting for soft serve in Melkbos.  God, I love them. (Isabel in the middle)

 

Plain Language South Africa

I don’t regard myself as an activist and activism is certainly not the purpose of my blog, but when I came across the Plain Language Blogger competition (you can also visit their site) I thought it was a great opportunity to get some things off my chest.  (It also made me want to win the R1500 Kalahari voucher after I had a browse there, but that’s almost irrelevant)

You may or may not know that I am privileged enough to meet people from disadvantaged backgrounds every single day as part of my job.   I don’t mean disadvantaged because of their skin colour.  They are disadvantaged because of their circumstances.  I also certainly don’t mean that they are victims or have a victim mentality.

Many of them left school in Grade 10 because they had to work to support their families, had babies, couldn’t afford to go to school, was the victim of a crime or was a member of a gang and got kicked out of school.  Many MANY people finish Matric deep into their 20’s.

The majority of these people have very basic language skills – not just people who have English as their second or Third language.  English is their FIRST language.  Some of them cannot even spell the name of the suburb they live in, even though they have lived there all their lives.  Many of them don’t know how to construct a basic sentence.

These people are not stupid.  They are uneducated.  The Education system in this country is a crying shame and has failed them miserably.

The amount of people that pass through our office every day that are immensely talented breaks my heart.  For example:

The guy with the beautiful, beautiful long fingers.  I asked him if he played the piano.  No, he says, his school didn’t have a music teacher, but he does love playing the piano and taught himself.

The very enterprising guy that was telling me how much he loves writing and would love to be making films one day.  He has a business that makes video recording for African people of funerals.  A very lucrative business.  (I wanted to wrap the Internet up for that guy and give it to him as a gift)

I have a question I love to ask them: If I had a magic wand that I could wave and you could pick any career job in the world, what would it be?

95% of them say they want to work in an office.  Doing what? I would ask.  They want to help people like themselves is their answer, unfailingly.  99% of the time they have no idea to get from where they are to how to help other people.  They haven’t been taught about setting goals, about planning a budget, about saving for studies or a house or a pregnancy.

So sad, SO true.

Think about that document you write that you want your staff to read, think about that form you want someone to complete.  Think about the words you use to give someone an instruction.  Make sure they understand.  And for goodness sake, treat them with respect and dignity.

They deserve it.

A little whine

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am not a morning person.  There.  I said it.

I need to wake up quietly without being hassled and love eating my breakfast in peace and quiet whilst hovering over twitter.  I don’t want to talk to anybody.  I just want to be.  Not for long, just a few minutes.  But those few minutes of peace and quiet are VERY VERY important minutes.

In reality all 3 kids are awake at 06h15 and not fast asleep until 06h30 when I have to drag them out of bed.  And all 3 kids want demand breakfast.

This one wants a ceramic bowl: Daniel.  I can’t watch when he takes one out of the cupboard as he unpacks them one by excruciating one until he finds one he wants that looks like all the others in the cupboard.  I try not helicopter him.

And then the girls fight over the last Barney plastic bowl.

And the last Oatees.

And who puts the Oatess in the bowl.

And who pours how much milk: Daniel.  As you will see by the pic he built himself a fort so he could sulk in private as he felt he needed more milk, even though he had already emptied half a carton of milk into his bowl and his cereal was at sea.

And the ones that are not whining are talking happily.  Loudly.

I don’t do mornings well at the best of times.  Even though I had the Little Mommy Voice of Sanity screaming in my head:  It’s ALL your shit!  Don’t take it out on the kids!

I know I shouldn’t complain and I’m not really.  I’m just processing.

And I’ll do better tomorrow.

Promise.

Internetlessness

I realised today how much in love I am with the Internet.  I cannot even begin to speculate how dreary life would be without it.

Mignon, Isabel and I were in a craft shop this morning where I was trying to buy some felt to finish off some coasters I made my friend Candice for her birthday today.  As usual I was shopping with one eye and watching the girls with the other eye (Mignon and Isabel!  Look with your eyes not your hands!)

There was an older woman bustling around the store that was quite loud and seemed very unhappy about being at work.  At one point during her huffing and puffing even the girl behind the cash register rolled her eyes.  I desperately wanted to give her a wide berth and was extra vigilant in keeping an eye on the girls.  She looked like the type of person that could shout at small child for touching something.

Don’t get me wrong.  Our kids have pretty good manners and I’ve never been one to back down from a good fight, I was just not in the mood for conflict this morning.

I made it as far as the till and was quietly lining up my purchases after herding Mignon and Isabel there with their usual fanfare.  I gave them each a packet of chips to keep them out of trouble when my eye caught a stack of crochet patterns.

The cashier slides the stack over to me and I have a look through them whilst she abuses my credit card.

I give the patterns back to the lady behind the counter and as I pick up my shopping the Loud Lady says to me:

“Those are really nice patterns”

“Yes” I say, “they are lovely, but I find most of my patterns on the Internet”

“Urgh” Loud Lady says, “I don’t have the Internet.  I don’t believe in the Internet.  All you people find those patterns on the Internet and come here and ask for wool we don’t have”

I was speechless.  She doesn’t BELIEVE in the Internet?

Is it even possible not to believe in the Internet?

Bizarre.

The African Way

If you grew up in a middle-class household in South Africa you would be familiar with the idea of Mothers sending their children to rural areas to be raised by Aunts/Grannies/Extended Families.

This doesn’t happen because they are bad Mothers (or Fathers), it is an unfortunate fact of life in South Africa that many women are single parents, work very long hours, travel very far to and from work every day and simply cannot afford childcare. They also have virtually no support structure or often even have the luxury of living in a brick house.

As South Africans we have become very desensitised to this reality, myself included. I simply accepted it as the norm instead of the exception in families that barely live on the breadline until I had a Mother crying in my office today.

A Mother that had to leave her job in a fastfood restaurant because her baby had pneumonia and she had no-one to help her take care of him when he was in hospital for 2 weeks. Similar stories play themselves out in my office every single day of the week. (Yes, I do know when someone is trying to manipulate me)

I keep toying with the idea that we have become a very intolerant society and that we forget that we deal with human beings. Yes, there are many lazy buggers out there, but if we take the time to know people that work for us, wouldn’t we be more tolerant and understanding? Or am I just a bleeding heart liberal?

I’m not exactly covering myself in ash and beating my head against a wall lamenting that there is something wrong with society because there are so many single parents and too many people are having babies for the wrong reasons at the wrong age.

I really just cannot accept our country for what it is, as much as this is our reality.

Is the concept of the traditional family changing?

Would I be incredibly naive in wanting for children to grow up secure with the love of both their parents?

When did parenting become transient and part-time?

How many things can you tick off this list?

I’m not into quotes and stuff, but I found this on Pinterest today.  I took a couple of minutes to go through the list, and as happy as I am that I can tick off quite a few things there are still many that I don’t do.