I posted a question about perfume on FB this evening and realised how many memories I have that are linked to smells in general and perfume in particular.
I used to LOVE perfume, but when I was pregnant with Daniel I couldn’t bear even the lightest of perfumes, my sinuses revolted. Then I was breast feeding and I didn’t like him smelling of perfume. And then, soon after, I was pregnant with twins and my sense of smell was so acute I could smell when a colleague changed her brand of softener she used in her washing.
But looking through the comments of this post I’m instantly reminded of my Grandmother’s lavender scented powder and stretching up to see her ‘do her face’ at the dressing table that now lives in the girls’ room.
My first boss in London at Selfridges that wore Amarige, just like my mother used to, and how terribly homesick it made me feel whenever she wafted into the office on a cold, dark London morning.
The first perfume I bought myself in London, First by Van Cleef and Arpels. Followed by Aromatics Elixir from Clinique, that I wore for many years.
Another, much loved, boss that used to wear Chanel’s Coco Mademoiselle. To this day I think of her when I catch a whiff of someone wearing it.
Wearing Chanel’s Allure on my very special wedding day.
A friend that is no longer in my life that used to wear Red Door, never a personal choice of perfume for me.
I could go on for ages, I may even come back to add some memories, but you catch my drift.
I wonder what smell my kids will remember me by one day?
This is just a post about random things the kids have said recently, partly because they are too good not to share, partly because that is the actual purpose of this blog and partly because it’s Friday and we could all do with a giggle.The girls are really into the concept of “heaven” at the moment. Last week Sue and I took our girls to a market at Welbeloond (Etienne had taken Daniel to his very first rugby game at Newlands) and on the way they were chatting in the car. The conversation was around heaven and going to heaven and Isabel asks R (Sue’s daughter) what you do in heaven when you get there and she pipes up: Nothing, you’ll be dead.
Uncomfortable little silence.
So I suggested that you would be an angel and there’s lots to do. Thankfully no-one pursued that line of questioning at the time.
This morning I have Mignon and Isabel in the car and on the way to their school we have a lovely view over the Stellenbosch mountains. So, they ask if we can please go to the mountains this weekend. At first I prattled on about all the other things we have planned for the weekend and then I thought, hold on, so I asked what they wanted to do on the mountains. Why, be close to heaven Mom, they pipe up.
And then they proceed to ask me if they are really going to heaven at the end of the year. Er, not yet my darlings, but thanks for asking. I had a moment of panic about what they are taught at school, but I think it’s because we talk about our beach holiday at the end of the year and Christmas so much.
Yesterday afternoon I arrive home to the sound of Lady Antebellum booming from the kitchen and as I come up the stairs Mignon comes leaping from the back door: “Mom! Did you walk ALL the way from work?” And then we all had a little twirl in the kitchen to our favourite song whilst Etienne poured the wine.
It might be because I’m feeling a little agitated in general or because I’m simply turning into a Table Manner Nazi, but nothing irritates me more than hearing someone chew (a) and hearing someone chew with an open mouth (b). It drives me completely insane.
After numerous requests for Daniel to please PLEASE take smaller bites and chew with his mouth closed I eventually aggressively whisper to Etienne under my breath that “Ek gaan van my kop af raak” (I’m going to lose my mind). Daniel turns to me and asks “Mamma, hoe gaan jou kop afval?” (how is your head going to drop?)
And then, lastly, we all worry about whether our kids eat enough as it seems to be a never-ending battle to get them to eat a proper, balanced meal.
Thursday nights is Roast Chicken night in our house. It’s the one night of the week we go big with cooked veggies and rice and potatoes. Last night there was butternut, broccoli, the chicken, roast potatoes and salad. Normally they each pick at a piece of chicken, have a potato (except for Mignon, she LOVES potatoes) and (under duress) the tiniest speck of broccoli imaginable (the girls, Daniel loves the stuff). Last night they ate. And ate. And ate. And ate. They polished those dishes of food like there was no tomorrow, not a lick of food left. AND then they demanded a snack too.
Etienne and I were gobsmacked.
Check, tonight they will pull up their noses at whatever we decide to feed them and we will live in hope of them eating a proper meal for the next 3 months. But the memory of last night will help us live in hope.
We are off to the Sauvignon Festival tomorrow (if the Cape Weather behaves) with a bunch of friends. If you see us, please stop by and say hi or if it looks too crazy just tweet and wave from a distance, I won’t take offense, promise.