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We’re all going on an autumn holiday…

lets hope it does rain the whole time…

I have never been to Velddrif and although it wasn’t first choice I have to admit that amid the mild panic that is slowly setting in, panic because I haven’t even bought a single scrap of food for the trip, or even packed a bag (although I have made a list-Progress!) but my Pedi is booked<It is all a question of priorities> I am now rather looking forward to exploring this hidden gem!

In preparation for the exploration the DH is getting tips from his father this evening on worthy places to visit, amongst which he keeps on teasing me, will be all of the harbours in the vicinity.

<My father in law’s idea of exploring a new town is driving to the harbour, and buying some sort of dried/smoked fish with a truly offensive odour (aren’t they all?) and eating it in the car, much to the chagrin of all of those present, well the ones of the fairer sex in any event.  So bad is this habit that when he offers to drive around the day to ‘explore’ none will take him up on his offer. 

The last one of these excursions still etched in our minds…It was a particularly dreary day, we were in Hermanus for the weekend and there wasn’t much to do except to take a drive.  To truly appreciate the fear about driving with my father in law-bless him-you have to take a drive with him.  He is a big man, and always drives a 4×4 of some sorts, at rather high speed, while checking his cell phone (which might as well be surgically attached to his ear/hand) while simultaneously drinking coffee and playing with the GPS, all while he is veering in and out of his lane (I am a nervous passenger, but my MIL wins this contest hands down). With every leap out of his lane, or electronic squeal of the press of a button, her cheeks tend to puff up a millimetre more. On this particular day we (he) were driving around aimlessly, for hours.  He drove so fast through the town we could barely catch a glimpse of the place, and where does he come to a halt? The harbour…

By this time the atmosphere in the car was so thick you would need a chainsaw to hack through it  We stood there for what seemed like hours, in fact it was barely fifteen minutes, but it was fifteen minutes too many.  Just when we thought the day could not possibly get worse, my father got into the car with a pack of the most vile-smelling bokkoms I have ever had the misfortune of sharing a car with, and he proceeded to drive back to Hermanus. End of trip.  The men were chuffed on their day out, the girls, not so much.>

Harbour visits? Not unless I have anything to say on the matter.  But explore we shall!

Here is to sugar induced hyperactivity, crackling fires, good wine, great company, long walks along the river bed and afternoon naps! Oh and not to forget the night-time Easter-egg hunt I have planned, gotta love Woolies’ glow in the dark eggs!

Have a Happy Easter everyone!

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Touchy, aren’t we?

I have never been the touchy feely type, that is just not who I am.

I can blame the fact that my parents were divorced when I was very young and I did not grow up in an affectionate home, I can…but I won’t.

Fact is, most social situations make me uncomfortable.  I never quite know how to handle them.  When meeting up, do I air-kiss or hug?  How tight should the hug be? How long should I maintain the hug? When I am supposed to kiss? Is it an air-kiss or do I kiss on the cheek?  Does one follow the same guidelines as with dates? (After 2 dates you kiss, that sort of thing, I don’t want to be seen as an air-kiss slut)

These social intricacies are fraught with anxiety and always leave me sort of shifting uncomfortably in one spot wondering whether I just did the right thing and when I am going to be unmasked as the social leper that I am.

Then I quaff another glass of wine to try and hide my discomfort.  Alcohol is the best social lubricant there is, but unfortunately people do tend to raise their eyebrows if you break out the booze at a kitchen tea/christening sort of soirée (One of the many reasons I am so incredibly grateful for book-glug)

It is all rather odd that I find these situations so difficult as I grew up on a staunch Afrikaans home, one of those where it is customary to kiss your parents (whether you are a boy or a girl).  Where, according to my husband, he has to kiss my parents even when he just wants to go out for a smoke break.

I am convinced that Someone up there has a sick sense of humour, because, along with my social inadequacies I am an extrovert.  I have no qualms on speaking to strangers, heck given half a chance I would strike up a conversation with a broomstick-just as long as that broomstick doesn’t try and touch me.

Maybe this discomfort is borne out of that fact that I find it truly difficult to believe that people find me interesting and even worth while taking the time to spend time with me.  I am deeply distrustful and confess that most of the time spent with others I secretly ponder what it is that they really want from me?  This is why blogging was so appealing to me.  What I am unable to say, I can write about.  Even if no-one reads it, it is out there and I don’t live quite as much in my head as I would normally do (it is quite a scary place to be on any given day).

But I digress…

What I really wondered about, is how does, someone like me, make sure that my son does not end up with the same issues?

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not so green

I am not a greenie, not my any strech of the imagination.

I have thankfully, outgrown my liking for tie-die and have never felt the need to stop shaving my underarms and move to Noordhoek.  That being said I cannot stand it when people wantonly just mess with the environment.

Like people throwing their garbage out the car window (seriously? under what rock did you crawl out from?)

One such shining example is the idiot with the white Toyota Quantum that drove in front of me on Boyes Drive this morning.  Dude I took your registration number and you can expect some love-mail from the City soon!

I would thought when that tourist was found guilty of culpable homicide it would scare these offenders into just doing the right thing, but apparently not…

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guess who is a scaredy cat…

Who would have thought?  I am scared shitless of a number of things (too much to list) but these are the ‘big’ ones…

After the accident I am completely neurotic about driving, even more so when someone else is behind the wheel.

I am scared to death of death (really stupid I know, because it is one of life’s little certainties-I am convinced that Someone up there has a sick sense of humour).

I am scared of swiming in the ocean, especially in Vishoek (but I prefer to think of this fear not as a fear but rather that common sense is prevailing-the shark stays out of our swimmingpool and it is just good manners  on my side to extend him the same courtesy-You can tell that I have thought this through quite often?)

I am scared that something is going to happen to my family, or someone I love-another of those idiosyncracies you pick up when you lose loved ones.

I am scared of bugs, or rather anything that has more than 4 legs, especially if they happen to have wings too, but eight legs is fine…

And now after my second trip to the Deparment of Motor Vehicles for the day (no that is not what I am afraid of-but I am getting there)….Bergies.

I was happily ambling along, mentally preparing my argument to the happless teller behind the counter as to why my boss could not come and get the duplication registration documents for the trialer that he can barely remember owning since it broke probably before I was born, and that he needs this document so that we can scrap the damn thing before he has to dip into his children’s college funds in order to pay the back license fees.

I was so much in my head that I only noticed that a Bergie had grabbed me when I was yanked of course and dragged halfway back up the street that I had just crossed.  While I am typing this I can physically feel the spot where he touched me burn as if I am on fire, this is after I washed my arm extensively and I cannot seem to stop shuddering.  He must have been on something because his eyes was completely out of focus.  My first thought was “oh my word, so this is what it is like when you get robbed” and I must admit that  I screamed like a banshee at him to let me go.  He didn’t take anything or indeed attempt to take anything, he just grabbed me, for no reason at all.  He grabbed me with such force that my arm is actually turning blue, not a big spot, but blue none the less *shudder*…

So please excuse me while I go and find something to scrub my arm with, I am thinking caustic soda and a pine cone….

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The best kept secret

In our house that would be where my husband stashed the chocolate, not to keep it away from me but the char…really…but for me, it is maternity clothes. One only finds out about the joy and comfort of wearing them when you well fall pregnant, and let me tell you once you have gone there you can’t come back.

Why torture yourself with jeans that chaffe, tops that sit too tight, where you are so scared to breathe lest someone notice that you haven’t quite overcome the battle of the buldge that is the constant reminder that you until quite recently carted a +3kg baby in your body(well not that recently, but still).

Pre-pregnancy jeans are so the year before last, today I am totally rocking my maternity jeans!

Maybe that is why all the pregnant women glow and walk around with the “all knowing” smiles?

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Look what I found

I was rummaging through some drawers last night and came accross the artist’s proof that I had to send in when one my poems was published.

My DH once said that it was pretty grim and made him depressed…he wasn’t far off.  I was in a very dark place when I wrote this, and just reading it gives me cold chills, it was not a pretty place to be.  How does one describe depression to someone that has not lived it, to someone that has not felt it.

I like to think that this was a good attemtp at doing just that.

 

Running through a tunnel

Running through a tunnel,

a dark tunnel all alone

the tunnel is my mind

the tunnel is my soul…

running from my shadow

with no hope of ever escaping

searching for an open end

to feel life once more

drowning in the quicksand

that is my thoughts

no hope of an outcome

of the darkness that haunts me so

scared of something you cannot see

living in fear of the untouchable

no escape on this endless tunnel

the tunnel, I call my soul.

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What are little boys made of?

What are little boys made of?

What are little boys made of?

Frogs and snails

And puppy-dogs’ tails,

That’s what little boys are made of.

 

I am home alone with the terrorist this week and things are a bit hectic.

Last night as I ran his bath, he was standing next to the bath ‘helping’ me, while I was getting the water temperature right.  I realised that I had not yet boiled the kettle for his night time bottle and left him standing next to the bath to dash off to the kitchen to put the kettle on.  I was scarcely gone for 5 seconds, when I returned he was standing in the same spot I left him in, happily rolling down the roll of toilet paper right into his bathwater.

I would love to say that I handled this matter with poise and grace, would love to.

Unfortunately I had a total sense of humour failure; which was exaggerated as I was forced to go down on all fours to scrape the paper maché of the side of the bath while simultaneously trying to keep Tristan away from the toilet brush and muttering a steady stream of obscenities under my breath.

Thinking about this made me flash back to two weeks ago.  We were making breakfast and Tristan snuck out of the house, no more than a mere minute passed before his dad caught him on the porch, eating a snail with great gusto. He was thoroughly unhappy when his dad scraped the remains of the snail out of his mouth, and I even more so when I learnt that the first thing he grabbed before his dad could rinse his mouth was my toothbrush.

Sidebar:          I haven’t been able to stand the sound of someone eating a     cookie or a rusk for weeks as it reminds me of the sickening crunch I heard while he was chowing down on the snails shell *shudder*