I suspect I may be receiving some hate mail soon

Yesterday morning started out like any other school morning, chaotic and not without a few tears (mostly from me).  Little did I know that a morning commute can cause such a moral dilemma.

I had finally managed to get everyone in the car, semi dressed and with school bags packed.  Just as we headed out the driveway, the oldest (bless him and his curious mind) piped up: “Is Santa real?”

I think I may have turned green and then white and finally that grey colour one turns just before one greets your breakfast for the second time around. The husband and I looked at one another in fear.  

We knew this day was coming, but who would have thought it would be so soon?  The reason we dreaded it as much is because we, ourselves, are not in agreement on this topic. 

The husband is a firm believer in all things concerning the truth and practicality, whereas I am the more airy fairy one.  I read to the kidlings and tell them stories about fairies.  We hunt ghosts that scare them at night and I can routinely be found chasing a monster from under the bed.  That is just who I am.  I am the one that has been tasked with their imagination.  For me it is important that they believe in fairies, dwarfs and all things magical, and Santa is a very big part of that. Call it my plan to keep them kids for as long as possible.  But the husband, in all his practicality (and we love him for that, because someone has to have their feet placed on terra firma) believes that telling him Santa is real is lying.

So how do we answer this fairly innocuous question, of whether Santa is real?

I said yes.

Darling husband said no.

We looked at one another.  Each hoping that T-man did not hear the other’s response.

Luckily at that point T-man’s attention waned and we left the matter there.

After the drop off, the husband and I continued the debate.  How does one deal with this?

T-man is a very practical child.  He wants to know how things works. He doesn’t like change and feels unsettled if we do not follow the normal routine. He is also a big believer in the truth.  The husband is worried that by telling him that Santa is real and he finds out the truth the he would feel betrayed. A valid concern.

This question at this particular time is actually quite loaded, since he asked, just a couple of weeks ago, whether Jesus is real.  Granted it was done at bedtime, and was possibly more a ploy to drag out the awake time than an actual question, but it caught me sufficiently unawares and took quite a bit of diplomacy.  His argument, was that Jesus cannot be seen so how do we know he is real.  Luckily I remembered the analogy about the wind and that seemed to appease him.

But now the husband is worried that if he finds out the truth about Santa he will think that since we lied about that we lied to him about Jesus too. And that is a big problem for us and the beliefs we want to instill in our kids.

So where do we go from here?

I realise that if I were to tell him the truth he would feel compelled to share it.  The result: I would be lynched at the morning drop off and T-man will never receive another party invite. EVER.

Or do I keep the belief alive and steer all questions in another direction?  

Perhaps I should ask him what does he think?  A little reverse psychology…should keep the townsfolk with their lit torches and pitchforks at bay. I like it!

What do you reckon?



Hello old friend

I am a horrible blogger.  Life just got so busy and in all honesty the things I was going through was not something I could put out there on the interwebs, because it wasn’t just mine to share. But now things are returning to some form of normalcy, well as normal as they can be in my house (read: head)

What a  rollercoaster year it has been since the last time I was on here. To start of with, we moved house.  We finally took the plunge and bought our own place.  Bliss! 

We have made news friends, some we lost, but time moves on and so must we.

We got a bit of a surprise in May…another set of little feet that can steal car keys and unpack my wallet in Pick and Pay trolleys. And this time, it is a GIRL! What a mind blowing prospect. From the time I found out I was expecting again (once the shock wore off). I was mentally preparing myself for another little boy, thinking, it is is okay, I have this raising boys thing down to an art form. We can do this.  Now? Well, now it is a whole different ball game.  

The biggest change of all is the fact that I (with my amazing husband’s support) have decided to quit my job and become a stay at home mom. Who would have thought.  


A stay at home mom? If you had suggested that to me 5 years ago I would have told you to stop drinking your bathwater.  But there it is.

In 12 days I am finishing my notice period and trading in the morning commute to town for the morning school run.

I am scared.  I am stressed. I am freaking out….just a little bit (okay maybe a lot).

What if I suck? Will I make it out alive…will the kids make it out alive?

Will one of them (or all), in 20 years time, lie on the couch in their Therapists office and pinpoint the time where it all ‘went wrong’ to the day I decided to stay home with them.

Only time will tell or perhaps the school psychologist.  But that is a problem for another day.

For now I will follow Douglas Adams’ advice…

-Don’t panic-



Wacky Wine

This past weekend I went to the Wacky Wine festival in Robertson/Asthon/Bonnievale.

It is such an amazing festival because R100 gains you entry into all of the wineries in this area and you can taste whatever you like! Also the wineries try and out-dazzle each other, there are live performances and stalls and more food and wine than what you can ever consume! Definitely a festival of more’s.

I have not been to this festival in 3 years (as there was the small matter of me being knocked up) so I didn’t anticipate that it had gotten quite so large.

So popular has it become that when we wanted to go last year, we were unable to find any accommodation, and settled for booking for this year, at the lovely Karin’s on Main in Bonnievale.  So it was with great pleasure I dropped the kids of at Grandma and Grandpa’s for the weekend and hit the R62.

Perhaps it is was the anticipation, or  my age, but I must confess I was not quite as impressed with the festival as the past times.  Our accommodation was stunning, the rooms were smartly done, the food was good and the service was homely.  The wine was as good as it always is, but honestly, after overindulging at Locnville (they were hosted at the sumptuous Arrabella Wine Farm on Friday night, we were too fragile to do any real tasting for the remainder of the weekend.

In fact when sitting down to a quiet dinner on Saturday, next to the fire, while the rain was coming down in buckets, it was decided that we are at the age where we don’t have anything to prove, we may as well crawl into bed with a book and sleep in.

So at the end of the weekend I come away with two lessons.

1.  I am way too old to keep up with the Students; and

2. I DON’T HAVE TO…it is okay if I want to rather crawl into bed on a Saturday night with a nice book, and even if the only thing I did the whole weekend away from the kids was sleep, that too is okay, after three years of sleepless nights, I earned it!