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-



Heart friends

It has been a very emotional couple of months for me.  There has been drama at work, drama at home and all these little things that keep on piling up that make me want to crawl into a hole and never come out of it.  I have been retreating further and further to lick my wounds.  I try and smile and pretend that everything is okay, when really it couldn’t be further from the truth.

My whole life I have felt like an impostor, like I don’t belong.

I live in fear that I will be unmasked, to be shown to be the social leper that I really am and shunned for it.  It is probably due to some deep-seated self-esteem issues, but for the life of me I cannot think why anyone would want to spend time with me and I am deeply suspicious when they do, because I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop. <I sound coo-coo for coco-puffs right?>

I have a hand full of friends that somehow managed break through this layer of worthlessness and doubt that I have built around me, and in truth they were the ones that has kept me standing the past couple of months.  This post is dedicated to them, to thank them for being there, my silent crutches that swooped up and picked me up when I felt I could no longer continue. I truly love you all.

I was amazed that one of these friends, in her quiet manner, seemed to see right into heart of me.

Due to her personal circumstances she was not able to see me for my birthday and only managed to wish me a happy birthday yesterday.  She gave me the best gift I have ever received.  The gift itself was simple, a book on how generosity changes one’s life and a compact mirror, but the message behind it moved me to tears.

The book, she said reminded her of me, of how I care and try to help others.

The mirror was because I needed to be reminded  just how beautiful I am.

I sobbed like a baby.  It wasn’t pretty at all. There were snot bubbles.  It was just what I needed.

I am no good at speaking my mind that is why I write. So, without further ado:

Thank you M for being there, for listening, even though you are going through a trying time yourself and needed me more than I you. You are a true friend and made me realise that no matter how dark it gets out there, there are still people that bring light into our lives and it is on them that we can (and should) count. Thank you for shining and inspiring me to do the same. I ♥ you.


Letting my inner child out

I can lose my mind..but never my inner child.

A friend and I have our birthdays two days apart and have decided that in celebrating being a year older  we will succumb to the sparkly vampire fever that is Breaking Dawn and go and watch the premiere on Friday night. We booked the midnight show and because all good girls should by that time be in bed, we will be going in our PJ’s. With our Teddy bears.

Just for kicks we plan to go to our local spur before hand and harass the waiters to serenade us with the Hillbilly Rock (we may even dance along) and bring us free ice cream with sparklers on.

Who says getting older is a drag?

Watch this space for photgraphic evidence.


You throw like a girl

Yesterday morning I got a call from the husband just as I dropped the terrorist off at his grandma’s, to remind me that for the second day in a row, I had left the house with his wallet in my handbag.
So I get my knickers in a knot and put my car in gear and speed of towards his office in Century City, all the while cursing him and the cursed wallet under my breath.
I get there and he is standing on the balcony smoking.
We are at an empasse.

He is unable (read: unwilling) to come down without putting  out his satanstick and I am unwilling to go into his office, because simply put I have brought the fecking wallet far enough and he can damnwell come down and fetch the thing.

“Throw it” he says.

Incredulous I look at him.

“Are you serious?”


Doubtfull I decide to do as the man says.

“I am warning you, I doubt I will be able to throw it far enough.  Just now I throw it into the CEO’s office”

“No, don’t worry his office is next door, just throw.”
<You know you get those moments were you see something happening and you realise that is not what you intended but there is absolutely no way to stop it-well this was one of them>

As soon as the wallet left my hands I knew I threw short and with a ‘plonk’ the wallet landed on the veranda below the balcony.
Of course by this time I was in a fit of giggles.
“I hope that is still your offices?”
“Hmm, yes. but don’t worry I will get it just now”

On my way to my office he calls me.

“You won’t believe this, the only way to access that veranda is via the CEO’s office”

I was in such fits of laughter I had to end the call.



The parables of Skedonkie (Part1)

We have all had one of these, the very first car we started out with.  You know the one I am talking about, the one that drives but really by all the laws of physics and reason should not be able to.

One such legend was Skedonkie.  At the time she was a great source of humiliation/frustration and mayhem.  Now that I think about it, she was not all that different from a toddler.  But I digress.  It has been years since we parted and now that time has healed all the wounds she is an endless source of myrth.

Like the time she became a flame thrower….

There was always a number of things wrong with Skedonkie.

Like:  not starting in the morning, or the clutch not releasing or my personal favourite, the timing being out that resulted in backfiring. Like a canon. True Story. There was only one person in the whole of Cape Town that was able to get Skedonkie’s timing right and on this occasion he was not available, so I spent a very unhappy two weeks with a car that regularly backfired.  It was mortifying.  As these things go with temperamental cars the backfiring was worse at certain times, when heading uphill, downhill, straight, and also intensified when “gearing back”.

One late afternoon, on my way back from work, I was heading down the steep slope where Boyes Drive meets up with Main Road.  It was peak traffic and Skedonkie had been happily backfiring at two minute intervals when to my horror traffic had come to a complete standstill right on the steepest of slopes .  Let me add at this time the brakes weren’t all that keen on braking when asked to, so I had to gear back in order to ensure that I did not rear end the car in front of me, who even despite of having been keeping a very wide bearth from me was a mere metre away.

<All the other drivers had been keeping well clear because, I suspect, the fear of my car imploding.>

Along for this unhappy ride was a scooter a number of cars behind me, too scared to come closer.  It was at this time that my nemesis decided that in addition to backfiring big clouds of noxious black smoke (which I might add came in through the boot where there was a hole the size of a basket ball right above the exhaust pipe-I always had to have a window open for fear of inadvertently gasing myself while driving.), she would also, just for the sake of sport, throw in a flame or two.

It was at this juncture the scooter thought it would be a good time to get past this moving hazard violation. As I came to a standstill, I heard a loud crash and instantly thought someone had rear-ended me, only to see a metre and half long flame coming out of my exhaust pipe (and boot), just as the scooter was right behind me.

I could actually see the look of “holy shit did that car just throw a flame at me” on the terrified driver’s face. And the scooter? Well he thought he would rather brave a head on collision by passing me on a blind bend than spending another second behind my death trap. Wise move, if I could I probably would have gotten out too…


Silence is not Golden, but clear and sticky…

There are few things that can make a parent’s heart stop cold such as the sudden silence of a child that is out of sight…

I was on the receiving end of one of those moments on Monday night. We were having supper and the Terrorist had finished before us, the parental units, and he was set free from his high chair to play in his room.

Ever keeping an ear open to the goings on, we were gently lulled by noise of the Terrorist scratching in his toy box, when caught up in conversation we realised that it had suddenly gone quiet.  Too Quiet.  This is not the type of situation where you sit and debate who is going, you get up and run, cell phone in hand ready to dial the ambulance because you are definitely not going to like what you find.

He did not disappoint.

The terrorist, who should now be renamed to the trapeze artist, somehow managed to sail over the half metre of air between his rocking chair and bassinette, whereupon he promptly started climbing up on the shelves against the wall, to get to the highest of the three where we keep the waterless hand-sanitizer. There he was beaming and giggling to himself <the alcohol in the sanitizer perhaps?>, half emptied open bottle of sanitizer in the mouth, my hairbrush in his one hand and busily brushing his ‘gel’ into his hair.

My husband’s initial response was “Why is there hand sanitizer in his bedroom?” “Uhm, because sometimes it isn’t possible, although you may very well like to, have a bath after changing a soiled nappy”.

We were not sure whether he had drunk the contents of the now-empty bottle, or whether it had all gone into his hair. Once we had mopped up the sticfky remnants on the bassinette and what was around his mouth we decided that we had accounted for all the sanitizer and seeing as it tastes so bitter and he is the first the spit out anything that can be remotely associated with Buscopan, we can rest at ease that he didn’t drink any. We did however make him brush his teeth. Twice.

Made me think how very grateful I am that I have not yet moved him over to a “big” bed yet, and that for now, he remains behind bars (so to speak). I think it is safer for all concerned.



Undone by the…uhm..paws of a porcupine

I am laughing so hard right now I am blowing snot bubbles.

I am not having a particularly eventful day so thought to read the Cape Times to see what is happening in the world.  On page 3 I found this bizarre story:

Man Caught living 3 lives

Three South African families found out that had more in common than their nationality, when it was revealed that loving father, Patrick Hendricks, was in fact husband to all 3 wives and father to the 6 children.

On Saturday 12th, Mersades Hendricks’ world was turned upside down when she discovered that her husband of 12 years had been living two other lives. The discovery came when she received an unexpected call from a local hospital, informing her that Mr Hendricks had been involved in a bizarre incident with a porcupine.

Upon hearing the news, Mrs Hendricks rushed to the hospital with her two children, Henlo and Kenlee, to find her husband in a coma and surrounded by a group of strangers.  After several introductions were made, they were shocked to the core when it was revealed that all three wives shared the same husband…

Apart from having a lot of explaining to do when he wakes up about his extra-marital shenanigans, I would like to know-more than anything, what exactly he did with a porcupine that landed him in a coma?