Ma Wa Gray

The picture above documents a pretty standard event in our household. It's actually a daily event. It's my 'reboot' nap.  As many of you will know I suffer from congenital hearing loss that is ultimately going to lead to me having to have cochlear implants.  Many of you will also know that I'm a Drama teacher.  Being half deaf and a Drama teacher isn't one of my favourite combinations.  I have only ever identified with a Miss South Africa once and that's when our current Miss South Africa, Mia Le Roux, pulled out of the Miss Universe pageant due to health issues related to her ears. She was suffering from vertigo and 'deaf fatigue'. Never has a fatigue more accurately described my daily struggle to have enough capacity for everything required of me.  And I'm going to be honest - it's has, of late, really been getting me down. It's my Achilles heal, or Achilles ear if you will, and I can't help but wonder how much easier everything wou...

My first experience of ever really loving children inside and out was when my legendary high school English teacher, Moira Lovell, read 'To Kill A Mockingbird' to the class and introduced us to Scout and Jem.  I can still hear her commanding voice change into that of six year old Scout, making that fiesty little creature come to life in a hot Maritzburg classroom. It's a skill I was to later share in life with my Westville girls in our oven of a prefab classroom. Those lessons reading Mockingbird are still some of my most treasured.  And now, its several years later and an English colleague got me thinking about my favourite novel again.  Our conversation began with me explaining that this holiday Eva taught herself to read and write. She's a January baby and let's just say that she's whizzed through all her milestones. Being a second born, a girl and having a brother four years older than her helps. As a teacher I'm well aware of the burden literate kids ca...

Last night as Stephen and I were getting ready for bed we got a message from our security company, Ensure, to say that there was a porcupine at the bottom of our garden. The message came with the above picture. While we scrambled to put shoes and coats on we watched the elusive creature rummaging around with the help of our camera monitor. By the time we got to the bottom of our garden it was gone.  We then got a message from our security company (who obviously watched us trying to view the porcupine) saying that we must be careful because they are dangerous creatures. They were also worried about our dogs. We assured them that the dogs were locked inside.  Two nights ago our dogs went berserk in the middle of the night and I immediately contacted our Ensure team who did a quick reconnaissance of the footage and confirmed that it might have been the security guard walking across the Kearsney field who kick started their response.  Our Ensure team also warn us when it's go...

Goodness me, and like that I'm nearly done. One more blog to go tomorrow and I have honoured my Lent commitment.  I've just read over my 42 blogs. That's over a month of thoughts. Thoughts that I would normally keep to myself, or thoughts that are so fleeting that they barely cross my consciousness.  It amazing what can happen in 42 days - I started at the end of a very torid term (aren't they all?) and I ended with a huge adventure. In between there has been loss and difficulty, and rashes and recipes and RnRs.   When one starts to document one's life day by day one starts to notice that, if we take the time to stop and reflect, God has designed moments for us in everything we do, even the hard stuff. And sometimes the moments are glaringly obvious, and sometimes they only shyly sneak out as we write a sentence.  I suppose that's actually the best way to describe a relationship with God - sometimes He's so obvious that He is physically tangible and sometime...

Today Eva and I set off to fulfill Gray's request for a Squishamellow for his birthday. Eva's outfit was made up of various layers of clothing, all with varying prints, colours and patterns. She looked like a rainbow's vomit. I love her sense of style.  We ran in to various friends on our quest. I've given them nom de plumes... 1. The first friend we bumped into was Claire. She was shopping with her little girl who is the same age as Eva. Her girl was wearing bright new white shoes and looked very pleased with herself. Claire rolled her eyes and explained that her daughter 'accidentally' left her shoes at home and so had to get a new pair for her morning of shopping. I then asked after Claire's mom who is very ill and who is in organ failure. It's been a really difficult journey for Claire as she has faced several family tragedies during this time making it one obstacle after another. She explained that her mom is now starting to lose the plot and is tal...

First of all I want to state that I thought Lent was supposed to be 40 days. It would appear that a sneaky three days have been added. I'm sure in the greater workings of the cosmos three days isn't a lot... but three days, in this particular Lent story, are actually universe changing. Three days start with death and end with everlasting life.  I'll tell you someone else who is finding the days to be a bit long in the tooth - my Gray. It's Gray's 10th birthday next week. I can't believe that my boy, the one whose whole existence changed my reality and being (and inspired the name of this blog) is hitting the double digits. Like I said many years ago in a blog - having a son is like going through a very slow breakup. As they grow they get more confident and strong and independent and dad starts to be more important and that's how it should be. But a mom will always treasure that soft little vulnerable thing whose first love will always be her.  I must say thi...

When I sighed and said I needed to write my blog Eva suggested I write about the following conversation we had in the bath this evening... Eva (in a perfect Southern accent), 'Hello, my name is Naked Terror and I'm going to give you a foot massage.' Gingerly stabs one foot with her index finger. Me in my best version of a southern belle accent, 'Hello there I'm Blanche and I haven't had such a good massage since I left Belle Reve.' Eva looking at me judgementally with a raised eye brow, 'Blanche?' Me, 'Yes. It's the name they gave me on the plantation.' I stop for a moment to listen to what I think is gentle rain starting to fall. Me, 'Is that rain outside?' Eva, 'No sorry ma'am, that's just my accent.' My how we laughed. 

I watched the sunset from our verandah this evening. After ten busy days of holiday it was quite something to get home, unpack, do a load of laundry and have a cup of tea.  I always find it interesting to get home after a long absence. I see the house with fresh eyes. I notice things that are not where they should be, I'm suddenly ruthless with nick nacks, I see spots that could do with a new coat of paint or some TLC. I generally do a mental inventory. And Stephen starts to sweat because I'm the ideas person, I'm not the person who makes the ideas come to fruition. And when he gets home all he wants to do is read his book. The poor guy had to restring the washing line this evening.  While watching the sunset and making mental 'to do' lists I decided to listen to my Lectio app- something I haven't done for too long. And then, to my shame, I realised that it is Palm Sunday. I had no idea. I've been very out of time for the last while. I suppose that happens w...

This morning we woke up in Umfolozi to the stillness of creation. Few moments are more peaceful than a dawn where humanity is sparce. Sitting on our little verandah in the freshness of the day I was almost duped into forgetting how bad our night had been and it made me realise how inverted survival is in the wild.  Last night Gray developed a UTI and I spent the whole night panicking about whether we needed to rush him to the hospital, at some point Eva climbed into our bed with us and wriggled for what felt like an eternity, there were mozzies and at 10pm the generators got switched off denying us our much needed fan and so we had to basically sleep in what felt like a hot armpit because opportunistic animals could climb in through even an asscrack of a window opening. And then of course, with all this anxious damage control happening around me when everyone did eventually settle down and sleep I was left wide eyed and reliving every unfortunate thing I've done and said since I wa...

We drive through the gates of Hluhluwe game reserve. Bets have been made as to what animals we'll see first. Stephen- warthog Gray - elephant Emily - rhino (reaching for the stars) Eva - all the animals will come to welcome us (Lion King style) ... or impala..  Within ten minutes we have seen two rhinos wallowing in water next to the road, a herd of elephants with six babies have ambled past, we watch a herd of buffalo down in the valley snuggled together against the rain and then we spot a magnificent male lion and his lioness sleeping on the road.  Eva wins. 

1. The walk must begin with a child crying because they don't want to go on the walk. 2. The walk must end with a different child crying because they didn't enjoy the walk.  3. The magical bay to which you are headed must be less magical in person, and potentially covered in bluebottles. 4. The family selfie must actually be several selfies, each one with a different family member either subtly pulling a peace sign, grimacing into the sun, smiling with teeth covered in chocolate or shouting at children to smile because the timer is about to go off. in the end there must be no good selfies. 5. Everyone must eat the insipid apples at the bottom of the beach bag (that have been there for a good week) before they can have a marshmallow Easter egg. The eating of the apples must happen 'met lang tande'.  6. Said marshmallows must be melted.  7. Only Stephen must find a cowrie shell. 8. A wind must pick up in the death throes of the walk making the final sprint from the wet be...

Our heroine languishes in her canvas tent, a sarong covering her body in the midday heat. Patterns of sunlight pierce the darkness of her shelter and she is sure this head splitting headache must be malaria. It could also be the fact that she has PMS and was woken five times by her daughter while she was trying to have a nap – a very very bad two piece combo. Or its malaria… Our heroine does what one does when one has a headache that she thinks is definitely something worse… and not the after effect of the RnRs she drank yesterday… she starts to relive every bad thing that’s ever happened to her. She also starts to catastrophize and think of worst-case scenarios. And worst of all she starts to write the imaginary introduction to a novel in her head. She is sure that at some point the two myprodols will kick in and she will feel less anxious about the fact that there was a glitch in the matrix of the menu planned by several families on holiday together and that the tuna salad sh...

 RnR drinking, Hot flushes and turquoise sea, This is Mozambique.

Piles of wet clothing Are shoved into plastic bags, Farewells are at hand. 

We saw you yesterday Sammy. As we walked along the shady beach path that smelt like the trails of our childhoods - over the train track, through the bush and onto the beach – I saw you flutter down into the only dappled patch of gentle morning sun. You perched there on the emerald leaves allowing Eva and I to marvel at you. Bright blue luminescent wings hemmed with a glorious gold, a marvel of a butterfly. I explained to Eva that I was sure this was you, visiting us as part of God’s perfect creation, a renewed part of Eden. I told her about you, about your glorious golden hair and your twinkling eyes and your humour and your laugh and about your love for butterflies. I explained how illness took you from us early but that we still find you in the rainbow of a butterfly’s wings. I explained all of this while you sunned your wings in the patch of sunlight, you patiently waited for me to honour and remember you, and most importantly to bring your existence and your presence into Eva’s l...

  Eva found an abandoned boogie board in the bushes along the beach. We dragged our boards, plus the adopted one, to the high sand dunes. As the children’s courage grew so did the heights from which they threw themselves, Careering down the dune, faces mixed with panic and glee. The fun got too much for the two boys on the beach who came sniffing around furtively, like dogs at a park, ready to zoom at any given moment. We offered them our boards but at first they pretended that they had just come to roll down the dune. Their pretense didn’t last long as the first boy gingerly accepted the leash of a board but then shot up the top of the dune like a rodeo cowboy. Once the ice had broken, names swapped, school rugby teams and positions discussed – mainly wings and fly halves – the friendship was sealed and we spent the rest of the morning racing down the dunes together. I wish adult friendships were this easy.  

  An emerald gem of forests wraps itself around the small bay, Beneath her branches lie the nests in which we sleep. By day we are beach goers - snorkeling, fishing, sand boarding, swimming. By night we light our fires under the milkwood trees and we feast, Anticipating in advance the lullabies of the bush babies.

  My greatest barometer that measures the worth of a human being is based on how children instinctively respond to them. To me children are fresher from heaven and know which adults still have a bit of heaven in them. Two-year-olds are pretty spot on in this measurement process. They’re like raw purveyors of humanity – they’ll call you out on everything, unashamedly let all their emotions hang loose, they’ll throw a tantrum like no ones watching and they’ll gravitate towards safe people that they’ve only met five minutes ago with zero skaam. Our friends Tanya and Izolda Visser are baby magnets. Last night around the braai fire, while Tanya braaied every different cut of meat known to man in the presence of three men, our little two year old Finn (who had only met her that afternoon) kept calling her name. She would crouch down in front of him and then he would forget what he wanted to tell her and just gaze lovingly at her. Now some context about Finn – being the youngest of 7 ...

For the next ten days we are going to be in places with very little, if no signal. And part of that time we're going to be out the country.  I should have thought this through when I devoted my lent season to blogging everyday.  I am going to endeavour to write every day and then do a wild upload in ten days time. I must say, the thought of no signal is a glorious one even if it makes logistics a little tricky.  Let's see how I manage.  Until then Emily is not available. Please leave a message at the tone... BEEP

This morning I spent too much money on all the food required for our upcoming holiday. It's the only time I don't begrudge spending money on groceries because I keep imagining where and who we are going to be sharing meals with and it gives me a real surge of joy.  To be honest one of my best feelings is the feeling before an adventure. I love the planning and the anticipation. I love sitting with Stephen and the kids day dreaming about how it's all going to be. Sometimes the anticipation is actually more enjoyable for me than the actual holiday.  So, having loaded all my groceries into the car I was preparing to reverse my pajero out of its parking. A wiry, bald man a few years older than me (sound familiar?)  walked up and inspected the back of my car. I then opened my window and the stranger explained to me that my tow hitch was incorrectly attached to the car. He said, 'My wife... my late wife, had a car like this...' And then he described some complicated thing...

I'm sitting on my couch between two jack russels. Somewhere on the other side of the house Stephen is bathing the children. We've started packing bags for our big holiday.  Eva's art litters the floor and Gray's ghastly crocs are poking out from under the couch.  Gray arrives on the scene, fresh from his bath, refusing to put a tshirt on. Stephen follows him. Gray just read the sentence about his crocs and is offended. Stephen suggests 'betrayed' as an apt description. Then he monologues about Gray's love for long socks. Gray agrees, with his arms slung over Stephen's shoulder.  There's another long conversation about socks. Stephen calls Gray a half wit.  Gray wrestles Stephen, inciting the dogs who then jump onto my stomach to get to the action. Eva shouts for Stephen from the bath and they all disappear again leaving me alone. The dogs settle back in their vigil on either side of me. One takes moments of domesticity for granted. The normal everyda...

Yesterday after my previously mentioned weeding experience in the garden I took the kids to the Kearsney swimming pool for a swim. My doctor has told me that the only way to get rid of my frozen shoulder is to swim. Since he told me this at least two months ago I've been to the pool for the sum total of one session. This was to be my second. I stripped down to my costume, popped in my ear plugs to protect my rapidly failing ears and professionally slipped my cap on. Whenever I do this I am reminded of the days when I was a lithe high school swimmer who used to swim galas in this very pool. I was long, sleek and very fit. Gray is now the swimmer in the family and he he too is long, sleek and very fit.  Now, the Kearsney pool borders on our Sports Zone and a span of windows run the length of the pool as a result. They also double up unofficially as mirrors. I have witnessed many a school boy flex in front of these window/mirrors. Unfortunately as I strode towards the edge if the pool...

  My family and I like to watch a TV programme called 'Homestead Rescue' where the hard core Rainey family (homesteaders from Alaska) rescue homesteads. I'm sure you could have probably worked that out by yourself.  Having watched a fair number of episodes it looks like that if you want to qualify to be in the show your homestead needs to look like a low key squatter camp. A number of your rooves must be plastic. You must have a critter problem. Your vegetable garden must be a couple of old poles stuck into the ground with one dying cabbage in the middle. And you must be in constant war against mother nature - floods, fires, drought, possibly some inbreeding somewhere in your past.  I'm generalizing here but most of the homesteaders look like they need a good bath and a solid meal. Their kids are mainly feral but charming and a lot of them have given up careers as musicians, lawyers and postmen to live the way of their ancestors. It hasn't worked and their generator...

I've only ever watched 'City of Angels' once, but, like Braveheart, I would still say it's one of my favourite films. I will never look at pears in the same way again, and neither will I listen to 'Iris' by Goo Goo Dolls in the same way. Meg Ryan needs to take her bicycle safety more seriously. That movie ripped my heart apart, and the song still does.  'Iris' is in fact my favourite song. It's also the song I promised one of my best friends from high school that I would sing at her funeral. We were 17 at the time. I wonder if her funeral plans are still the same because those high notes aren't actually in my range. When I made the promise we were invincible, I feel less invincible now. Floey please don't shuffle.  This evening rather a lot of middle aged Durban people, who are no longer invincible, are sitting having unexpected date nights because our long anticipated Goo Goo Dolls concert has been rained out.  It's pretty bleak. The pla...

There are two sleeping bunnies in my bed.  They are soft and furry and mine. Outside the rain drips against the window pain And a fluff tail sings it's sad sing in the mist.  My bunnies sigh deeply in their sleep, Two auburn haired things cuddled together. I still can't believe they are mine.

Hey Hugh remember when Maryna handed you a calculator and you happily thought it was a remote control and you surfed the channels while she smugly watched her programme? And do you remember when you told an awkward eleven year old aspiring dramatist that her performance of the now socially very unacceptable, 'My boomerang won't come back',  was the funniest thing you've ever seen? Do you know that she's now 41 and still goes to that moment when she needs a lift.  Do you remember when you and Ross spent an entire day fighting the demonic runaway fires on our farm? I remember standing with you guys in the yard of my grandfather's home after we had removed burning floor boards from his dining room. The wind was still howling and we were all covered in soot. You and Ross could no longer see anything and no longer had eye lashes or eyebrows. Your eyes were blood shot and your bodies were totally stuffed. But you helped to save our farm that day when the community was...

  This morning Stephen and I attended Eva's first morning chapel service that Grade R parents were allowed to attend.  Maybe it's fatigue, or recognition of the tight coil of anxiety in my gut after a very hectic term, but I battled to hold back the tears in that beautiful, spirit filled space.  This happens whenever I'm in the presence of God. I can't help it. When I become aware of His presence I am just completely overwhelmed. And it spills out from my eyes. And when I've tried to do everything on my own steam for too long then the tears flow even harder because He was actually there all along.  I suppose it's what some people now call 'plugged in'. I like the metaphor. To be plugged in is to have a surge of energy from an infinite source. It's being able to operate the way something was designed to operate. It's when something works at full capacity.  It's the difference between light and dark.  And this all happened even before the actua...

I don't know if Polly Shorts is somewhere near half way in the Comrades Marathon. You should know me well enough by now to know that I'll never know where Polly Shorts makes it's appearance on the route.  The fact of the matter is I've hit my Polly Shorts today. I have 130 reports to edit by 8:00 am, I'm half way through my blogging marathon, I'm desperate need of a holiday and there isn't a water table in sight.  

If you are a regular reader of my blog you will know that I'm pretty passionate about rugby. Particularly school boy rugby. Firstly I love the sport, and secondly half the first rugby team are in my Drama class. And they are generally phenomenal Drama students too, not that most people care.  It also means that every Monday, of every second term, either some wild high fives, or some post traumatic stress counseling happens in my classroom. Which is fair. Winning and losing graciously is all part of the game. To me it's actually the most important part of the game. Being gracious in defeat speaks volumes about the character of the boy, and the school he comes from.  But with school boy rugby I have to draw the line in the whole gracious losers thing.  This weekend the team I support were totally annihilated. I watched as flanks were literally rivitted into the air, their legs flailing at least a metre off the ground. It was a blood bath. And the team they were playing agai...

    The original  Tonight I'm going to let a picture speak a thousand words...                                   Nailed it!

An unexpected play date finds us at a braai with acquaintances. We sit in the balmy glow of one of the final days of summer and shoot the breeze. We don't know each other that well, we spectate at the same galas, wait for the same parent teacher meetings, dream the same dreams for our kids, but it's still an effort to remember names. The usual topics get covered - bullies, holidays, careers, chicken on special at Woolies.  And then somewhere in the conversation a realness creeps in.  We are told the story of infertility, of a prayer, of a miracle baby.  The couple look at each other and say, 'there is more'.  They take a deep breath and tell the story the loss of their second child, an unborn six month old son.  Complications to the placenta meant that his life was not viable and the damage had already been done to his brain.  I let out a minor sob and can't stop the weep from happening.  I look to the mother and ask, 'Did you see him?' Her eyes stream...

I've had a macabre hour. My colleague and I were comparing the very long drawn out end to this term to the breaths of someone dying. She then very graphically gave a live performance of the 'death rattle'. We're Drama teachers so it was quite a compelling performance.  I then went straight from our death rattle chat to print my Funeral Benefit form. While I was filling in Stephen's details it struck me as a bit crap that, should he benefit from this insurance, I wont be there to enjoy it with him. The same pang happens when my banking app informs me that the payment for my life insurance has come off my account. Yet another payment I will ultimately not be enjoying. I then went up to admin to drop off my Funeral Benefit form and we had further macabre and irreverent chats about the weirdness of paying for something that literally is of no benefit to one whatsoever. We giggled at the thought of upgrading a funeral based on ones funeral policy - savory or sweet snacks...

This one is going to ruffle some feathers. And I'm still very undecided on it but I think some of the views I'm about to express need to at least be considered by my current generation of parents.  The other day I arrived 15 minutes early to fetch Gray from rugby practice. I parked on the side of the field and did some work. Five minutes before the end of their practice I got out the car to chat to another mom.  It was then that I noticed a very long throng of parents (mainly dads) watching the rugby practice. To be honest it looked more like the crowd for an actual game. I wondered how that many dads could afford to be there at that time of day. I also wondered how I could maybe get a job like that too.  I'm going to throw my first little curve ball out there. I get that my generation of parents are determined to not be the kind of parents their parents were. I'm generalizing here because my Dad was great at showing up but the stereotypical dad in the 80s wasn't ex...

When I was little I was totally obsessed with bunny holes.  Emily's Childhood Dictionary describes a bunny hole as :  Bunny hole Noun 1. A cozy safe place to snuggle. 2. Generally where all her favourite stories take place.  Bunny holes are the start of all my favourite stories. Peter Rabbit, Watership Down, Dunton Wood (although this one is technically about moles but there are even more bunny holes in a mole's world than there are in an actual rabbit's world). I think my obsession with small cozy places started from my favourite feeling as a child  Sadly it's a feeling generally lost on the latest generations, mainly because the lost art of car sleeping is no longer socially acceptable. But allow me some nostalgia tonight... Remember going out with your parents to a party. Probably a 30th (because our generation of parents had already pushed out three kids by the time they were 30). Your monolithic Peugeot station wagon gets parked in someone's garden alongside th...

  Dedicated to Pippa Walker In my first year of university I fancied myself a journalist and registered for a coveted BJourn degree at Rhodes. I studied with some of the greats in journalism. I wasn't, however, one of the greats myself.  What I did do, however, was get myself a slot on Rhodes Music Radio. My friend Manuella (name changed to protect highly successful international PR company) and I pitched the idea for a radio show and the management wisely relegated us a graveyard shift once a week on a nebulous school night. Not that Rhodes ever really had school nights. I like to think that at any given moment, at any given time of the day, there was a cheese and wine happening somewhere.  Anyway, once a week Manuella and I would go to the RMR library. We'd select the same ten cds every week and we'd play the same love sings every Tuesday from 2:00 to 4:00 am. I'm using the royal 'we' here because I seldom presented the actual show with Manuella. She spent mor...

  I went to watch my niece and nephew in their school musical last night. I'm not going to lie - having worked all weekend bringing the pizzaz for my school's Open Weekend I was a bit pizzazless on Sunday night. Nevertheless, my dear niece and nephew have cheered Gray on at various sporting events and it was time to watch them shine. And that's the thing about high school musicals - those babies shine.  There is something deeply satisfying when the chaos of bad harmonies, teens with two left feet and an orchestra that sounds like a whale dying suddenly comes together in a moment of pure magic on stage. And even if you don't know the personal backstories of every child you know that statistically speaking at least two of your leads were seriously hard work, one got a deadly virus the day before opening night and three of them fell in and out of love during the rehearsal process. There is no greater emotional roller-coaster than a high school production. One of my besties...