A Mom is always needed.....

When my sons were younger, I was comfortable in the security of knowing that they needed me - whether it was for food, shelter, or a plaster on a cut finger.  I was needed.  It kind of made me someone.  There is nothing like being needed.  Then as they grew older, their needs changed and I always wondered when they would stop needing me.  (I must confess that sometimes I wished it would be soon!).  But you know what?  Their needs change as they grow up into adulthood - now they need me for encouragement, advice and as a confidante.  It's as though the cycles of parenthood evolve - I've been through nurturing, mothering and now I'm mentoring.  And that can be very scary.  Am I equiped to be a mentor to these individuals whose minds are sponges and take in everything they see?  (I know I'm better than Metalica!) All I know is that I need God to guide me, so that I can guide my sons.  The road gets pretty rocky, and many a time I am lost for words and my heart aches for them, be it sporting disappointments or failed loves.  But thanks to my GPS (God's Precious Spirit), I can keep my feet on the right track..... and can help out where I'm needed.

Haircut Dilema

My boys have lovely hair which is their pride and joy.  I have always cut my sons' hair for school - in fact, they won't allow anyone else to cut it for them.  The only problem is that they push the boundaries at school and only let me cut their hair after a warning.  So I started threatening them with the Cubans. 

The Cubans own a barber shop in a quaint shopping complex not far from the school that the boys attend.  I took Dennis, my eldest, there a day before he was due to fly to Prague with the school choir.  They are a very friendly lot - always smiling and they greet you so pleasantly that you have no problem putting the R50.00 into their hands at the end of the cut.  The only problem is - they don't seem to understand English!  Dennis had lovely hair, just a little long, when I took him to the Cubans.  They sat him down - smiling all the time - and asked me how I would like his hair cut.  I said short around the back of the head and above the ears - about an 8, and longer on top.  "Yes, yes, I can do that" was the reply, so I sat down and started reading a magazine.  When I looked up, I looked directly into Dennis's frantic face.  I started giggling from pure shock.  They had cut it short around the back and above the ears - about a 2! and the top was about a 6!  They then proceeded with an Indian head massage and I could see that Den was about to collapse in a heap - but I couldn't interrupt them, this was the whole deal!  Dennis took very long to forgive me for that experience, but you see, it had its good points - Dylan and Divan were with us and they were terrified of them!

So it came about that I said that should I ever get a call from the school to say that they were being sent home because their hair was too long, I would take them to the Cubans. 

Sure enough, the call came at about 08h30 on a Tuesday morning.  At the school, I found Divan in the reception area, big smile on his face, school bag on his shoulder.  I pushed past him to the receptionist:  "I've come to sign out my son." On the way to the car, Divan, still smiling, says: "The headmaster says I don't need to come back to school." That did it!  "There is no way you are going to stay at home because of your hair." I ranted "You WILL return to school as soon your hair is cut." But Divan didn't think that I would carry out my threat of the Cubans...... until we turned into the shopping centre parking area. "No!" he said. "Yes!" I countered.  We stood outside the barber shop until 09h00 when the three friendly Cubans rounded the corner, all smiles, and opened their shop.

"What can we do for you madam?" the thinner of the three asked.  I plonked Divan down in the chair and, regaining my composure, looked the Cuban squarely in the eyes, smiled and said: "Cut it short around the back and ears - about an 8.  And a little longer on top."  "Yes, yes, we can do that." he replied.  "I know you can."  I replied, still smiling sweetly.

Where Do Mother Ostriches Bury Their Heads.........

This past weekend has been a weekend best forgotten.....  I don't think I have ever experienced anything like it.  Not only was it a battle of the wills between my sons and I, but between Vodacom and I too!

My husband went away to some lodge in the bushveld with business visitors from America.  Now, I've been alone with the boys before, so I wasn't worried and was sure I could handle two days with them.  It would be a piece of cake.  After all, they are 14, 17 and 19 respectively and I am 43. ( I should have taken their collective age into acount! 50 years of joint experience beats 43, believe you me!)

But all that aside, the worst of the weekend was my issue with Vodacom.  Since Saturday morning, I had not been receiving calls on my Blackberry.  I can make calls, but I have no Facebook, no Twitter, and I cannot receive calls.  I heard rumours that Vodacom was experiencing problems so I thought I would give them until Sunday.  Dennis tried to call me from the lodge but had no luck, and had to contact me using one of the boys phones.

On Sunday afternoon, after struggling with the IDOLS reception on our decoder (had to rescan every 4 minutes - no exageration - and this was the final for crying in a bucket!!!!!! I decided to call Vodacom and give them a piece of my mind:

I'm going to skip the: If you would like to sim-swop, buy a donkie, eat a giraffe, select 1 nonsense and get down to the nitty gritty:
"Hello, thank you for calling Vodacom, my name is Beauty, how can I help you?" How can she be so up beat on a freaking Sunday afternoon?
"My name is Deidre and I would like to lodge a complaint about Vodacom's service"
"Certainly, Deidre.  What is your number?"
I give it to her in monosylables
"0.....8......2......5......6.......6....... the impatience dripping from each number.......4......6"
"And in which area do you reside? Thank you Deidre, one minute please."
Why not, I've been waiting the whole weekend.
"I'm sorry, Deidre, but I'm not picking up any service or network problems in that area."
"Well, I'm telling you now.  I've had NO service fromVodacom this entire weekend.  My husband is  somewhere in the bush and he can't even reach me.  What if I had an emergency?  What if I needed to call someone?  What then, hey? What then?"
"Deidre, I'll lodge your call and send you an sms confirming the reference number.  Someone will call you back within 24 hours."
"They better, or I will take this further!"

While still stewing on the couch about the unfairness of the universe - first Vodacom and then MNET - I get a call on my cell.  Typical.  Now that I've lodged the complaint and after telling me there is nothing wrong with the network, now all of a sudden I get a call.  It's Dennis.
"Hi Deidre, why are you answering this number?"
"........ because it's my phone?"
"No, I didn't call your phone.  I called the spare phone."
"What do you mean you called the spare phone.  This is my phone."
The penny starts it downward tumble.....
"Then you've got the spare phones sim in your phone....."
"I've got the spare phone's sim in my phone....." I look up and at the three boys sitting around the table.  Each ones face is the picture of innocence.
My tirade with Vodacom plays through my mind.....
"Sorry Mom.  We put the spare phones sim in your phone because it had Dene's number on it and we wanted to call her to find out what time the party started..........."
I just hope that Vodacom isn't efficient enough to phone me today, because I don't know what I'm going to say....... except 'sorry?'

Honesty.... Is it always the right policy?

I have taught my children from a very young age to be painfully honest.  And believe me sometimes it is very painful when they are honest.  When children are young, they haven't learnt the intricacies of honesty yet.  They don't know when to coat the honesty with a bit of honey so as not to hurt ones feelings.  They also don't know when to rather keep quiet (also a form of honesty) instead of saying something that would anger the other person.  What do you do in such cases?  When I try to explain it to my boys, they feel that they would be lying if they did not speak the honest truth.  And at this stage of their lives, they can't keep quiet either.  So I have taught them to apologise too.
Dylan is brutally honest.  He says things as they are and feels he has done the world a great service by enlightening the person in error.  Example?  Dylan joined his father in visiting his grandparents last week.  Being Dylan, he went to the kitchen and poured himself some cold drink.  His grandfather walked into the lounge and said: " I see you drink alone?" "No," Dylan answered. "I've finished my drink."  His grandfather flew into a rage and Dylan's dad told him to pour his grandfather some cold drink too,to which Dylan answered: "I won't if he hints. I will if he asks me."  Disrespectful? Maybe, but why hint for something if you can just ask?  I know Dylan.  If asked, he will do anything for you.
Divan is another example of a very honest child.  If Divan has done something, e.g. broken a window, he will tell you that he did it.  If you ask him if he learnt for a test he failed, he will tell you he didn't.  He completed aptitude tests at school two weeks ago and was asked to complete some questions honestly.  Which he did.  Which is why we were called in.  It turns out he is just a normal Grade 9 pupil, but with a completely different take on things.  While we were there, he was asked to do a small test.  Questions which are set up in such a way to trip you.  I just had to smile at one of his answers.
Question:  a man is building a structure.  It is south facing.  The sun is shining from right above.  A bear walks past behind the structure.  What colour is the bear?
Answer:  Can't see the bear.  It is behind the structure.
Moral of the story: ask a stupid question. You get a stupid answer.
Dennis Jnr is getting older now and coats his honest answers with bottles full of honey! So much so that he just opens his mouth to change feet.  I think the best solution for him is to keep quiet....... or apologise frequently.
One thing I have learnt with my three children, is never to take something at face value.  Honesty is not as simple as it is made out to be.

Psychopathic Missionary?

You know how you say that you will remember the little jewels your children say when they are young and then years later they are forgotten?  I was thinking about Dylan being in matric next year and the choices we need to make regarding universities etc.  That's when I remembered two special conversation I had with Dylan.  Dylan could not make up his mind what he wanted to do with his life when he left school....  I was actually becoming rather worried because he had to choose subjects in Grade 10 and had no clue what to take.
I was standing in the kitchen when he came up to me and leaning against the counter, said to me: "Mom, I want to become a missionary."  What do you say to that?  Wow.  This is major.  Your heart swells and your eyes tear up and you say something like: "Are you sure?" "Yes, mom.  My friends and I have discussed this."  "Your friends?" I say.  Now I know Dylan's friends and not one of them is missionary material! "Yes, we've decided to become missionaries in Iran." "Iran?????"  "Yes, Iran.  They pay well." Now I started becoming a little concerned.....  "But Dylan, missionaries don't get paid.....  they work because its their passion."  "No, they will supply the guns, and we will work for a few months and earn lots of dollars...." 
"Dylan." I said "That's a mercenary!"
A few months later he came to me and stated that he has thought long and hard and has finally decided what he wants to do with his life.....  He is going to become a psychopath!  "Dylan, those are born, you don't need to study to become one!"  He actually meant a psychologist... and that's what his aim is.  A psychologist majoring in music therapy.... 
Why?  Because he wants to help people.  My strong silent one, with a passion for people and the need for a thesaurus.

If only raising kids was that easy......

I've often wondered why I wasn't supplied with a 'how to' guide when my children were born.  I thought that I really would have been better off if I could turn to page 3565 to see how to handle sulking (yeah I reckon any book on child rearing worth its salt will be more than 400 pages long!)
But now that I am older and more experienced I know why they didn't give me a book - because the information would be out of date within a week of publishing it!  Am I the only one who finds that what worked last week has absolutely no effect this week?
I have a situation now with Divan where he wants to change schools.  Looking at the situation there are a few pros and a few cons.  (Being an A type personality, I have made my list.....)  The pros being:  Its closer for me to drop him off; he won't have the same teacher Dennis Jnr had and therefore not the same issues as we experienced last year with art; it might be better for him sport wise.  The cons: I don't think it would be better socially for him (although he says that ALL his friends are in the new school); I don't want to move Dylan because he is in matric next year and I don't want two children in two different schools. 
But I understand that at his age, this is an important decision and he thinks his arguments are valid and noteworthy.  But I wonder if he understands that making this decision, for me, is not such an easy one.  I am not thinking about the next two months when I make this decision.  I am thinking how this decision, which is up to me to make, will influence him in twenty years to come.  I undertook an oath to bring him up in God's ways, to guide him, protect him, and do what is best for him.  I cannot make this decision based on whether he will be happy with me or not.  I cannot make this decision based on his short term 'happy' factors.  I need to make this decision on whether or not it will be beneficial to him in the long run.
And the same goes for Dylan.  He has wanted to go to this other school for four years now and each time I have had to weigh the pros and cons.  I don't want them to come back to me in ten years time and say, you know what, why did you listen to me?  It was a spur of the moment decision.  They might not see the big picture now, but I do.  And I need to do what I feel is right. For them.

Mom, what's a cougar?

As all mothers know, the safety of ones children is of utmost importance. When the boys were younger, that concern was that they wouldn't hurt themselves riding their bikes, or kill each other with a cricket bat....  I also watched them like a hawk when shopping for fear of them being kidnapped......  not that the kidnapper would keep them very long.  At that age I sometimes wanted to give them away....... :) But with time, the fears decreased, they started being able to stand up for themselves, and now that they stand a good foot taller than me, I feel more at ease that they will be able to look after themselves..... felt at ease, until Divan came home with a question: "Mom, what is a cougar?" 
I stopped mid step.  "A what?" I asked.  "A cougar....." Searching his face for that naughty twinkle in his eyes, I realised he was dead serious. 
"Well, a cougar is an older woman who dates younger men." Stunned silence.
"They are usually MUCH older than the guys.  We used to say that the guys were the woman's 'toy boy'."
Stunned silence.
"Young guys must be very careful because older women sometimes prey on these younger guys and if the guys aren't careful they can get hurt"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because there are a lot of Grade 8 girls who like me, and I don't want to be a cougar!"

No fear of that......