Plasters don't heal everything!

When my sons were small and got hurt, my heart would break when I saw the tears run down their grubby faces leaving stark lines over their cheeks.  But I could pick them up, dust them down and kiss their 'eina' better.  A plaster, an oxo sandwich and a hug could sort out all kinds of problems....
But now that they are older, its not so easy anymore.  I see my son come home, head bowed, shoulders slumped and I know - as only a mother can - that something is wrong.  I am certain that his red and watery eyes mean he has been crying - and not a hayfever attack.  But he won't let me in.  I know that if I question him, he will build the wall around him even higher.  And I feel if I don't, he might feel that I don't care. 
How do I fix this 'eina' if I don't even know what caused it - do I need a tweezer to pull a splinter out?  Or do I need a cream to soothe a grass burn? 
I am angry that someone or something has hurt my son, and powerless to do anything about it.
But I'm here, my boy.  Even though you don't want to talk about it, just know that I am here and when you feel better, I will know because your special smile will spread over your face again, and the twinkle will be back in your eyes and everything will be allright again.....
I love you!

A Mother's Heart....

Sometimes you are so caught up in the day to day running of your home and your kids that you forget to take stock of what you have.  You are programmed to start the day with waking the boys, waking them for a second time and maybe a third.  Being the referee when one of them is soaking in the shower and the others need to shave.  One tends to sift through the negative emotions: worry, fear.  At times you feel like you are the only one looking out for the others who are singular planets revolving around their own axis..... and then something happens and you are pleasantly surprised.
It was freezing cold yesterday and I was looking forward to relaxing in a hot bath with a magazine as soon as I got home.  I collected Dylan from school and drove home in silence as he was engrossed in Mixit and having a conversation with Mom is 'kinda wierd..."
As I was thawing in the hot tub, the light went out.  "Typical" I thought. "Just like Eskom to cut the power when its so cold".  My thoughts were interrupted by Dylan knocking on the door.  "Mom, the washing machines' hose has shot off the fitting and its spraying water all over the kitchen!"
Great!  As quick as I could I finished my bath, dressed and got ready to salvage what I could in the kitchen and start with cleaning up operations.  Walking down the passage I was met with a small rivulet making its way down from the entrance hall - and then I saw him..... Dylan, with a PT short on, bare legged, with his long sleeve school shirt, Pullover and tie, mopping up the kitchen floor. "It's ok Mom, I've got it." 
And then I realise what precious children I have and what an honour it is for me to look after them, guide them and treasure them. 
I am blessed!

Haircuts......

The school my sons attend has "changed" the hair rules.  I don't really see any difference, but the boys are ecstatic.  I have been their one and only hairstylist since Grade 1 and last night I was informed that their hair needs to be cut by today or they will be sent home. (I would have thought they would rather like that option(?)).
Divan has a head of hair as thick as a carpet.... and it curls.  He brought the hairstyling kit, the chair and the comb and as he sat down he gave me a picture.  "What's this?" I asked.  "That's how I want my hair cut."  Now bear in  mind that I have NEVER had any training in  hairstyling.  But my boys reckon that I can do anything if I apply my mind to it......  So I put the picture down next to me and proceeded to cut his hair. (I must confess that that was the last time I actually looked at it.....)  He is pretty happy with it, thinks it looks just like the picture. :)
Dylan is another kettle of fish.  His hair is his pride and joy.  He has thin hair which falls through the comb when you try to cut it.  He also sat down and started with his list of instructions...... the fringe must be shorter, but cut about 2cm above the right eye and ending about 1/2 a cm above the left eye (Yes, SKEW).  The fringe must be separated into a top fringe and a bottom fringe.  The top fringe must be longer than the bottom fringe.  The rest of the hair on his head must be cut to the same length so he doesn't look like a mushroom!  So I take this scissors and say: " OK, so this is the top fringe" and I put a clip in it to keep it off the 'bottom' fringe. "And this all needs to be the same length?" "And how do you want the back?"  Great!! And then I do what I want - and he loves it! 
I have found that the best way to get along with your kids is to make them think that you are doing what they want you to do - and then you do what you actually wanted to do from the beginning. (Works on husbands too!)
They both went off to school this morning extemely chuffed with their hair - and I have peace of mind that I won't be called to fetch them at 10h00 when I am enjoying my tea!

Introduction

This blog has been started as a type of therapy for a working mother to three teenage boys.... Hopefully I will be able to work through hormonal temper tantrums, (My 14 year old has never outgrown the terrible twos!) Find the meaning to words like 'douch bag (?)' and, mainly, to survive this challenging period in my life. 
Don't get me wrong, I love all three of my sons dearly.  They are an essential part of me and I could not imagine life without them....
I will be blogging daily with my experiences of the day with each of them: Dennis (Jnr); Dylan and Divan. 
Let me introduce them to you....
Dennis:
My 19 year old.  He is a first year student studying Multi Media.  My artist.  He has just obtained his drivers licence and is my right hand man.
Dylan:
My electric guitar, rock enthusiast 17 year old.  He is currently in Grade 11 and his ambition is to be a psychiatrist specialising in music therapy.  The silent one, he has great compassion for people in need.
Divan:
My hyperactive, exciting, unpredictable 13 year old.  He is in Grade 9 and is an avid athlete playing 1st team hockey, taking part in athletics, rugby, cricket - you name it he does it....
Join me while I go through this therapeutic process.  I assure you you'll get a kick out of the Sharks in my Fishtank.