I told you so.

A church is a place where people get together to worship the Lord, firstly, and to network secondly.  More so in a small community.  It's where you catch up with what's been happening in the district.  You look forward to seeing friends who live out on the farms.  And then it's a time of quiet reverence.  Listen to God's Word and relax in the knowledge that for these two hours, you can quietly sit and drink in God's love.

This is not, however, my youngest son at 3's opinion.  Church was a place that you were forced to go to on Sunday when Cartoon Network was on and the sun was shining outside and the pool looked inviting........

One Sunday morning, as I walked into Divan's room, he announced that he was not going to church that morning.  "Yes, you are, Divan." I said and proceeded to get his clothes ready so that I could dress him.  He folded his arms and defiantly said.  "No, I'm not.  I'm going to play here."
Needless to say, dressing him became a mission.  Feeding him a nightmare.  I eventually walked into church dragging the child by one arm behind me while he tried desperately to pull away.

Sitting in the pew, I had to keep my hand on his leg to keep him from getting up - but he eventually calmed down and I started to relax.  The worship service was beautiful.  The chorus's angelic. It all started when my Father-in-Law started with the opening prayer.

Grrrrrrr.  Grrrrrrrr.  Grrrrrrrr.  I looked around with one eye open and one closed.  What was that sound.  Grrrrrr Grrrrrrr.  I slowly turned to look at Divan.  He had brought along a dinky toy car and was running the car across the wooden pew.  The sound was echoing through the church.  "Stop it!!"  I said.  Grrrrrr.  Grrrr.  I took the car away and put it in my handbag.

The sermon started and I listened carefully to what had been prepared.   Grrrrrr  Grrrrr  Grrrrrr.  Divan was lying under the pew and had taken his car from my handbag and was pushing it on the wooden floor.  I grabbed his arm, pulled him out from under the pew, lifted him up onto my hip and walked out of the church.  We lived about 500 m from the church so I stormed home, berating him all the way.........  He looked at me and smiled.  "I told you I wasn't going to church today."

It's all about the hair......

When the boys were very small, I used to cut their hair every 3 - 4 weeks with the hair clipper on a number 4 setting.  It was the easiest to way to keep 3 little boys looking neat.  There was a ritual where all of them would line up in the kitchen and one by one I would put the clipper through their hair from their foreheads right through to the nape of their necks.  They had excellent memories and would very quickly respond with "I was first last time...." when called upon.  But after 30 minutes they would walk out of the kitchen cleanly shaven and I would have enough hair on the floor to make up a wig.

And so it happened that it was Divan's turn to be first.... and at barely 3 years of age, he climbed on the chair and looked at me with such trust in his eyes.  I leaned over, picked up the clipper, snapped the comb onto it and started pushing it through from his forehead........ but when I reach about 4 cm in, I realised that there was almost nothing left on his head!  I stopped the clipper and looked at the comb - No. 2!!  When I start panicking, I start giggling.  "Mommy, what's wrong?" Divan asked. "Nothing, my boy, I'm just happy....."  What could I do?  I completed the job - with the No. 2.  When finished, Divan felt over his head with his hand and slowly turned to me.  "I want to see....."

Our bathroom mirror was mounted high on the wall, so I picked him up and held him on my hip.  He looked into the mirror, felt his head again and then turned to me: "Mommy, how could you?" he said in such a sad voice.  I immediately burst into tears and put him down on the floor.  I slowly walked back into the kitchen.  Dylan looked at me and said "Dennie goes next!"  Dennie calmly sat down and said to me "Mom, cut my hair on the same No. as Divan's." then he turned to Divan and said, "You see, I'm going to look just like you.  We will be like twins!"  I cut Dennie's hair on the No. 2, crying all the time.

I never felt that Divan ever had the same confidence in me.  I would cut his hair, and halfway through he would check in the mirror.... just to make sure.

Last night I cut his hair because school started again today.  He put everything in the kitchen that I would need (no clipper) and I started combing through his hair.  

"This is most probably the last time I cut your hair my boy."  I said.  

"Why?" he answered.  

"Because you are almost finished with school and won't need another hair cut soon."

"Well, no one else is going to touch my hair, and I'm not going to grow it till it reaches the floor, so of course you are going to cut it......"

It's been 14 years - and I guess he's regained his trust in my hair cutting capabilities.

67 Minutes for Mandela Day

I asked Divan today what their class was going to be doing for their 67 minutes on Mandela Day. 
"Nothing", he responded.
I told him that maybe he could get his friends and sing Nkosi Sikelel' iafrika for 67 minutes standing in the middle of the rugby field.....
He thought about it for a few minutes and then said:
"No, I have a double period tomorrow.  I'm going to tell my teacher that for 67 minutes I am going to be good in class - but when those 67 minutes are over, they are over......"

We're not together.......

Last night I realised the tremendous gap between what things meant when I was young(er) and what they mean now.

I arrived home yesterday afternoon to find that my domestic help of the last 3 months had not pitched up for work.  Although I had a suspicion that this would be the case (she asked me to drop her pay off with a mutual friend on the weekend), I hadn't made too much of an effort to clean up on Monday evening.

I spent the next two hours cleaning, sweeping, washing laundry, etc. and when Dylan arrived home I realised I had not cooked any supper.  Being the gentleman he is, he offered to buy me supper - McDonalds.

We duly got into my car and sped up to the local McDonalds to buy takeaways.  The drive-through was incredibly busy so we stopped and went inside to order at the counter.  A young lady asked Dylan what his order was and then proceeded to type the order in and yell to the kitchen staff to 'hold the Jalepeno!'.  I was standing right next to Dylan and it looked as though she was ignoring me.  I leaned across and said to her, pointing in turn at Dylan and myself:
"We are together....."
I couldn't even finish my sentence:
"No we're not! She's my Mom!!!" Dylan loudly proclaims.

I meant 'together' as in our order should be placed 'together'
Dylan thought I meant 'together' as in an item.........

And hence I  know that there is a canyon between meanings from my generation to this one.

(By the way, the lady behind the counter answered Dylan by saying: "Your Mom looks very young......." ☺)

Seek and ye shall find....

Being the only woman in a house full of men, life has its moments.  One thing I have come to realise is that men cannot find anything....  They can spend an entire day looking for something and not find it.  I believe when you apply logic, you can find almost anything.

I have returned home from work at 4 pm and have one of my sons ask me if I had seen his ID book. When I asked him if he had looked for it, his answer was: "No, I didn't want to spend the whole day looking and then you walk in and find it in any case......"  which, of course, I did.  It was in the drawer of his bedside table!

Over the past weekend, Dylan and his cousin, Michael, were look for the LAN cable so that they could play computer games.  All credit to Dylan, he first asked his older brother if he had seen the cable, which he had not. It was then my turn:
" Mom, have you seen the blue LAN cable?"
"No, I haven't.  Where did you use it last?"
"In the dining room"
and so the search started:
Look in the dining room - last place it was used : nothing.
Look in the lounge - saw Dennis there with Dylan's laptop : nothing
Look in Dennis's bedroom - last person who used the LAN cable : Eureka!!!

I gave the cable to Dylan.
"Mom, you are amazing!!!  Did you go to the School of Finding Lost Things or something?"
No, I seriously think it's just because I'm a woman.........

He's all grown up now......

Yesterday it was my turn to collect Divan at the Randburg astro after his hockey practice.  On the way,  he asked me whether he could take a drive in my car when we got home.  Apparently his friends have started to teach him how to drive over weekends when he visits with them.  His friends all have licences being at least 1 year older than Divan.

I was a bit apprehensive, but agreed and once we got home and I had given him the "you are not going to drive faster than 20 km / hour" and " watch out for the dustbins" etc speech, I gave him the keys.  I must say, the pull away was perfect, and he didn't drive more than 20 km / hour.  He listened to me and did exactly what I said.

We got to a stop street and once he had stopped, he looked at me and told me that he had never pulled away on an uphill before.  I explained to him how it was done with the handbrake, the clutch and the accelerator.  He tried twice, but kept stalling the car.  I had my window open and put my hand onto the lever to close it.  Divan must have thought I was going to get out of the car and pull away for him.  He put his hand on my arm and said:  "No, Mom. I need to do this on my own.".  And he did.

Yesterday afternoon at 17h38 I realised that my baby has now grown up.  This is the last son I will be teaching how to drive, the last child I am putting through matric.  Where did the time go?

Divan at 3 years old

Divan at 17 years old

I wonder......

Sometimes I wonder about the way God created Woman.  And I wonder, when he programmed her, The time he spent on the upgrades.  [First daughter, a rather basic program to instil the value of loyalty and selflessness, then wife – more complex with the possibility of a few breakdowns, but it takes a 5 minute download to fix.  And then mother – a very complex program which requires the download of patches every so often as this program is prone to breakdowns].  How He decided on her capacities. If she had little meters on her back, just how much could she take before it pushed into the red or blew a fuse?  What keeps the gears in her chest moving, even though it often feels that they are rusty and in need of oil because of the pain she feels with every rotation?  How did He program her circuit board to love her family to the point of destroying herself?  Love each individual so much that she would rather short circuit than choose one over the other?  Was it to ensure her preservation that He programmed her to forgive and forget? That He wipes her memory card of yesterday’s pain and fills it with hope for tomorrow?  I’m just thankful that He tracks me, and ensures that my down time is minimal.  That my software is updated regularly and that my hardware, although depreciated, is kept in working condition.