Foot in mouth?

At the dinner table last night, I was telling my family about a colleague of mine who had cancelled a meeting as he was booked off sick with foot and mouth disease.

Dylan immediately said, "Oh, so he has Touretts...."

Dylan and I exchanged looks of confusion - me trying to find the link between Touretts and foot and mouth disease, and Dylan trying to figure out why my colleague was booked off sick.

I further explained that my colleagues son was exposed at his nursery school. As it is highly contagious, it wasn't long before my colleague also presented with symptoms.

"I thought foot and mouth was when you said something you shouldn't say...."

Aaaaah, confusion ended - when you put your foot in your mouth (although I don't think it really has a link to Touretts,) I can now understand where Dylan was coming from.

I can speak Koi

During a family discussion, Den's girlfriend mentioned that her grandmother had thought that Den looked very Mediterranean with his dark complexion.  Divan, who has the same complexion, laughed and said that the same grandmother asked him what his surname was when she first met him because he was so dark.  And so we got onto the subject of different nationalities, and how in the apartheid years some people were harassed because of their dark complexions.

Den said that thinks he only had european ancestors as he couldn't speak khoi.

Divan sat quietly thinking for a while, and then said:  I can speak khoi and proceeded with the following: bubble, bubble, bubble gloop gloop gloop.....  pursing his lips.

Not that kind of koi, Divan!!

The first chick leaves its mother's nest.....

When I started this blog in 2010, I had my hands full with three very active (socially and physically) teenage sons.  So much has changed in the past four years.  They have grown up to be strong young men - still socially active, not so much physically.

In the back of my mind I always knew that someday they would leave home to start their own adventures, much the same as I did.  But it was easier to keep those thoughts in the back of my mind....  easier to live each day as it came and in the evening when I sit down at the dinner table, to stretch out my hand to Den on my right and Dennis on my left and see them join the circle with Dylan and Divan.  One complete family.

But the time has come for Den to leave home.  He has accepted a position as Social Administrative Manager at a game reserve in Kwa Zulu Natal.  I am extremely proud of him and know that he will do very well.  He will eventually be doing what he loves.  This is his time - the start of a brand new career which holds so much promise.

I remember when I left home.  My Alpha was packed to the brim with all my paraphernalia, a little bit sad because I was leaving my parents, but excited about my future.  I remember wondering what my parents thought and felt - I know now. I know that they felt a bit of fear for what the future holds, sadness at seeing a child leave home, hope that their child's dreams will be fulfilled and joy at knowing that they had done what was expected of them.  They had raised a child successfully!!  This is how it was meant to be.

I'll miss you, my boy.  Everyday.  But I'll see you often and we'll Whatsapp regularly.  I'll catch up with you on Instagram (just show me how to follow you), and I'll see your posts on Facebook.  I'll try to learn how to Skype too.....  You may not be in my home anymore, but you are forever in my heart.

And remember what I always tell you, I'm your safety net.

It's a language thing

My language is English.  Whilst growing up, my parents spoke Afrikaans, but my siblings and I spoke English.  I think it was because we grew up in Rhodesia and the language was 90 % English.  I love English.....  The nuances of the language amaze me.  Now married with children of my own, our home language is Afrikaans.  Now and then the boys will converse with me in English, but not often.  I find that it's only in English that I can really express myself - put it all out there....... and no-one realises this more than my family.

My husband went to the Dentist who diagnosed an abscess in one of his teeth.  She gave him a course of antibiotics (7 days worth).  I felt so sorry for him, and kept inquiring about his well being.....  9 days later, he was still complaining about this tooth.  I found this very odd and asked him if he had taken the antibiotics as prescribed......
"Well, maybe not as prescribed....."
"What do you mean "not as prescribed....."
"Well, maybe I didn't take them everyday."
"Dennis, you have to take antibiotics 3 times a day until the course is finished otherwise they don't work, you know this...."  my agitation growing "How may tablets do you have left?"
"About 3 days worth?"
Before I could help myself I called out "Seuna!!!!!"  which I usually reserve for use on my sons when they step out of line....
"You can't call me that?"  he said indignantly.
"I can if you are acting like one of my children!"
And the matter, according to me, was closed.

Dennis had to collect Divan from a friend later that afternoon and on the way home he told Divan that I was very angry with him.  Divan heard about the tablets and the story ended with the use of Seuna!.
He waited a while, then asked his Dad....
"Did she switch over into English?"
"No," Dennis replied.
"Ag no, then it's not so bad......."

Technology is not all its made out to be.

We are constantly bombarded with news about great technological breakthroughs that will make our ever increasingly hectic lives a bit easier.  I am a firm believer of doing things the old fashioned way, because technology is bound to drop you at one stage or another - and normally when you can't afford it.

We had just moved into our new townhouse and while I was busy hanging up the curtains, Dylan was completing his assignment for university.  He had a lot of work to get through and only the weekend to do it in.  I heard him pottering around in his room, talking to himself and it wasn't long before he came sauntering into my room.

"Mom, guess what?"  From the excitement in his voice, I gathered that he had made some groundbreaking discovery......"My laptop is voice activated!!!!".  Now, to me, voice activating a laptop is completely useless.  Voice activating a door so it will open when your arms are full of wet laundry or the coffee machine when you are blow drying your hair with one hand and applying eye shadow with the other, now that's revolutionary!!
"That's great, Dylan......" wondering what this will mean to mankind......
"Instead of writing or typing my assignment, I can now speak to my laptop, and it will type as I speak.... It will be much faster and before long I will be finished."
In my head I'm saying "yeah, right.....", out of my mouth the words "That's fantastic!" errupt.

And so Dylan returns to his room and I carry on hanging up curtains.... and this is what I hear next:

".... skeletal muscle is made up of fasciles....."
"..... skeletal......"
"......skeeeeleeeetaaaaaallllll....."
"skeletal"
"You stupid machine!  No don't type that.....aaaaaahhhhhhh......."
"Moooooommmmmmmm!"
"muscle......."
"Muuuusssscccclllleeeee....... No, not national!!!!"

"Dylan, maybe you should change the language from American English, to South African English?"
"Aaaaaahhhhhhh!"

And so I say again, do things the old fashioned way and you'll find the job is finalised much sooner......

How on earth did you pass matric?

We will be moving at the end of the month, and I asked Divan to clean out his room - throw out anything he will never use again. Only keep what is absolutely necessary.

When I got home from work last Friday, I was greeted by four black plastic bags full of goodness knows what.  I know my son by now - there are items in those bags that should not be tossed.  He had already asked me where his K53 book was and I had a feeling it was in one of those bags. (He's writing his learners licence on the 24th).

I asked him to go through the bags with me, just to make sure that he didn't need anything in them.  The first bag was full of old shoes and clothes.  Fair enough - we can give those to someone who needs them.

The second was full of paper - old newspapers, old matric exam papers etc.  Cool - toss them.

Then we got to the third bag - school books from last year, text and exercise books.  One by one he paged through them.....  nicely covered exercise books.  "This was my Life Orientation book" - two written pages.  "This is my maths lit book"  - Half of the pages empty.  Then he smiled and said "and this is my Afrikaans book......  empty except for the second page, it says : Assignment 2.1 No one knows whats going on here........."

And you ask me why I was so stressed last year??????

By the way.... the K53 book was in the third bag too.

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.

Crowd surfing

One of the most difficult things for me as a parent is to keep calm when Dylan goes to a club with his friends.  I try very hard not to give him the third degree, but I'm afraid I can make Devi from Carte Blance look tame.  I need to know where he is going, with whom is he going, is he going to drink, how much does he think he is going to drink, does he know he can't have more than one beer if he is going to drive home, promise he will phone me to fetch him if he has more than one beer.

But I do this because I love him, and I want to protect him.

On Saturday Dylan and I were home alone.  We were watching a program on TV when the Pepsi ad aired showing the 3 guys crowd surfing towards the Pepsi fridge.

"We did that last night" Dylan says, pointing at the TV
"That's rather dangerous." I say, thinking how they could possibly fit so many people into the club....
"There weren't too many people there." Dylan explains
"That's even more dangerous, what if they dropped you?"
"Nah, we took one guy and three of us carried him lying down above us, round the club.....crowd surfing"

This after they had '1' beer......  I have no words........

Whatsis name.....

Today is 5 November.  Guy Fawkes Day. 
Last year my two dogs were frightened beyond belief by the fireworks in our suburb.  The fox terrier started climbing through the bedroom windows, pulling himself through the burglar bars.  The Chow was hyperventilating.

This year, I decided to ask our vet for medicine which would sedate the dogs so that the fireworks would not affect them too badly.  At 18h30 this evening, I measured just less than a capsule of the drug, mixed it with cheese and fed it to them.  By 19h00 I could see that it was taking effect - they were calm and just wanted to sleep - but I was worried that they would stumble into the swimming pool.

Dylan said that they couldn't fall into the pool.  I still have nightmares about our beautiful black labrador puppy that drowned while we were on holiday four years ago.
"Oh, yeah" Dylan says" I remember him.... What was his name?  Mbeki, Zuma...."
"Nelson, Dylan.  The puppy's name was Nelson."

The mind is willing, but the body is weak....

Dennis is trying to get a Summer League Hockey team together for the season which starts in September. As he has been out of school for over two years already, it’s not easy finding everyone who used to play hockey with him – and those he does find are not very fit.


He has asked his girlfriend, Robyn, to join his team – and Robyn, not having ever played hockey, is not very keen. She suggested to Dennis that, seeing as I played hockey and that I taught them how to play, I should be on his team as well.

Dennis looked at me, then started smiling, eventually laughing at the thought of me on his hockey team…. “I can play better hockey in my head than you ever could on the field, my boy.” I yelled after him as he started walking down the passage, “It’s just that my body can’t keep up with my mind anymore!”

A BBM conversation between my son and I

Dylan filled up my car with petrol for the first time since getting his licence. Maybe he should have paid more attention when I filled up instead of being on mixit?


• I need to fill up the car, right?
• Do I pay inside or does he bring the card machine to me?
• I need to switch off the car, right?

• Hi my boy, yes please fill up the car. They should bring the machine to you – but at the Total garage you need to pay inside. And the car needs to be switched off. Love you.
• Oh yes, please use Unleaded 93?

• I filled up with 95!! Is that ok?
• Maaaammm!!
• PING!!
• Is the car going to break????

 • No, it’s ok – just more expensive.
• Were you worried?

• Nah

Childhood Memories (2)

When the boys were 6, 4 and 2, Dennis and I decided to visit family in the Cape for our December holiday.  Everyone was very excited and couldn't wait!!  But I was just a little aprehensive as the boys were quite 'busy' at that stage. (Our next door neighbour in Springfontein, Oom Piet Marx, always said that you never get a well behaved boy. If you do, he is either sick or dead. My boys were neither sick nor dead!) 
But off we went to Cape Town merrily singing '99 bottles of coke on the wall'...... (no beer in front of the children!)
We stayed with Dennis's aunt Eunice, uncle Kobus and Great Ouma Debbie and had a wonderful holiday.  I don't know if they had such a wonderful time though, but were such great hosts that they only lavished us with love.  I do think, however, that they needed to see a therapist after we left :(
Divan hit the Cape in top form.
We were invited to supper with another Aunt and Uncle on Dennis's mother's side one evening.  On the way there I kept asking - no, begging - the boys to be on their best behaviour. This couple had beautiful furniture which you don't see often these days - antiques.... The first hour went well.... bearing in mind that there were no other children there for the boys to play with. Dennie, Dylan and Divan were lying on the carpet colouring in.  Then we were asked to take our places at the dining room table and Divan notched into top gear.....

First he took his dinky toy car and drove around and around on the antique table. I seem to have been the only one who heard the table groaning as the wheels scratched and squealed on the polished oak. "Los die kind....." then he climbed onto the couch with his shoes on, and proceeded to make his way from one end of the lounge, across each seat, side table etc. to the other side of the lounge..... smiling at me! "Divan!!" "Los die kind...."  I cannot tell you what we had for supper that evening..... I don't think I have apologised so much in my life....
When Dennis eventually said that we were leaving, I had Divan under my arm in a vice grip, his legs pinned between mine, and I swear I had the dinky toy clenched in my teeth!
In the car on the way back to Durbanville, Divan lay on my lap and looked up into my face.  His eyes were drooping and I knew he would fall asleep any minute now.  Just before his eyes closed, he looked up at me and with a small smile on his face says: "I was good tonight, wasn't I Mommy?"

Childhood memories

Sibling rivalry has always been alive and well in my household. Having three sons, I guess this is to be expected. My husband was one of four brothers and he tells me it’s quite normal for boys to fight and quarrel…. I think each of my son’s wish they were an only child!




In 1998, my husband took the decision to move to Springfontein to help his parents run the family business. It was July and Dennis and I needed to work our notice periods of a month. The school term was going to start before we had arrived in Springfontein, so we decided to send Den (6) ahead and we would move down in August.



So, that left Dylan (4) and Divan (2)…….



One Sunday afternoon, I was reading on my bed when Dylan walked in.

“Mommy, please give me a magic word…”

“Abracadabra” I said. Dylan left my room and I carried on reading.

Not long after that, Dylan was back. “Mommy, I need another magic word…”

“Siemsalabiem” and Dylan left the room again only to return a short while later.

“Mommy, do you know another one?”

“Dylan, what are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m trying to make Divan disappear but nothing is working!”

So what do I say to that?

I admire tattoo artists – any artist, but more so a tattoo artist. Their art is permanent and they really need to know their stuff because it is prominently displayed on a person’s body…. and a tattoo artist’s reputation is based on the result. It’s not so much word of mouth, but by sight.




BUT I wouldn’t like one of my sons to have a tattoo. Call me prudish, but like a good friend of mines says, when I gave birth to those little bodies they were covered in beautiful silky soft skin without blemish. And that is the way I want them to stay. Sure along the way they have gained scars from bicycle accidents, rugby and hockey mishaps etc. but those scars give character and provide tales to tell their children one day. A tattoo is a conscious act. What bugs me the most is what seems important to have tattooed on your body now, may not be important or even relevant 20 or 30 years down the road. Names of girlfriends who never turn into wives come to mind.



Divan wants a tattoo. I have changed the subject, voiced my concern, ignored him flat out – but to no avail. Eventually last night I decided to let him tell me exactly why he wanted a tattoo and what he wanted tattooed onto his perfect body.

“I want Ouma Helen’s name, her beginning date and her end date. I want it tattooed on my chest because I miss her”

My heart aches for him, but I’m just wondering whether he will look like a wall of rememberance by the age of 30 when his other grandparents have passed away and he misses them too?