What I know for sure

  

When I was younger I thought I knew a lot of things for sure, and such is the natural and inevitable bravado and confidence of youth. Failure is almost never an option, or even a reality, as our lives are held up and supported by those who come before us - parents, grandparents, teachers and anyone else who has a vested interest in giving us the belief we need in ourselves to take on the big wide world with a fighting chance one day.

 

As I've grown older there are many things I am not so sure of anymore, and I've realised that some of the most difficult things to do as an adult are those which you are not guaranteed the outcome of. You just do it because you must, or because you think it might work, or because you are trying your best. The result you want is not promised, and sometimes your heart is broken. Plain and simple. Life happens, as they say.

So when we decided to immigrate our family from one hemisphere to another based on the belief that both our sons' deserved the opportunity to attend mainstream schools, that it was within our reach to drop our children off at the same school gate each morning, that Malakai belongs with his peers because he's a little boy just like any other little boy - or that he at least deserved the chance to mainstream... all these beliefs that we held onto (and that South Africa couldn't offer us) led the biggest decision we've made for our young family. A move that cost us our life savings, not to mention the priceless loss of leaving our family, our friends, and the home town we've known all our life. Even though we thought we knew what we were doing, we weren't exactly sure how this move would change our lives and if we would end up getting what we so wanted for Malakai and Harlan.

Until we did.

Because we sure did, and I now I know for sure. We made the right move. We did the right thing. Our choice gave us the result we so dreamed of, and even more.

To give you an idea - the letter below is from the Special Education Needs Coordinator (SENCO) at Malakai's new school. This letter followed our first visit to the school once we arrived, where we were shown around and had a meeting with the principle and SENCO.


Dear Loren,

I hope you and your family are settling in well and looking forward to Christmas in Surrey.

Since we were last in touch, we've been advertising for extra special needs assistant support with the view to Malakai having full time 1:1 support. Malakai will be in a Year 1 class with his peers but also have the support he will need to help him access the curriculum at his level and the flexibility to use resources from the Reception classrooms (if you remember how excited he was to try out the bike on the playground!). We feel he will also need some support in the first instance due to his toileting needs and to ensure his safety as he appeared a little flighty on his visit. The advert states that the support is for a Year 1 child with Down syndrome (but does not name Malakai) this is in order to attract people with either experience of working with Down syndrome or people who are willing to learn about working with a child with Malakai's needs. We hope to make an appointment in the first week back after Christmas and aim to start Malakai in the school week of the 13th of January.

The educational psychologist would prefer to see Malakai in our school environment and would like to come in during the first week. No date/time is fixed yet but I will let you know when it is. She will start to assess Malakai's needs and this will feed into the satutory  assessment process which Lauren has sent you a leaflet about. Initially Malakai's support will be paid for from our school funds and once he hopefully gets a Statement of Special Needs additional funding will become available from County.

If you are available then Malakai's class teacher (Mrs Kernot) would like to see you at school next Tuesday. This will be an opportunity for Malakai to look around again and take any photos you might like (Mrs Kernot is also hoping to take photos and put a book together for Malakai). During the visit, we hope Malakai will be able to interact with some of his new class friends and Mrs Kernot is planning some playbased activities. Mrs Kernot is looking forward to meeting you both.

I imagine you've learned so much about Down syndrome as Malakai has grown up and for most of our staff we are at the beginning of the journey. If you have any resources you feel are helpful please let us know. I've been in touch with the Down Syndrome Association who have a great website and give support to schools and families. We also have two special schools locally who have outreach teams who work with us mainstream schools to develop our knowledge on different special needs. There are also some training opportunities coming up in the spring term from the Down Syndrome Association which we hope to attend. The educational psychologist will also provide us with support tailored to meet Malakai's individual needs.

We are a dedicated staff and will do everything we can to ensure Malakai is happy and safe, in a stimulating learning environment.  We look forward to your visit. Many thanks and best wishes.


When I got this email I was left speechless - literally. I didn't know how to respond, what to say, where to even start. I was dumbfounded at the level of interest, care and attention they had given my son. MY son!

We did visit, and it was yet another example of their sincerest hopes to give Malakai the best. We were welcomed by Mrs Kernot (who's wonderful by the way!) and two little ones from Malakai's class. They gave us a school tour (again) and took photos all along the way. Malakai was totally smitten by everyone and wherever we went in the school the teachers and support staff seemed to know who Malakai was, greeting him with warm smiles.

As promised, Mrs Kernot did make a book for malakai and she and the SENCO actually dropped it off at our home and came in to say hi to Malakai and meet Harlan. Dropped it off!!! Seriously...

So, what I know for sure is that we did the right thing. We made a good choice and the promises are like big warm arms enfolding us and saying 'you did good, well done'.

Sensory speaking

We took the kids into the city (yes... I've always wanted to use that phrase... it feels good) and what an experience! I saw London through the eyes of small children and while the buildings and the history and the shops are amazing, it is the sheer sensory assault that makes it a thrilling and amazing place to visit.

Just making it into the city at all is smorgasbord of sights, smells, sounds, with a bit of tactile and vestibular input thrown in for good measure. Rushing through the stalls to make the train, which then moves and sings mechanical songs made for wide-eyed wonder. "Hold on tight!" I urged and realised that the bumping and shaking of the train was something that Malakai and Harlan had never experienced before - it was brand new and every part of them was taking it in.They had to use their whole bodies to rush up the stairs of the double-decker bus and sit at the top with a bird's eye view of Oxford Street. 

It was a wonderful experience, and one that I loved to experience through my children's eyes.

He listened

 

 

Since his passing last night, I have been wracking my brain trying to figure out what it was that made Nelson Mandela so special. I was putting the kiddies to sleep when my husband jumped out of bed and asked me if I saw what was happening all over Twitter... No I hadn't seen, and together we switched on the telly and caught the last few moments of Jacob Zuma's address announcing that our beloved Tata Madiba had just passed away.

Since then the world has almost erupted, like there is a split down the middle, a gigantic hole from which rivers of condolences stream for the man that not only inspired a nation, but the world. Words like Peacemaker, Leader, Legend in the global civil rights movement... He is mourned and missed by everyone who is anyone the world over, and not just that, he is missed by ordinary people just like you and me.

What I haven't heard spoken about much in his eulogies was his profound sense of obligation to make the future better by empowering children - in South Africa as well as Africa as a whole. In terms of development, health care, access to education, even the simple things like having a parent (even just one), a warm place to sleep and enough food to keep their tummies from grumbling - Africa does not have the best track record. Our levels of child deaths due to preventable accidents is some 25 times higher than the United Kingdom for example, and our rates of foetal alcohol syndrome are the highest in the world (in some regions of the Western Cape as much as 100 times higher than the global average).

Nelson Mandela wanted to change this, and so he set up his Nelson Mandela's Children's Fund (NMCF) which raised hundreds of millions of rands to make a difference in the lives of children. He started the foundation with his own contribution - his prize money from winning the Nobel Peace Prize, and continued to contribute large portions of his monthly salary while in the presidency to the fund he was so passionate about.

I was recently given the opportunity as Features Editor of Mamas & Papas Magazine to write a cover story on the NMCF and learn more about the organisation and the man who founded it.

"Why did Madiba have the kind of affinity he did for children?" I asked, wondering why he didn't become a champion for jobs, or the environment or any other number of worthy causes. Why children? What I learned was that Nelson Mandela often spoke of how during his time on Robben Island he never once heard the sounds of children - obviously. No cries of joy or cries of sadness. No tiny voices or excited footsteps. No bouncing balls or clapping hands. Nothing. And, of course, he also missed raising his own children and sacrificed his life as a father in order to become the father of a nation that was decades away from being a reality.

Next I was told, in detail, about how Nelson Mandela had an express mandate - he wanted to hear the children's voices, he wanted to listen to them speak, he wanted to know what it was they needed instead of dictating to them what he thought they may need. He made it a priority to listen to children personally in order to really understand them. And as if that were not enough, his team understood and delivered on his request that all children be included - he didn't only want to hear from a certain kind of child, he wanted to hear the voices and see the faces of the black, white, coloured, indian, disabled and able children.

Heartwarmingly, I learned that when it came to including children with special needs at his annual birthday party - which was in fact a party his fund threw for a large group of children every year - he made it clear that there was to be no 'token' invites. Those children who had mobility challenges or cognitive challenges, they were not be to be relegated to the corner and brought forward for photographers before being excluded again - Nelson Mandela simply would not have it. All children were to be included, sincerely, respectfully and with love.

And so, as I reflected on this today I realised that I had it! I finally know what I think made Mandela so special; what his 'secret power' was.

He listened.

I mean he really listened.

And from his profound ability to really listen to others sprouted the other qualities that made him an icon respected the world over, a person that a nation of people could refer to as father or tata. His ability to listen to others made him able to truly understand them, he was then able to meet the most fundamental human need - that of being recognised, of being heard - because that is one of our deepest desires isn't it? To really be heard and understood?

He could captivate a room because he was able to listen, to make every person in that room feel that they had been validated. And I believe from his ability to listen came his immense humility - he never pushed himself on others, he never forced, he respected others because he listened. He certainly did this with children, and I am sure he did the same with world leaders, politicians, kings and queens alike.

And so I realised that if I wanted to live Madiba's legacy perhaps the most important starting point for me is to talk less and listen more; by talking I simply share what I already know, but by listening I will learn something new everyday.

I could definitely listen to my children more. My husband would probably have a mini-stroke at the thought of me listening to him more! And it may just change the way that I interact with my family for the better.

And what if I really listened the next time I found myself at the check-out counter by the supermarket? What if I stopped and took the time to really listen? I may just change the way in which I interact with my community for the better.

And finally, what if I listened to myself? What if really listened to my own needs, my own dreams? What if I gave the little voice behind my fears and uncertainties a moment to shine and be heard? What if I stopped and listened to my tiniest voice? I may just change myself for the better.

So the way I see it - Nelson Mandela's super power was his ability to listen. To be still and listen. To listen to himself and understand that hate would only create more hate. To listen to his people and be the leader we so desperately needed in our fledgling democracy. To listen to the children whose lives have been forever changed by his Nelson Mandela's Children's Fund. To listen to himself again when it was time for him to move out of the public eye, despite the fact that we cried "Don't go! Please... what will we do without you tata?" He knew he had laid the foundation, and he had set the example - he couldn't have done a better job at that.

So will you listen? Can I promise listen? Can we all listen to the message he gave his life up for?

I think so.

Rest in peace Tata Madiba, I have heard you.

One of my absolute favourite pictures of Madiba

Super soggy days

Thank goodness Harlan loves his wellies (he even wore them right through summer in South Africa), because we landed in the UK and just as I remembered, this place is seriously soggy. And cold. And soggy.

Despite my excitement to finally be getting out of 'limbo' and to be reunited with my husband after 6 weeks apart, I was overwhelmingly distressed at the thought of our upcoming flight to the UK - all 11 hours of it - with two small boys who have their own Life Equation now (check last week's post for the long explanation)...

Good grief was I worried!

But thankfully the flight was overnight and so it actually was simply smashing (see, I'm practicing my Proper English) - other than the fact that Harlan kept asking when we were going to get in the plane and he still refuses to believe that we flew anywhere at all, never mind to the other side of the world...

"But sweetie look," I gesture around the plane, "this is the plane. We are sitting in it."

"But where is it?" Sulky face. "Where?"

"Here... right here. Like all around us," Ummmm, and now?

So, despite the fact that Harlan doesn't believe we went on a plane and flew anywhere we are all doing splendidly (see, Proper English again) in one of the most beautiful parts of the English countryside where there must be about a gajillion trees (all very very pretty) and even then there still aren't enough of them to drink up all the water in the ground, so wellies are a must!

I think we are kinda like Vaalies at the beach in Cape Town, running into the freezing water simply because it's a beach, but all the locals know its crazy freezing? Well, we are kind like that - bundling the boys in warm jackets, gloves and hats and kinda pushing them out of the toasty house and into the freezing cold to 'explore' and 'get out' and other ridikilus things!

Here is a little taster in pictures :)

Did I mention I hate goodbyes

I dreaded our last day... I packed like a woman possessed, I ran around, I sat on suitcases to get the zips to close and prayed they wouldn't pop open halfway through the airport terminal slog to the book-in counter... I did everything possible to shut out what I knew was going to happen: goodbyes.

I just don't like them - I never know the right thing to say, and I sometimes think I must come across callous because I am just so socially inept at this one area of life: goodbyes.

That, and I didn't want to cry in front of the boys. I didn't want them to think what we were doing was in any way sad or bad or whatever... I told myself I'd save my tears for when they were safely asleep on the plane. The reality is that it was so exhausting that as soon as they fell asleep I also drifted into an uncomfortable sleep that was nothing if not welcomed by my nerve endings (I actually imagined all my little nerve endings having a big hooray and hoopla at finally being let of the hook).

See?

I can't even express my goodbyes after the fact...

Of course there are so many more friends that we said goodbye to, but these are the ones that I managed to remember to photograph ;)

Goodbye to good friends

And to my colleagues...

at Mamas n Papas

 

Goodbye to besties (we love you Nathaniel!)

and to teacher Louise

And teacher Dia

 

Goodbye to Aunty Sheri (and the baby in her tummy)

Goodbye to great granny

And goodbye to our favourite cousin Aidan

 

Goodbye to the kindest woman and our super star Dolly

 

Goodbye to Grandpa, Nana, our favourite uncle Shaun and favourite aunt Sheri

And goodbye to Grandma too (although we'll see you soon)

 

Hello aeroplanes

See you soon

We are looking forward to our new adventure!

1+1 = 4 x C to the Square root of Chaos

 

I never was the most gifted student of mathematics, and as someone who loves language as much as I do I was shocked to recently discover that mathematics is a bit like another 'language' and that I should in fact like it if I like language so much...

Nah...

Not my thing.

I was so happy when I wrote my matric maths final paper way back when (let's not mention how many years ago that was!) and I think I closed my paper and myself on maths. Beyond the most rudimentary of addition and subtraction when I need it most, I steer clear of sums of any kind. I just don't have it in me...

So I was understandably excited the other day when I met another dad who agreed with my suspicions on additions to the family - that is to say that one child is one child, of course, but adding another child to the equation does not equal two... well not in terms of work involved, the attention forcibly demanded, and the overall effort needed to get from morning to night without needing to crack open a bottle of scotch.

No.

1+1 simply doesn't = 2

Why is this simple act of adding another child to a family such an upheaval? Why does it feel like we now have 22 children instead of two, like we missed something along the way that we were supposed to read or know or learn? I had to start to think, and because I'm just not that good at mathematics, I couldn't use figures to well... figure it out.

This is my theory though - and I think I've kind proved it when I happen to have just one of the boys with me instead of both, which by the way is a total breeze and makes me feel almost like a good mom again - but I digress... The reason that two kids equals the effort of having 22 kids is because they are boys (yes, this matters... and no, all you moms to girls only... girls simply don't get anywhere near the chaos of boys), and because they wired to do several things seemingly simultaneously and with such agility that I sometimes feel like I'm in the middle of a guerrilla warfare, not sure of which way to turn...

I like to call my theory the 1+1 = 4 x C to the Square root of Chaos

Compete
Two kids like to compete for space. For attention. For who gets what first. For more attention. For who spoke first. For more attention. For who broke what and when. For more attention... and... ummmm... for more attention (I think that about covers it).

Compare
Yes, they want everything that they other one has... all. the. time. It can be a completely useless broken clothes hanger (this is not a word of a lie) and the other one will want the exact same thing, in the same colour, broken in the identical way. And you're like, "oh no, I would never give into my children in that way..." but I do, and you will too. Just wait.

Conspire
Just when you think your children will never stop competing and comparing, they do something even worse... conspire. The team up like a crazy little two-pack and just attack; hanging off my arms and legs, jumping all over, giggling as I trip all over the place and try to get them into the car without having one of them land under oncoming traffic. I have had mornings dropping the boys at creche where I just hang my head I leave and exhale... seriously. And then conspiracy usually leads to the last 'c'...

Crash
You just know it... this is going to end in tears. Someone is going to have a meltdown. There will be snot, and maybe even blood, and definitely screams and accusations and a total drama...You're just not sure exactly how it will happen, but it's coming and that's no lie...

So, that it exactly why 1+1 does not equal 2! Because with two (or more) invokes the  4 x C to the Square root of Chaos. But I've learned a few things in my last almost-four years of rearing 22 children, and there are a few antidotes - the two most popular being smiles (your childrens', which will just make you instantly forget everything a bit like the zapper thing on Men in Black) and naps (please refer to my very important post about this) which give you time to recharge and regroup, ready for the next round...

Touching South Africa

So it turns out I found my way to say goodbye to South Africa, and it was sweet and it was poignant and it touched me, marked me... and that makes me happy.

There is this little place called Clarens, nestled in the foothills of the Maluti Mountains that mark a line between South Africa and the mountain kingdom of Lesotho. Its become awfully popular as a tourist destination over the last decade, and no wonder, it's pretty much breathtaking scenery and small-town feel is a haven for artists, writers, young lovers, and happy families.

But I look at Clarens through the eyes of an 11-year-old girl, or at least that's the age I remember it with most clarity. My family used to spend most holidays in Clarens at the house that my father's business partner owned in the small village. I walked the dusty streets, attempted to climb the mountains, and made good and fast friends of the local children when Clarens still had only a single restaurant, a post office and a general store. We enjoyed Clarens in the summers when it was lush and green and warm, and we enjoyed Clarens in the winters when it was one of the very few places in South Africa to be blanketed in snow. But it was the autumns that were most beautiful, with the golds, reds, yellows and browns turning the landscape into an oil painting.

I remember how much I loved Clarens, it's beauty, it's scenery, it's energy that was almost magical. Even when we used to arrive after dark, my parents knew to wake me up if I was sleeping so that I could see the glowing sandstone outcrops as they towered high above - then I knew we had arrived. In my young mind anything was possible in Clarens, no dream was too big and no day was long enough... I fell in love with the earth, the land, and to this day I feel a spiritual connection to the place, which is why a short trip to Clarens with my parents and the children felt like a homecoming... and a home-leaving.

And it was magical. And it was cathartic. And it was a rare moment in the past six months where I was actually able to sit and really drink it all in... no - I am corrected. It was more like sucking the marrow from a bone... every. last. drop. I was able to sit on the patio in the evenings and know 'this is the last time' (in a very long time) - the last time I will enjoy such majestic South African sunsets, still warming my skin as the last of the light fades. I was able to sit by the poolside and watch my boys splash around in the kiddie pool and know, 'this is the last time' (for a very long time) that they will be able to enjoy water like this, with the sun turning their skin brown, splashing and shouting Look Mom! Look at me!

Aaaahhhh - Clarens was good to me and my family, as she always has been.