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.