I think I was more excited than Luke. Okay, it was his first time so he had no idea what was in store for him. I think The Darling Husband thought I was a bit batty and indulged my enthusiasm for a children's Christmas Party.
We were, however, going to an Uncle Paul's Christmas Party! (cheering crowds).
You have to understand my excitement. Its my parents fault. They started the tradition years ago and took my sister and I to this end of year fundraiser for Rotaract Club.you can see how successful this event is, its been going for yonks!
I remember one year when it was raining and we weren't sure if the party would be cancelled and my sis and I were irritating the sh*t out of annoying my parents by nagging them to phone Uncle Paul and check if its still on. All day. Bloody phone wasn't being answered either. Kudos to my folks for keeping it together and not strangling us with the telephone cord.
I digress.
Another couple of our good friends were going to join us as first-timers, their boy being 4 months older than Luke. And I was dying to share the thrill I remembered with them and see their enjoyment too.
Special attention had been paid to the picnic menu. I had made my own version of my Mom's bacon and egg pie, quite yummy truth be told. Chicken viennas were chopped into chunks, sweet melon and pawpaw were diced, roast chicken was, um, roasted, and special cookies were packed.
"Darling Husband, where is the little red cooler bag? The one that is the perfect size to fit onto our laps as space on the tractor rides is limited, as stated in the Rules of the Party letter...?"
"Oh, I think I leant it to Donald."
"WHAT!?? bitch-moan-bitch-moan..."
I had to haul out the old cooler bag with the broken zip. Fabulous.
With warm clothes, nappies and a secret present packed for Luke, we left home on time. On. Time.!!! Anyone who knows us well will have fallen off their chair with surprise by now. Yes, well, pick yourselves up and sit back down.
The wind was howling in our home town but by the time we got to the Constantia Valley it was gorgeous, not a breath of wind on a perfect summer's eve. The Darling Husband is grumbling about his decision to wear jeans and sneakers as it is now quite warm. Also dragging a heavily laden cooler bag and crammed-to-capacity backpack up a hill does not lighten the mood much.
But all grudges are forgotten when we see Luke's excitement at the sight of the tractors and the families clambering into the hay-bedecked trailers and blazing up the hillside to disappear somewhere among the vineyards.
It was also amusing to note that the families are often second or third generation party-goers like myself, taking our own children to experience our remembered Christmas excitement.
Our turn was next and we all climb into the trailer and I feel Luke tense and grip my knee tighter as the tractor engine roars into gear and we lurch off up the hill.
He loses all his anxiety as we disembark and enter the arena and sees all the kids (and parents) having hay fights. This is the moment I pray he does not have a raging hay allergy that I don't know of. That would have added to the fun. Not.
Luck is on my side and despite having hay thrown at him and him responding in a similarly enthusiatic manner, Luke is experiencing a snot-free evening.
We go marching, we sing, we eat ice creams and drink Barney juices handed to us by Noddy, Big Ears and all the other Toyland residents. We lay out our blankets and share our picnic pickings with our friends. The pie really was quite good. I can email you the recipe.
We sing carols by lamplight and lose track of all the animals on Old MacDonald's farm.
Time for Santa to come visit but only if we sing his all time favourite ditty, Silent Night. And blow out all the lights. We gotta work for the fat man.
With a loud cracking red flare Santa arrives on top of the castle.
"Hello children!"
Shrieks of excitement. Some of those shrieks were coming from our friend's little boy who got a tad overwhelmed by the red flare and was clinging to his mom for dear life. I don't think Santa rated very high up on his list that night.
But Santa needs his little Fairy helper. No sniggering, people.
So we all blow the lights out again and softly call "Fairy, fairy...".
Behold, a suspended sparkler fairy flits through the trees and lights up the castle' windows and casts beautiful light patterns up into the forest's canopy. A less dramatic but equally beautiful arrival of a cute little Fairy with sparkly wings who runs around the arena awing her audience and making all the little girls wish they were "real" fairies.
This little bit of fluff hands out the sweets that puts all your little darlings on sugar highs before bedtime.
Luke delighted in the present we handed to him, he is still too young not to put together that our friend's eldest son just happened to hand it to him and it did not, in fact, emerge from Santa's pile of gifts. In true Snyders style, he was more thrilled with the sweets that were included with the gift. But after having a closer look he was quite charmed with the family of plastic reptiles and amphibians he was given, making sure he examined each lizard and frog and making the croc "eat" the unfortunate snake's head etc.
Little batteries are fading fast and we head home on the tractors again through the pitch black forests and vineyards with only the twinkling lights of the peninsula below us to complete the magical evening.
Back on the road and heading home little snores from the back seat keep us company.
I can only imagine this was what my folks also heard on their way home all those many years ago. Maybe they also smiled to each other and thought with a touch of anticipation "Next year will be even better...!"
A weekend away was what we needed. Sun, sea, sand, wine and beloved people around me, what more could I ask for? Done on a shoestring budget, even better. Paternoster once again beckoned us and we obeyed.
Taking the day off we (me, Luke, The Darling Husband, Mom, Dad, Lil Sis and Co, my cuz and his co) headed up the coast to enjoy some R&R.
Lets start with the car journey.
My mission: to entertain a restless toddler on a 2 hour journey without drugging him.
It was early in the morning so Luke had just woken bright and breezy, no chance of being lulled to sleep by a comfy car ride, no sir-ree! The snacks and juice had been consumed half an hour into the journey and the ants in Luke's pants were starting to tickle.
Luckily, just before hitting the West Coast Road there is a filling station with a charming (if a tad expensive) farmstall that, besides selling divine homemade bread and preserves, has a collection of swings and jungle gyms and a jumping castle, all frequented by a brood of tame kapok chickens. Luke fell in love with the tortoise in the duck enclosure and raced around the fencing beseeching me to come look at the reptile. Why do tortoises always look so foul tempered? Maybe because they have young humans trying to stick blades of grass in their faces too often.
Tortoises seemed to create the weekend's theme: my mom complimented me on my ceramic garden tortoise before we left, my boy met his first tortoise at the farmstall and my cuz rescued an unfortunate tortoise that had been run over and left on the road. Shell cracked and back leg broken, my cousin gathered him/her up and vowed to take him to his local vet to be fixed up should he survive the weekend. We later slipped an elastic band around him to keep the shell together and tried to tempt him with succulent pieces of cucumber and lettuce. Quite good nosh for a hardened West Coast critter. Upon writing this I have had an update and the tortoise is on antibiotics and shall be able to live a long and happy life with just 3 legs.
So off we go, back on the road, books borrowed from my niece to entertain Luke but soon the ants are a-tickling again. Now we stop for brunch at Wimpy and bit of climbing in the play room gym relieves a drop of energy. Balloon and doggy bag in hand we set off on the last leg of our journey. We head into the more rural parts and Luke delights in the farm animals.
Me: "Look, Bubba, look at the cows!"
L: "Moo!"
And we sing "old MacDonald had a farm..".
Finally we arrive! Blue seas and skies greet us. The breeze whispers that I must start to relax, I have had a rough week (maybe another blog sometime).
We spend the afternoon on the beach. Which means just stepping off the deck. Perfect.
Luke's sweetheart, Poppie, and her mom, dad and gorgeous little brother join us later. They have just spent an hour overshooting the Vredenburg turn-off and have gone on a detour to Port Owen and back. A glass of wine, or two, is in order.
Braai, braai, braai is what our family does. Its what The Darling Husband craves and loves to do. And he was in his element. Big Weskus steaks and biltong featured high up on the menu. There was just no question about what we were going to have for dinners, it was taken for granted that a fire would be flashed up and perfect coals guaranteed. My Dad has long since happily hung up his tongs and let his son-in-laws do their thing.
We all slept pretty well with the waves crashing onto the beach and the Cape Recife lighthouse casting its beacon light through our windows at regular intervals. The beds were firm and the linen soft.
And waking up to Mom's homemade rusks and coffee made it even better.
A walk up the beach and further along took us into little beach coves and scrambling over huge smooth boulders. All the while lugging my weigh-a-ton son on my back/shoulders or hip. It seems the little legs did not feel like carrying the attached little body. Now I know how those crooked old ladies in stories come to have crooked backs...!
Still having some "walk" in me after getting back to the house some of us decided to take a stroll into the village and look at the local wares on offer. Besides the waving crayfish presented to us at every street corner.
So I strapped my strapping boy into his stroller and ambled off with 2 of my mommy friends (equally accompanied by babies and strollers and sunblock) in the direction of town. A nice stroll through fishermens cottages decorated with strings of shells and geraniums, and scruffy dogs lying basking in the sun charmed us even more.
After perusing the little craft market and local art gallery we decided to head home. Luke had demanded to be released from his torturous chair and walk around the art gallery (Valium, please!) I had to cut short his examination of mountain bikes for fear of them toppling onto him and some expensive artwork. Needless to say he was not impressed. Exit one determined mother with one yelling toddler under her arm. Still not satisfied in terrorising his mother he decided that the middle of the (busy) road was a good place to walk.
So Frazzled Mom decides to put child into stroller again, except that said child was having none of it! A tantrum to behold. After managing to secure the final strap across the writhing little body two ladies walk by and remark "Oh, how cute!" !!!! My exasperated reply was "Not now he isn't!"
Luckily by the time we made it home he had fallen asleep and was once again my angel.
I managed to get a little nap myself but was woken by a commotion and painful screams from Poppie! She had climbed up the stairs and fallen through the railings. Luckily the squadron of strollers underneath the stairs had broken her fall and she only sustained a little cut under her chin and a bloody mouth. An hour later we were all playing on the beach, happy as clams. Her angels were working overtime.
Sundowner hour has always been a special time I savour. Sitting back with that first glass of chilled wine and feeling the warm rough wood of the deck under my feet. Well, that was how it was Before We Had A Child. Now I'm lucky if I get a second sip before the iceblock has melted.
My Sweet Sister managed to lull Luke to sleep by stroking his wispy blonde hair, something I had tried but obviously had not been convincing enough.
Time to party! Woohoo! Right? Ahem. By that time all my mommy friends, including myself, were about to drag our beaten weary bodies to bed. Running after little terrors children all day will do that to you. (Hats off to pre-school teachers.) A hot shower and a welcoming bed sent me straight to Dreamland, let me hear you say "aaaaah..".
The next morning, Sunday morning, saw us making even more food and enjoying a big fry-up breakfast, what a treat. After that the packing began. And another lovely weekend away came to an end. God got us home safely and He knows whats on my Christmas wish list - a winning Lotto ticket to buy my own piece of heaven.
But heaven is where your heart and your family is. And I'm already there.
What to buy, what to buy??? A common frenetic chant uttered at this time of year. Stores and superrmarkets spend fortunes on gift brochures, shops are festooned with glitzy tinsel and spray-on snow and twinkly lights. I love twinkly lights. Rolls of wrapping paper are strategically placed at cashiers' tills should you forget that one essential item and be too fed up tired to go back to the stationery aisle to get some.
And who to buy for? Our family has decided to just buy for the children but my mother always sabotages that arrangement and buys all of us a little something (Mom: "You're my child, aren't you??!!) And somewhere along the way i take home a box of Turkish Delight.
But a wonderful thing has started to happen. A little of the Christmas sparkle is starting to rub off on me. (She, of jaded festive cynicism.) I want to start my own family traditions, buy pretty baubles for the new pretty tree, buy lots of presents for my boy, wrap them up, pile them under the pretty tree and see his delight when he lays his eyes on them on Christmas morning. Just not 5am, please, L.
But a thought came to me while I was sitting on a beach this weekend watching my boy and his mates play in the water and chuck wet sand at their mothers . You can spend as much money as you like/can afford to on wonderful fancy toys and games, but the biggest gift you can ever give your children is your time. Listening to our kids scream with laughter as we splash them through the water or help them build a village of sandcastles or build puzzles with them or read a book to them is priceless. And I as an adult am better for it. I am reminded of how quickly this time will go, my boy will grow up and Mom won't be his universe anymore.
Last week I posted a status on my Facebook profile mentioning how ashamed I was for smacking my boy when I was tired and grumpy. I got quite a few comments, and none of them condemning me for my nasty behaviour. It seems I have boarded a rather full boat there. Been there, done that was the common consensus.
Last night I watched a CSI episode where an abusive mother meets a rather sticky end, bludgeoned by her terrified offspring. Extreme measures and a "justified homicide" as mentioned by one of the perfectly manicured CSIs, it made me want to go hug and cuddle my perfect little slumbering angel, and reassure him, and mostly myself, that I am not that mama! Those who know me and follow my FB statuses know how despairing I become after listening to news broadcasts that, all too often, inform us of horrific abuse against children.
But I do become tired, irritated and annoyed. I am human. Would it be right to put on a bright and smiley Stepford wife/mother face and just crumble and implode quietly while washing dishes? Would that be a realistic impression to present to my child? Would my child feel a failure one day for not being able to contain his feelings, like Mommy does? Am I teaching him to keep everything bottled up and suppressed?
As a parent I want to be an example of a real and, hopefully, normal(!) person, with real and normal reactions to certain situations. The world is not always peaches and cream. Its often crap. He will get tired, he will have deadlines to meet and the evening will be getting late and he just might, in a moment of weakness, smack his own un-cooperative child purely out of frustration.
Maybe then he will understand.
L, I can't promise to never give you a hiding ever again, or to express my displeasure in a nasty screech but I can guarantee you a lifetime of love and kisses and hugs. Even if its from an imperfect mama.
Today is a beautiful day. Truly. Sun is out, a light breeze is caressing the banana trees ( a relief after the onslaught of the infamous Black South Easter) and the birds are chirping in the said trees. And I am at home. Alone. On my own. All is quiet except for the hum of the computer, and the chirping birds. Bliss. And where is L, you ask? My beautiful gorgeous, cutest of cute boy toddler is at creche. No, I have not kept him home or have plans to fetch him early. I am enjoying some peace and quiet, not to mention more than 5 minutes to sit my ass down before having to run after L or save him from falling off chairs that he has decided to use as step ladders to climb onto tables.
Some may say "But you are being selfish! Your child needs as much time with you as you can give him! You are his mother, you can't not want to spend time with your child!". Lay the guilt trip on, slap it on real thick. But I don't care. Bad mommy. Insert frowny smiley here_____.
My excuses are:
1. I need to be available should my employer call me in.
Okay, today that reason would not fly as I have had to take the day off anyway to have my aging car examined for a sneaky oil leak. So i couldn't go to work even if I wanted to.
2. I need to be free to continue with my Face booking, gardening, cleaning, freelance work.
One cannot work with an inquisitive restless 2 year old wanting to be entertained.
3. He loves school!
He is the man, the rock star, the Dude of his pre-school class. How can I deny L the joy of interacting with his mates, kissing the girls in the castle and charming the teachers???
Truth is, I enjoy my quiet time, I need my quiet time, time to catch up with work, to make sure my home is in a semi decent shape, time to tend to my garden (my only hobby) and time to find Me again.
If you are a new mom you may have noticed that time for yourself is non-existent, except for maybe a few stolen moments on the loo, woohoo. Even then little bodies threaten to bash the door down in their curiosity to see what Mama is doing all on her own in there...the cheek.
So, you can try guilting me into feeling bad about not rushing off to collect my darling son, shame, leaving him there just pining for me... but it ain't going to work.
Besides making sure dinner is made and we can all eat together, putting another load of washing on so that we all can have clean clothes to wear, cleaning the kitchen so that it isn't overrun by ants, doing extra freelance design so that I can make sure there are nappies on hand (or rather on bum) and most bills are paid, I take a little time out to write this, my first blog :)
So sue me.
We go marching, we sing, we eat ice creams and drink Barney juices handed to us by Noddy, Big Ears and all the other Toyland residents. We lay out our blankets and share our picnic pickings with our friends. The pie really was quite good. I can email you the recipe.
