See, we three

Our big boys are three today! There has been great excitement the past two weeks, counting off the days in "sleeps", checking the bus-cake in the freezer (thanks, Nana), asking about "surprises" and saying "We're going to be THREE". Matt says thrrrrree (rolling the R) and Tim has a very special way of showing three (see pic).

Last night, Gareth and I iced the cake, a delightful colour of green. Made a nest of easter eggs for the easter bunnies on the cake (they're doing Easter theme at school, so Ali's idea was perfect, and pretty painless for me, really!), blew up 20 balloons and wrapped presents.
I said to Gareth this morning... If Matt's thrrrreee and Tim's three, then that makes us parenting for 6 years. No wonder we're bloody exhausted.

DCM Letters

We (on the Gwebindlala Programme) received our DCM ("Don't Come Monday") Letters yesterday. Our programme officially ends 15th April, and we aren't to pay salaries after that. My letter had a rider: we'll be offering you a contract until end Sept. But I don't know what'll be in that. We all knew they were coming, but still it hits pretty hard. I felt kinda weird yesterday. Like I really need to move on from this place and perhaps this is now the push I need. I pulled out Monday's Dispatch and checked jobs. And was pleasantly surprised. There were at least three jobs in the paper I could apply for. Two of them didn't mention pay-packages, and one of them (I assume) is located at Addo Elephant Park, but the third was with the gvt with a nice pay package. So perhaps I'm considering a ticket on the gravy train. Just perhaps. And I might need to learn to pronounce Bhisho with the extra H.

Ant at 6 months

You're six months today, little boy, and I'm loving you more each day. I love how you smile a great big smile when I put on the light and peer over the cot at you in the mornings. I love how you're delighted to see me when I get home after work. I love the delight you show in bouncing in your jolly-jumper, and that you giggle along with us when we're laughing at your pointed toes and "highland fling". I love how you love your food. You love butternut (I know you've had it for lunch, because you're a little orange about the nose), you love porridge mixed with apple, you love it when we let you taste what we're eating (especially bovril toast!) I love that you're sitting so confidently and that you're content to sit at our feet when we're busy in the kitchen or the bathroom. And that you're sitting on your own in the bath now, splashing madly with both arms and blinking in surprise when water gets in your eyes. I love how your brothers entertain you, mimicking us with "hello, Anty" and "hello, Gorgeous" and share their toys with you. I love how you anticipate a kiss or a tickle by holding your arms tightly to your side and quivering a little. I love how you snuggle in for a hug, especially first thing in the morning. I love that you're always ready to smile, like when I get out of the shower in the morning and you're on the bed, just waiting to smile at me. I love how you're fascinated by Gizmo and Digga (although Digga gives you a fright every now and again, just by being there). I love how aware you've become of things around you (besides your brothers whirlwinding around you) - the movements of plants outside, the TV (oops!), the countryside rushing past when you're in the car, your many granny-improvised mobiles - and how you concentrate on them like you're trying to figure something out. I love how your respond to your names: "Ant", "Anty-panty", "Gorgeous" and "Baba", by turning your head and grinning. I love that my singing settles you, either on your bottle or in your cot. You stop wriggling and stare up at me with wide eyes that say "how do you do that?" I love that you've started reaching out with your arms towards me when I say "come".
I love you more than you'll know and am so grateful that you came along to complete our family.

My dream house

Last night, I visited a house.

We (mom, me, Tim & Matt) pick up the keys at the agent and let ourselves in. The house is L-shaped, with the L open at about 120 degrees, with a beautiful patio area and pool nestled into the L. The patio runs along both sides of the house, and is covered with a pergola and overgrown with red and white bougainvillea. The garden is totally overgrown and wet and dark like a Knysna forest (complete with tree ferns). The guttering looks like it's seen a couple of violent hail storms. The pool is rectangular and bright and clear and sunny.
The inside of the house is divided into two distinct areas - to the left of the entrance are the five (!) bedrooms and study. The main bedroom is enormous and at the end of the passage, facing the pool. To the right of the entrance is the open-plan lounge-diningroom-kitchen, with an outdoor eating area off the kitchen (also overlooking the pool). The rooms are dark, hideously decorated with vintage furniture and worn-out persian rugs. But the wooden floors are peeking through, waiting to be discovered.
I am entranced, and decide to make an offer immediately. I make a dash to my car to phone the agent, but alas, we've left the car open and my phone has been stolen. We leave the key in the letter box (as per instruction). I'm loving the house, but not so sure about living in this neighbourhood.

An amazingly clear and detailed dream. I just had to get it down. I dream about houses all the time, and this one, together with the complex-leveled white house opposite a harbour, are by far my favourites. I just wish I could photograph these places and email the pictures to myself.

A little cry

This morning I wasn’t strong. It’s a combination of an intense work environment (retrenchments, deadline pressures, etc), sleep deprivation (not Ant, just me) and some personal stuff. So I’m sandwiched in the back seat between my older boys (yung-un gurgling good-naturedly in the front seat) and I have a little cry. Matt says to me: “What’s wrong, mommy? Where’s your hurt?” I say, it’s in my head (ain’t that true?) and he kisses it for me. Then he says: “Is it better, mommy?” And then a little later “You’ve still got tears, mommy. Why are you sad?” And now the guilt starts. Do I always have to be strong for my children? Do I really want their first memories to be of their mommy crying in the back seat? Or will my fallibility teach them some life lesson? Or teach them sensitivity and empathy? I don’t have any childhood memories of my parents crying… perhaps that’s why I’m battling to let myself cry in front of my boys. Oh, there is so much to learn.

Latest pictures

We got a little time to fool around with the camera on the public holiday, on Wednesday. The best pic of Ant has both drool and snot, but hey, that’s part of him, isn’t it! But look at that smile and those two magnificent teeth!

And here are my three boys…

Oh, and Matt says he won't forget who Emma is... "I know she is Emma. Not Kathy." See. Tim says he wants to visit Emma in Taiwan. When, Tim? "Now, Mom." Well, now. Talk about instant gratification!
BTW, Em: Matthew wants Christmas presents for his birthday, and Tim wants car presents. I think tracksuits will be fine!

A shocking disgrace

Last night, Gareth and I (& two boys) went to a dinner party. Not usually our thing, especially when the conversation turns to the designer of a pewter gravy boat… But the disgrace is that out of the party of 10, only Gareth and I are voting today. The rest have either not registered or can’t be bothered. I am both angry and sad.