Little boys…

Eat cake and fling the crumbs carelessly onder the bed.
Scatter the playing cards you’ve just picked up like leaves
Dig out the just-planted bulbs with generous handfuls of mud
Squeal gleefully and sit down in the mud.
Run away from you dressed in just a nappy in the middle of winter
Give slobbery kisses….to the dog.
Lick the underside of their shoes thoughtfully and then smack their lips.
Think farting is funny – anywhere, anytime.
Accuse their brothers, mothers or fathers of farting when, in fact, it was them.
Absolutely categorically deny that they have a stinky nappy.
Spray their brothers with underarm spray. In the face.
Pull loose mats from under their brothers.
Climb on kitchen counters to get to the pasta – which they devour uncooked.
Water the paving and then splash in the puddles. With their non-waterproof shoes on.
Cry about the little children who could not save their daddies when you tell the story of the Titanic.
Consider it a personal insult when you wipe their faces or noses.
Hide the cat with them under the covers.
Love starting fires.
Want to sit on your lap just as you start supper.
Want to chase each other on a bike when you want to sit down for some peace, quiet and a cuddle with them.
Cannot get enough of stories.
Chew carrots and spit them out on the carpet.
Only sleep when you need to be awake.
Never want to eat what you are cooking. Only what you made for lunch yesterday.
Develop hunger pangs an hour before lunch is ready.
Fight in the bath.
Wiggle your bum and sing jelly wobble, jelly wobble.
Want to debate something very serious just when you are getting ready to go out.
Refuse to wear a jersey or shoes.
Give the best kisses and hugs in the whole world.

Which is why we love little boys.

Pink clouds

I’m only able to cry when I read someone else’s words of missing. So, I sit and look at the computer screen and while I read another mother’s words I think: Thank you God for not putting us in the position where we had to choose to let him go. I’m reading this mother’s words. This mother who did choose to let go two years ago. And I’m not judging her. I’m just glad that I don’t have to bear that on top of everything else.

There are in fact times when I feel that all that has happened is just too much. I know that crying does not help. The grief goes too deep, too wide. So, I normally escape by not feeling. This time there is momentarily the relief of crying.

“Mamaaa?
Mammaaa?”

I pull my face into a smile. I grab hold of my emotions, pull them back sharply. And I turn and face my living son. The one who never knew his brother, but who points to the photos and squeals in delight.

“Baba! Babaaa!”

To him there is no difference between the three little boys in the photos.

He senses the emotions and looks unsure of himself for a moment, but he’s too young to understand. So I swing him up into my arms.

“Let’s go find the key. Will you help me?”

As I stand in the doorway, looking out over the garden filled with the last light, he points eagerly to the keys on the patio table just outside the door.

“Da. Da!”

I praise him and step outside to fetch the keys. There are pink clouds towards the west as the sun sets and I’m reminded of the first time I pointed out the pink clouds to Marco and saw Loren reacting. He knew clouds, he could see and he wanted to partake in their beauty. I still feel my heart fill with joy at the knowledge.

“Look at the pink clouds!” I exclaim and turn Magnus to face the west.

My blond son looks at me defiantly.

“Blech!” he says. His word for yucky.

I guess pink clouds are not everybody’s taste.

Time flies

26 April 2009 – 2 years

Peace?

It is election day in South Africa and despite the general certainty that the ANC will win – although their service delivery is putrid – most people went and voted. This is in stark contrast to the previous election when a lot of people simply didn’t vote.

We voted around mid-morning. Dirk went first while I looked after the kids and I went after. We were lucky. We didn’t have to wait too long in line and the whole thing was over and done within 20 minutes to half an hour. The rest of the public holiday we could relax.

I had a nice bath and Magnus joined me in the bathroom, tugging at his pajamas indicating that he wanted to bath too. So I undressed him and put him in the bath with me. Before long Marco was there and got into the bath without a word. I love bathing with them and seeing them enjoy this simple pleasure. Looking down on Magnus’ head, I had a brilliant idea. Got out, fetched scissors and promptly gave him a haircut. It turned out as nice as one could hope for with him jerking his head around every few seconds to see what I’m doing or to protest loudly: “No no no no.”

(By the way, “no” is not a word in Afrikaans and his pronunciation is more Latin than English. The other night at the circus, he tried chatting to the little boy sitting next to him who couldn’t understand a word he was saying and asked what language he was speaking. Dirk answered, “Chinese” without a hint of a smile and the little boy gave Magnus a long disbelieving stare.)

Afterwards, I put him (still naked) in front of the mirror in our bedroom to admire his haircut. I swear I was away for just a minute to fetch some clothes for Marco and when I came back I found Magnus gesticulating wildly at the floor. He’d done a number two, stepped in it and tried getting rid of it by smearing it all over the carpet. I dumped him back in the bath and washed him down. You can bet your bottom dollar that I immediately dressed him after that. And then it was the carpet and I.

Still, it was a nice day.

It was freezing cold the last few days and it prompted me look at the kids’ winter wardrobe. Their pajamas were threadbare and yesterday we went to town and bought each a new pair, some slippers and decent winter shoes. I was a bit depressed at how much money this exercise cost us, but it had to be done. Today I packed all the shoes that are too small for both away for good as well as Marco’s old shoes that could still be used for Magnus. My kids hate wearing shoes anyway and a lot of Marco’s shoes have hardly been worn. It’s only in Magnus’ current size that we don’t seem to have anything wearable. Estcourt winters unfortunately demand shoes…

You have to curse the short-legged gene that both inherited from…well, follow my eyes. Whenever I have to buy a two-piece, the pants are way too long while the top is just about right or even too small. And the irony is that they are actually tall for their age.

This afternoon I took a nap while Magnus slept. When we woke up, Marco got into bed with me and we read a story while we snuggled. Later we joined Dirk at the swimming pool where he was valiantly trying to get rid of all the leaves in the pool after the stormy weather we had. I took the leave blower and with Magnus shrieking with indignation at the noise it makes, I vacuumed around the pool. Marco was jumping on the trampoline and playing in the leaves. Then he insisted on swimming. I baled out, but Dirk swam with him. The water was freezing and the two of them lasted only a few minutes before they ran home and took a hot bath.

Marco was difficult all evening and was sent to my room for time-out. He reacted with noisy feigned crying and I had to really try hard not to lose my temper with him. I could see that he was tired though and after supper, a milky drink and cleaning his teeth, I read him a story. He fell asleep before I could finish the book. Magnus popped in every so often to pester the cat who’d curled up at Marco’s feet, bring his brother a teddy bear and offer slobbery kisses. He does not really share his brother’s enthusiasm for books. But after Marco slept I tucked him into bed and he fell asleep without a murmur.

Peace at last.

Just the same

A couple of weeks ago I woke up all headachey and didn’t think much of it until the next day when I started feeling really ill. I had joint pains fever, headaches and shivers. A nasty rash followed and for two weeks I could barely walk. It could have been a number of things, but it seemed most like a very bad case of Rubella. So, I stayed home (not that I wanted to go anywhere LOL) took mild painkillers and I’m slowly but surely on the mend. It does not look like either Dirk or the kids caught it. If it was Rubella, this would have been the third time I’ve had it. So, a warning to pregnant women: Even if you think you are immune to it, rather keep away from anybody with Rubella. You can get it more than once. I’ve had vaccines against it as a child and again as an adult. Vaccines are not effective in protecting you.

The whole episode forced me to re-look at the way we eat, my poor sleeping patterns and the amounts of caffeine I ingest daily. I’m happy to report that those things have been taken in hand.

I seem to have more energy than before and have finally dealt with a couple of problems that I’ve been trying to ignore. Like our poor old Spaniel’s ears. He’s had an ear infection since before we left Pietermaritzburg and although I’ve taken him to the vet who prescribed antibiotic, cortisone and a number of creams and ointments, we just could not get the ears completely cleared. After forcing myself to spend a few minutes a day consistently cleaning the ears and putting ointment on them and carrying on after the ears seemed to have cleared, I think we’re on the road to success. I’m now adamant that even if it takes me doing the ear routine every day for the rest of his life, I will do it.

Sometimes ignoring a problem makes the problem eventually sort itself out. But mostly, sadly, things don’t work out this way.

We’ve started taking Marco to a child psychologist after we realized that he had difficulty dealing with some aspects of Loren’s death. This past week he touched on the subject and I could hear that he finally “got” that there was nothing he could have done to save Loren. Also that he cannot bring Loren back. He knows that he need not fear that Magnus will die as Loren had particular health problems. I’m sad that my child has had to work through something as profound as this. But I’m glad that he was able to.

We’ve been in Estcourt for almost a year and I do think that we did the right thing for our family in moving here. It hasn’t been an easy year, but things have fallen into place remarkably well. Marco is currently refusing to go to pre-school. But everybody is fine with that. I’m looking at homeschooling, but there’s no real sense of panic or urgency. I’m enjoying the kids.

With the anniversary of Loren’s death day approaching, we are all feeling more emotional than usual. The 26th will be a Sunday and I’m not sure how we will spend it. I cannot believe it has been two years. Magnus is 21 months old – the same age Marco was when Loren was born. Somehow, Marco seems more mature in my memories of those days, but when I look at Magnus I realize he was not much more than a baby. He was better at expressing himself, though and I now see what a blessing that was.

Mostly, we know how fortunate we are. Other days, we struggle just to get through the day. This makes us not much different from anybody who reads here.

For a moment I’ve felt a glimpse of other lives. Lives that have touched ours in common experiences and in sharing the same feelings. I feel blessed.

Human

Humankind is rotten through and through. We have a history of cruelty against each other. We destroy – not only the earth around us, but also our own bodies. And we do it knowingly, in most cases.

We are brainwashed to become humanists.

“humanist – of or pertaining to a philosophy asserting human dignity and man’s capacity for fulfillment through reason and scientific method and often rejecting religion; “the humanist belief in continuous emergent evolution”- Wendell Thomas”

Sounds beautiful, doesn’t it? There’s even a so-called Christian Humanism for those who balk at the idea of religion being rejected. Except when the humanist is asked to define human dignity or if he is placed in a situation where he has to conclude that there is no fulfillment possible through reason. As for the scientific method… Excuse me while I snigger. Drug trials funded by the companies manufacturing the drugs?

We are educated to become cruel in the guise of being kind. Very few of us are able to see through the phrases which become devoid of meaning in the instant that they become personal. And it is only when someone near to us is affected that we begin to care enough to say: Enough!

We need instant gratification. We want to be associated with success and anything or anybody who does not correspond with the world’s idea of successful gets margnialized. We pity them, we say. Not taking into account that pity is a largely useless emotion. Unless it prompts us to do something useful for the person we claim to pity.

I had an interesting conversation with a friend who is knowledgeable in the field of art history. Primitive people grow up without an awareness of the landscape, he says. The land is merely is source for survival. But it seems awareness is something that needs to be nurtured in all cases. He took art students in their first year out on field trips and many of them confessed that this was the first time in their lives that they’d been made aware of things like the formation of the clouds or the light on water. And most of these students were people who grew up in sophisticated homes.

The other day we drove past a settlement close to the Drakensberg’s Kamberg nature park. The Drakensberg is a World Heritage Site. It is amazingly beautiful. Yet, barely five kliometers from the gates there are people using the crystal clear streams as refuse dumps. Yes, they probably don’t have a refuse removal system. But what stops them from creating their own? Agreeing to dump refuse in a designated place for example. Are they oblivious to the damage they do? Does the outline of the mountains towering above them mean nothing to them? Is chaos the preferred state?

Apparently yes, no and yes. If my friend is correct, the people living there is as unaware of the beauty surrounding them as a colour blind person of colour.

So is doing damage knowingly worse than damage done through ignorance? Whose responsibility becomes damage done through ignorance?

The answer, in my opinion, is: Ours. We who do know better. The people to whom the clouds and the light on the water and the breathtaking scenery were pointed out. The people who should be educating other people. (Whether the education will make any difference, is another question altogether.)

As for the people doing damage knowingly…

May God help them.

I’m not really talking about art history or landscapes or pollution here, of course.

Bland no more

I opened the washing machine – chuffed with the fact that I was ahead with most of my chores for the day – and stared in disbelief at the mess inside. A disposable nappy got washed with the other washing and after not being able to absorb any more moisture, it burst open. Two hours later, after scooping up handfuls of water absorbent crystals from the washing machine, putting it on a rinse cycle and rewashing the clothes (twice) my chores were way behind schedule and I felt as if I sneaked a week’s worth of living into one day.

The day before the kids had played in mud. Their sand pit had rain dripping into it, creating a lovely mud bath and before I knew it, they both sat down in the mud. They were as happy as clams and looking the part too. For the better part of an hour they scooped mud into containers, ran their hands through it and gleefully laughed at the mess. At some point I decided enough was enough, closed up the sand pit and started with damage control. I stripped both naked. Magnus was missing a shoe and I found it where it had been sucked into the mud. I rinsed most of the mud from the clothes and wiped what I could from Magnus. Marco allowed me to hose him down. Magnus’ sopping wet disposable nappy got taken off and I rushed both the boys inside to a hot bath. The nappy was bundled up with the clothes and, absentmindedly, I must have thrown that, together with the soiled clothes into the washing machine. Clever.

We decided to move Marco into the room we’re using as a nursery for Magnus. He’s not sleeping well by himself and Dirk ends up sleeping with him most nights. The problem comes in when Dirk has to leave for work early. Sometimes I can convince Marco to get into bed with me and sleep another hour or so, but often he’s disoriented and does not get back to sleep properly. We thought that sharing a room might help. So far it’s not really working, but we won’t give up yet.

Friday, a bit tired of the bland interior of what is now until further notice, the boys’ bedroom, I decided to repaint it using leftover paints. All we needed was a new bigger brush and a roller which we went off to buy.

Marco was all fired up about the project. I set him to work on masking off the skirting while I put the washing on the line and tried to get Magnus to nap. Tried being the operative word here. Marco had done masking the skirting for the bigger part of one wall before he got fed up and came to see where I was. He wanted to know when we could start the actual painting and no amount of explaining about all the preparation work that still needed to be done could convince him that he couldn’t start painting straight away.

I took off one of the seventies-style wooden pelmets as I want to fit a blind at that window. For the longest time I had contemplated doing that and couldn’t quite figure out how to get the nails holding the pelmets down out. Then I realized I simply needed to knock the pelmet off by using a hammer and some force. We live and learn and soon the dark pelmets overwhelming the bathrooms are also going. That is a promise!

Then I discovered a problem with damp on two walls where I had to scrape off bubbling paint. Eventually I only started painting after lunch. Marco helped me do some brushwork and I allowed him to use the roller to get a feel for it. But he’s too impatient and after I made him go back and redo a patch, he got annoyed and left to go play. I was so concerned with him not making a mess, that I spilled paint all over!

At some point Magnus went to sleep, but woke up not quite rested and very angry with the world at large and me in particular. I had to carry him on my hip the rest of the afternoon as any attempt to put him down resulted in high-pitched wailing.

At bedtime on Friday I’d only done two walls in a neutral colour and they were sorely in need of another coat. I was starting to second-guess our choice of bright green for the other two walls, but I choose to look at it as a temporary thing anyway. The boys will not want to use a little room off their parent’s bedroom forever. Hopefully. And so the room wil eventually be used as part of the master bedroom suite again at which point I’ll repaint it. For now they both seem to enjoy the colour green and it goes somewhat with the green wall to wall carpet.

The painting’s officially finished and I’m happy to report that it looks fabulous. Marco came back and actually helped a lot. The paint was just enough for two coats. I’m not afraid of using colour and this is a really strong green – think apple or maybe shallot. Because the walls I’ve used the green on have windows which face onto the garden I feel that my eyes are drawn outward into the garden and that it makes the room feel bigger. And the neutral we’ve used is a very light beige with a lot of grey in it, making it appear cooler. It is a nice foil for the warm-toned green.

I must make up blinds for the bay window and one other window. I’ve got a checked fabric in toffee and cream that I once bought for duvet covers and never used. I also need to fashion cushions or upholstery for the window seat and I’m leaning towards vinyl upholstery. Leather would have been much nicer, but my budget does not stretch that far. Magnus has a toffee and green coloured duvet and I’m using a toffee and cream checked duvet that we had for Marco at the moment. A friend gave Marco some vintage advert plates with cars on them for his birthday and I’ve put them up above his bed. We have a lovely silkscreen print depicting a sunflower field and I intend putting that up. There are also prints of two darling fat cats that Magnus enjoy and a little painting with a herd of sheep that is framed in a similar way and they will look nice grouped together.

For the first time in a long long time I wasn’t feeling that I’m keeping tears just at bay. A lot of heaviness had lifted and the effect lasted for most of the weekend. I know it will be back. But it is also nice to know that there are things which can lift the sadness.

Hey, at the very least the room isn’t looking bland any more.

Brotherly blessings

I’m sure that I’m not the only one finding my own children utterly charming. I have a friend who used to say:”Aren’t children amazing?” while gazing lovingly at her daughter climbing like a little monkey all over my furniture. And I would think, “Yeah, right!” I was childless and more than a little jealous and I thought to myself that MY child would never be allowed to use other people’s furniture as jumping mats. It is a bit more than five years later and of course the leather couch I was so protective over is now kept together by not much more than spit and a lot of dirt. My children have done far worse things to it than my friend’s child ever could.

In the same manner, my prejudices, my ideas on childrearing and my ego have been panelbeaten by three little boys. And I’ve come to regard the words: “my child will never…” as a sure invitation for my child to go ahead and do that exact same thing. In front of witnesses. Who heard me say, “My child will never…” and who will laugh and point that out to me.

Of course all of it is good. I’m less inclined to judge other parents and more inclined to notice the better traits of my fellow human beings. I know that the mother who seems to be losing the battle against her four-year-old in a shop may have had only two hours sleep last night. And that wars can be won by conceding some battles. I know that the worst thing that can happen to a seemingly out of control child is that they hurt somebody’s ears a little. And that their mother’s ego may feel a little bruised afterwards. Those things seldom kill. The same child who acted out so badly a few days ago, might even get a compliment from a little old lady in a china shop for being so wellbehaved around the fragile wares of the shop..

I know that a screaming child is very likely not abused, but tired and at the wrong place at the wrong time. Her mother will get from me only sympathy.

The mother carrying or pushing a disabled child is not to be pitied or judged or evaded. She needs love and support, just like you do, and if you take the time to get to know her and her child, you will get to know human beings just like yourself and your children.

Marco and Magnus are really starting to play together nicely. They are testing their boundaries around each other. The games are mostly chasing games which make no sense to me whatsoever. One minute one will be doing the chasing and in the blink of an eye, turn around and start fleeing. They seem to take everything in their stride and every evening the house is filled with the giggling of two little boys. Spitting is another favourite pastime as is throwing water. I’m learning speedily that in the matter of what is regarded fun or logical things to do, my opinion differ vastly from my childrens’ opinions.

I’m not allowed to punish Magnus in any way or Marco will intervene and chastise me for doing that to “his baby.” Of course Mr Magnus does not get off that lightly. He’s every bit as naughty as his brother at the same age and definitely more daring to boot.

Loren’s memory is still surprisingly strong as far as his older brother is concerned. We try to be natural about it – neither forcing the memories nor evading them. The other night Marco said something which made me think that he felt responsible for not looking after his brother the night of his death. Which is strange, because we never expected him to look after his brother. He mentioned watching a video – something I’ve forgotten about long ago – and said that he didn’t watch Loren and Loren died. I reassured him that even though we were all there and looking out for Loren, it still happened and that he was in no way responsible. Then he wanted to know how we could make it better. I asked him what he meant and he said he wanted Loren back. I answered that we couldn’t. But that we will all be together again one day.

The last month or so has been difficult for me. I’m just sad. So so sad. I seem to be past the stage where tears come. Mostly I can talk about him dry-eyed and coolly. But the sadness is a constant companion. I have learned to live, laugh and function around it. It remains – like a rock in my soul. The anniversary of his death is approaching and I can’t help but wonder at how much our lives have changed in the space of two years. How different it all would have been if he was still alive.

Peace with the situation is not so much acquired with time or with reasoning than with simply knowing that the status quo is all we have to work with. We are still lucky. We are still some of the more fortunate members of society. And to mope and moan about our situation would be to deny our many blessings.

Boys will be boys (or something!)

Magnus fell and split open his eyebrow rather badly. Him getting hurt was only a matter of time, as I’ve darkly pointed out on a number of occasions. He’s definitely the more adventurous of the boys and at that dangerous age where a lot of movement takes place without much thought. Marco has never even drawn blood, injuring himself. He was the guy resorting back to crawling for a good six months after he started walking whenever the terrain looked just slightly uneven.

Ironically Marco was the cause of the accident. Pulling a rug out from under his brother. Yeah. No matter how often we talk about these things, they never listen. Hopefully with the sight of all that blood in mind, the message will stick. He cried as hard as his brother and reassured us over and over that he didn’t mean for his brother to get hurt. And he was the guy who came running with ice. Which – in hindsight – probably helped a lot to stop the bleeding.

We rushed Magnus off to the local GP who gamely tried stitching him together while the receptionist – who’s also the doctor’s wife – and I tried keeping Magnus still. Dirk is all for taking Magnus to a plastic surgeon while I only heard the part about the general anaesthesia necessary if we want to redo the stitches. He’s still young and he has a light skin which will not show a scar that much. I say let sleeping dogs lie.

I’ll feed him Arnica tablets and rub Vit E into the scar once it has healed. Any other advice for reducing scarring?

We’ve had so many birthdays recently. Marco’s cousin, Legan, was four on the 11th, Marco was five on the 14th and Dirk has his birthday today. We won’t say how old he is! Marco’s best friend at school also has his birthday today, while a good family friend and my mother have their birthdays on Sunday and Monday respectively.

So we’re all partied out and I cannot stand the thought of another piece of cake. With my sweet tooth, that’s got to count for something!

In some totally unrelated news – we’ve had a tire blowout on Saturday and Dirk went through a pothole on Monday night and bent the car’s rim. The condition of the roads is really getting worse and worse. But South Africa is still a good place to live, despite some niggles.

We’ve had missionaries from Uzbekistan stay with us over the weekend. And they told us how they once ended up in a part of the city where there was no gas and the electricity got cut off with monotonous regularity. During winter. At least we have mostly good weather.