This summer is turning out to be everything I did not expect it to be. I thought we were going to have a quiet 12 weeks. Actually, I was worried that we were going to have a quiet 12 weeks. My older daughter is doing film camp towards the end of the month; we are going to Pennsylvania next Monday for a week - a break I am really looking forward to. No phones, no schedules and no televisions - although i am not too sure if my kids are going to fall for this part of the vacation. But I am willing to buy them off with a visit to the Crayola factory and maybe a trip to the zoo!

But back to what has been happening since we went on our break. I signed the girls up for swimming lessons at the pond. It is the most cost effective value for money swimming lessons I have ever come across. The instructors are all super with the kids of all ages, and both my girls look forward to learning the tricks of being bouyant in the water. My youngest has her lesson at 10am and my eldest has her lesson at 11am. We arrive at 10am and set up camp for the morning. Put out mom’s beach chair, lay out the towels, and put on swimming goggles. My younger angel runs to the instructor and then plunges into the water showing no signs of the fear that gripped her earlier in the season. When her lesson is over, my elder daughter and I take her back to her daycare (which is currently like camp). We leave our chair and towels there so that when we return for the next swimming lesson, we still have our little spot in the shade.

There is one big tree that provides shade all morning until about 1:30pm. A spot in the shade is at a premium by 11am so if you can get there when we do and secure your spot, you are set. Because swimming lessons run for three weeks, the same moms and dads arrive every day at the same times to bring their young ones to learn to swim. Like me, many use the lessons as “time at the beach” which lets the young ones enjoy being in the water under the supervision of a well qualified instructor (you see, I am no big swimmer and it has to be REALLY hot for me to actually get in!). Everyday we greet each other politely when we arrive when the gates open for lessons (the swimming public are only allowed in a half hour later) - each of us knowing where our regular spot is and where everyone else sits.

And what from the road running by looks like moms and dads sitting on the beach watching their children swim, has practically taken on a life of its own.

There is “Don’t touch the baby” Mom who herds around her children (especially the youngest daughter) so that other children can’t touch them. I actually overheard her tell her son not to play with the sandcastles another child built - complete with bridges - because “…you don’t know who built them and where they have been!”

“I need public recognition” Mom is there too. Everything she says to her kids is extra loud so that we can hear everything. “Yes, darling, of course you can have your organic, fair trade, local farmer’s market strawberries, while I eat my organically grown whole wheat pasta salad with sprouts,” she enunciates while frowning heavily at “I don’t need sun protection” singed mom who is scoffing nibbling on her M&M ice cream while her son downs a soda in almost one swoop.

There is “silence is golden” dad who has not said one word to his little boy that has not come out as a whisper. Mind you, he is rather good looking and well built so we don’t need him to talk. I saw “Don’t touch the baby” Mom give him the once over when he planted his towel and bag in the middle of us. Brave man! Another dad arrives - I think of him as “ultimate sunblock 500″ - I think he uses about one can of sprayable sunblock a day. With the layers he puts on himself (and I assume his children too), they must be protected to the hilt. I sunblock my children too with nothing less than 75, but layered to the point of your skin actually turning blue, is taking it a little too far. I make sure that if I arrive before him I am not sitting downwind…that spraying sunblock can sure travel…

Me? I sit on my beach chair reading “The Last Lecture” drinking my water quietly while I watch my children frolic. I occasionally arise and go stand in the water, chat to one of the other moms I do know and when my eldest daughter is done, just before we leave for the day, we go and buy some slush. I am sure though that in the other parents’ minds I too must be an oddball. “She speaks funny and sits all day” Mom - that’s me!

An tomorrow this beach bee-itch will be back, in my usual spot, looking for the usual suspects…

I could hardly keep up with the news in the world this week. Our summer schedules have suddenly taken on a whole new dimension. The laundry now lies on the folding table, a forgotten pile of tumble dried entwined cotton and linen. The empty picture frames waiting for their fill of memories and family pics, lying abandoned on the dining room table; I think my kids think the generic family picture that comes with the frame when you buy it, IS actually our family back in South Africa.

The reason for all this newly found independence from household chores? The kids have started swimming lessons down by the lake. The younger one is at 10-ish and the older one is at 11:30 so I end up spending three hours down on the ‘beach’ at the water’s edge, pretending that I have no work to be done at home. I read a few pages of my book, eat a delicious slush, take a quick swim and then return home at around 1:30 just when the heat is getting to its peak and the beach starts becoming crowded. The timing is perfect. I am cultivating a very careful tan…it is amazing that you still burn (face it, when your skin changes color, it BURNS not tans) even when you are using sun protection factor 75!!!! The kids are as fair and unburnt as ever…three layers of SPF 75 works really well!

Last weekend was July 4th, and we spent the weekend quietly celebrating the independence of our new home. We had the obligatory BBQ. South African hubby, South African wife and a guest born in England and raised in Australia. We sat around watching all our American neighbors celebrating how they defeated the British and established their own country. We quietly observed these celebrations fearing some one shouting “The British are coming” and then proceeding to lynch the closest thing to the British which they can find (please read previous posts about how British/Australian etc I really am - anything but American). Fireworks are not permitted in our state but people travel down to other neighboring states to make purchases and then come home to light up their corner of a dark July 4th sky. They celebrate their American independence lighting their fireworks made in China, wearing their clothes made in Vietnam or Malaysia and at the end of the evening they get in to their Japanese cars and drive home to sleep on their beds made in Indonesia. Ah, independence is such a wonderful thing!

The rest of the weekend passed with much gardening being done, swims, baking, eating and the last of our little family of four suffering from a tummy bug Hubby brought home from his visit to China two weeks ago. I advocate sharing in my house - as wise Barney says, “Sharing is a special way of caring!”. But I hate it when Hubby takes it all so literally and feels that he has to share everything with us. He had it first (we put it down to jet lag), I got it a day later (we put it down to being exhausted), little one got it the worst on Thursday night (I could not put it down to anything) and then the older daughter came down with it on the Sunday. Thanks Mr Travelling Pants! We all got a little more of a taste of China than what we wanted.

So this week has been all about spending hours at the beach in hot humid weather, eating cool and delicious dinners and thanking the powers that be everyday that some bright spark had the brains to invent air conditioning! We had a huge thunderstorm tonight that was supposed to cool things down but that little plan did not really work out like it was supposed to. But another storm is brewing, getting ready for tomorrow night…after 18 years, I am putting my ballet shoes back on and attempting to at least look like a dancer. Whether I can actually do it, well that is another story for another blog…provided that my muscles do not completely seize up and totally incapacitate me!

…or not…or give it to them undercooked…yes…undercooked because that would seal a miserable day!

Okay so a week or more has passed since my horrific brunch experience and I am still bitter…can you tell? In retrospect I should have written this piece a lot earlier when I was angrier but with Hubby being in China, entertaining girls during the summer vac, deciding to change my entire house around, I have not had much time to write…happy though, the playroom has been moved to the basement room and I now have a study with a window!

So we went to the establishment at 10:30 - that was the actual time we sat down. We ordered by 10:40 because I knew that the big rush would start around 11:30 and I wanted us to be practically done by then. We got our juices and waited patiently for our delicious brunch. And that we did - waited and waited and waited. While Hubby and I entertained the girls (who were very well behaved) six other tables sat down around us and ordered too. It was 11:25 when I started getting a little annoyed that breakfast had not even shown signs of arriving. How long does it take to make four breakfasts? The six later tables were already eating by 11:35 when I called the waitress over. She look flustered and disappeared with promises of finding our food and serving us pronto…ah…promises…such empty promises…

The manager - looking like a rabbit caught in head lights - made his way to our table…

“Sorry for the long wait…you have been very patient…your food is in the window, I will bring you more bread…” and with that she shuffled off to the window, I so wrongly presumed…But the question is…where was the window - down at the Cape? He never returned with the promised bread or the food.

By 11:45 I was standing behind my chair desperately trying to attract the attention of anyone who looked like they worked at this factory…but no one would make eye contact with me, not even the busboy who cleared the table next to us with his back turned to us, just in case I caught his eye.

And then the trumpets sounded and the manager walked out holding three plates of food…yippeee it must be ours. He avoided eye contact and walked straight past me to another later table and served them. I stared him down until the piercing firey daggers emanating from my eyes gave him no other choice by to turn around. I mouthed NOW! because by now I had completely lost my patience with him, the chefs/cooks (I still would say chefs until the food actually did come), the waitress and anyone else who had their emblem emblazoned on their work shirts.

After a wide detour Head Light Rabbit made his way to our table. He came with food. A good offering to the Goddess of Lets Start Throwing Some Plates Around. The children were relieved and hungry. We tucked in. However, looking down at my plate I saw fried eggs and not poached as I had ordered. But it was now about principal. If you are going to make me wait ONE HOUR AND FIFTEEN MINUTES for my breakfast, you damn well get the order right. My plate disappeared into the black hole of the kitchen, maybe forever. Ten minutes later it reappeared. I tucked into the poached eggs. I raised the fork to my mouth and took a bite - the eggs were cold and were RAW! I spat them out into the bowl behind the napkin - very dignified in an undignified situation. I looked up at my eldest daughter who had turned green.

“I ate some eggs and my stomach turned Mom, the eggs are raw.”

I took her to the bathroom in case she wanted to throw up. Heaven knows, I felt like doing that. I came back to the table and announced to Hubby, on Father’s Day, that brunch was officially over - it was now 12:45, I had not eaten anything and I think I would have had better service and food at a roadside shack. Hubby took the two kids to the car, while I marched off to the cowering Rabbit standing hiding behind the pillar at the cash register. Rabbit said that they had not expected the rush.

“Rush?” I asked astonished. “Are you kidding me, it is Father’s Day, and from where I am standing I count let’s see, one, two, three……fifteen empty tables? How many can you seat in this place?”

“Two hundred…” he said slowly.

“Then you should be able to feed and serve two hundred.”

I was keen to get my kids home and try to salvage what was left of the day. Rabbit deducted the two big breakfasts, I paid and left. At home, I was furious for myself when I looked at the bill again. I had paid for two breakfasts which were not eaten, one of those I paid for contained raw eggs too. I paid for coffees I had ordered for after brunch which were not even served yet. I logged onto the company website and wrote my complaint - dignified but furious at the disastrous day.

Four days passed and no word. I looked up some consumer complaints websites. Friday night, at 6pm my phone rang. Another manager from said restaurant. Apologies and acceptance of dropping the ball on their part were abundant. I was pleased. But no refund of my $55-00 for a non-existent breakfast. But instead a gift card in the mail. Not sure I will be eating there again but they are known for their cheesecake and I might just spend the card on that.

So, yes, I am having cake…hopefully it is not underbaked…

It is a Thursday afternoon, actually evening, and I am sitting in a stuffy high school auditorium watching my daughter’s dance recital rehearsal. My youngest came at 3:30 and did her bit and then I took her home to dinner and dad was armed with the Wii.  My eldest is in a number of items in the show and has rehearsal from 3.30 all the way through to 8pm tonight. It is a long day but the girls enjoy it so much. All the make up, the hair is done, the costumes are organized. At least my kids’ costumes are organized. Young little Anna Pavlova’s costume is just one outfit, one hair piece, one pair of shoes and very little stage make up. I have a laundry basket for her and all her goodies are in there.

Older daughter A.K.A. Dame Margot Fonteyn is a little more complicated. She has three numbers, three different costumes, three head pieces, two sashes and two different pairs of shoes. I hate not finding things and definitely do NOT want to make an enemy of the girls’ dancing teacher so I have really jacked my game. Each costume is in a separate suit bag, marked in the costume and on the bag. Each head piece, different pair of tights, sash and shoes each has its own Ziploc bag inside the applicable suit bag. All suit bags are in the laundry basket together with snack, make up bag, hair and reading material, the DS and her cell phone. Okay so now you think I am totally anal about this and that actually:

1. I need to get a life,
2. I need to get a job,
3. I am seriously disturbed.

But you know, I do not do this because I am one or all of the above. I do it for my children and I will tell you why…

The rules of the studio are clear:

1. Keep all your costume pieces together and have all of them for dress rehearsal.
2. Have your hair in a bun with no wispy bits.
3. Have full stage make-up (big girls) and just the blush and lips for the really little ones.
4. Be on time…

The rules are simple and easy to follow. However, there are some parents who think that the rules don’t really apply to them. After all these are just kids and not really anything to take too seriously. They arrive late…one woman today did not do her child’s make up…another lost a head piece and was very blasé about that and the fact that the girl’s hair was not done…the last mother also was missing the rope from the bodice of the costume. The principal was horrified. And so was I actually.

You do these things and keep to the rules so that your children look the part. So that they don’t look like the odd one out with no hair done or costume pieces missing. I do it out of respect for my children and the hard work they do throughout an entire year of practices and going to dance class in the snow and the heat waves. I do it for them because I love them and I want them to have a good time.

I must be honest though on Monday, I was so wishing that the concert would just fly by. There is so much to organize and there is so much to juggle.  My eldest is fine…she loves all the action and excitement…it is the youngest one that is the most testy. She is not fond of all the schedules and deadlines but today she coped like a true little star performer.

I am sitting here watching the rehearsal. The kids are brilliant. Not just my kids…all the kids…they are living in each and every moment. The older girls are breathtaking and the young ones bring tears to your eyes. All their hard work is paying off and I am proud of each and every one of them and I am especially proud of my two girls…So to those mothers who could not care less…take one singular moment and realize just how sensational your children are!

*****

Please go to Just A Thought and watch the clip linked to Sylvie Guillem…

While lazing in the amazing weather we had this weekend, Hubby and I were thinking about our list of things we would really like to do given the opportunity and no obstacles!

So here is my preliminary Bucket List - subject to change:

1. Drink champagne in Luxembourg.

2. Go on another African safari.

3. Learn to ski in Bamff.

4. Have a (bit) part in the stage production of Grease.

5. See all my friends and family from around the world in one place at one time for a big party!

6. Live in Tuscany.

7. Balance my check book!

8. Learn to surf (I know, I will have to overcome my fear of the ocean and sharks first!)

9. Learn to cook authentic Italian food.

10. Have a dinner party at home with John Travolta, Rubi Wax, Graham Norton, Bill and Hillary and John McEnroe as my guests (of course I would either cook my authentic Italian food or get a caterer!).

11. Leave a legacy for my children…

I suppose if I look back on my list in even a week or two, it might be different, but that is how it is today…Not sure what I could get done…but I think I have a better shot at number 10 than number 7!!!

I am on new uncharted territory for me. I have a tween - you know the children that are precariously balancing between being a young child and teenager - a tween. I am flying blind and by the seat of my pants here because she is my eldest.

Tweens find themselves in difficult positions. They are trying to create their own identity - independent of their parents but somehow letting go is difficult because they are facing so many new challenges in their young lives. My 11 year old daughter is at that stage now. We joke about it occasionally when her eyes roll at our suggestions - that we have a teenager in the house but sometimes at the end of the day, I look back and it is no joke.

My daughter loves being with us - she still enjoys family days out, eating around the table as family (which we do without thinking or planning at least five times a week). Family time for her is number one. She has many friends that don’t have that stable time in their lives. Their parents eat separately, different meals, and don’t spend any quality time with their children. So my bright child does consider herself lucky to have that.

But the problem I don’t think is her being a tween - it is me being the mother of a tween. I am not sure how to cope. How do I let her discover who she is without letting the rules fly out the window? How do I let her explore her world without cramping her style and become that nagging parent.

Make no mistake. I am a firm believer in my personal mantra: I am my child’s mother, parent, first and foremost. I see so many parents making the mistake of trying to be their child’s friend. It does not work because the loss of respect, I feel, is inevitable. There is such a fine line between wanting your child to have fun with you and enjoy your time together and losing those boundaries that ultimately lay the foundation of a good parent-tween relationship.

So every day I am tested: I get eye rolling, the sighs and the skirting around tasks which ultimately makes me feel like I am losing a bit of control. So ‘punishments’ for the lack of a better word (I hate the word punishment by the way) are figured out. But how do you discipline some one who is by all accounts as close to perfect as I could possibly hope or pray for?

My daughter does her homework with being asked to. She does extra credit work because she wants to. She excels academically. She is committed to her after school activities. She is a good friend. She does not watch more than 30 minutes of television a day and that even is generally when we all sit together at the end of the day so it ends up being a program on National Geographic or the Discovery Channel. She does not play on the PSP or tv games console during the week - only on the weekends and then even for less that 90 minutes. She reads a lot, she plays outside….the list of her good habits goes on and on and on.

But the attitude is a little dodgy sometimes. She tries to control every situation and will point out details and little shortcomings on my part often and the respect wanes in the way she speaks and acts at times. But as I write this, I also realise that in fact, this does not happen as often as what I might think. But what does worry me is that I seem to pointing out her faults and mistakes to her more than maybe I should.  I do praise her for her goodness, her dedication and her good work but when I point out the error in her ways, I get a look of disappointment - as though I have failed somewhere. I just want her to grow up being the adult that I know she can be - because she is our child we cherish and love and my friends all point out that we are lucky.

So my big question I suppose is - how do you give guidance without breaking the spirit? How do I become a successful mom of a tween so that my tween can be a successful, fulfilled adult?

I dream. I dream alot. I daydream too but my dreams I have at night are the most entertaining. And I remember most if not all of them - maybe not the next day, maybe I will only remember them a few days down the line. But most of the time I just laugh when I recall what my brain did the night before. And before you go and think all funny things about me, my brain and my dreams - none of them are like that….

When the Primaries got under way, I had a dream…There I was sitting at home when the front door bell rang. I got up from the laundry basket, opened the door and found a man standing at the door dressed in a cheapish black suit and dark glasses. My mind, in my sleep, leaned over and said to me “Are you having a Men in Black dream?” I decided that Men in Black was not what I felt like because I was not in the mood for aliens. I felt like some thing else…surprise me! The man in black leaned forward and said:

“Senator McCain would like a word with you…he is in the car…”

I looked startled at the Secret Service guy: “But I am a democrat…”

I got into the car and was whisked off to dinner at Legal Seafood. John then asked me for advice on his campaign strategy! I spent the evening telling him that in actual fact, his best strategy would be to convert to democrat-ism and run with Obama! The next thing I knew the secret service dude grabbed my by the arm and shoved me back into my living room to finish my laundry…

******

The other night I fell asleep and found myself sitting outside a blue condo under the shade of a parasol, sipping a mojito. A beautiful old Chevy pulled up and a guy got out and lit a cigarette. I looked at him suspiciously and said:

“No smoking allowed here.” He turned around and smiled and looked at me with that Do you know who I am?  look in his eyes.

“Sorry,” he said. “Hey, I have tickets available to my show tonight, do you want to come?”

Who is this dude and why is he offering me tickets to his show? I casually said yes and took the tickets. I walked inside my house and went into the living room to tell my boyfriend we had plans for the evening. Now remember, this is a dream and I am actually married in real life. He asked what show the tickets were for. I looked at the tickets and did not recognise the name.

“Bon Jovi.” I said not knowing who they were. Again, remember this is a dream - I am a huge fan of Bon Jovi. He asked who gave me the tickets.

“Some guy called Jon…” I answered. Boyf got up from the sofa and walked over to the kitchen. My dream brain caught up with my awake brain and I smiled. This was a good one. Leonardo di Caprio turned around and smiled at me…

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked…

I don’t have a cohesive post today. There are few things that were on my mind but I could not choose only one to write about so I am going to give a little time to each: some are serious and some are not…

Where are you now?

On May 3rd this year was the one year anniversary of the disappearance of Madeleine McCann - the little 3 year old British girl who vanished in Portugal while on holiday with her parents and twin siblings. I don’t want to get into all the theories of how and why she disappeared. But her continued absence struck a cord with me. I have two daughters and the thought of not knowing where your child is or if they are alive, must be to a parent, the worst feeling in the world. When I studied at university in South Africa, there was a fellow student of mine who went on a working holiday across Europe with his girlfriend in 1992. His name was Delarey McWilliam Smith and his girlfriend was Anita Swaak. In May 1993, they were last seen in Greece while traveling between the Greek islands and Italy. They were due to fly home in August of 1993 but never came home. They have never been seen again and to this day no one knows what happened to them. There was one sighting of them in June of that year but nothing concrete and all clues ran cold. I was not friends with him and if he were alive today, I am not sure if he would even know who I was. We heard about the disappearance in 1993 and for the last 15 years, it has been in the back of my mind. Where are they now? Are they alive? Do they know who they are? I can not even begin to think of what must be going through their parents minds. There were news reports, pleas for information - all at a time when we were not as equipped as today to get the message out there. How long do you grieve for missing people - your missing children. For eternity. How long will we have to wait to find out about Madeleine McCann? Will I still be thinking about it in 15 years?

In the USA, approximately 58 000 children a year are abducted by a non-family member. According to the White House, about 200 000 children are abducted by a family member usually with a custodial dispute of some sort. Of the 100 reported stranger abduction (the most dangerous kind) 40% are murdered. Tough statistics to read when you have children, impossible if you are looking for your missing kid.

Yes, the war in Iraq

The war in Iraq is on every one’s lips now a days, as the politicians battle it out to be the nominee or the next president. I was living in the UK when Bush launched Shock and Awe in Iraq. I don’t think I was ‘awed’ but I was definitely ’shocked’. It was like watching a movie. It could not possibly be real. I have never supported the war but I have always supported the troops. I have definitely always felt with the parents, children, wives and husbands who have loved ones serving in both Iraq and Afghanistan. After all, they are making the ultimate sacrifice. Then we moved here and my heart was touched by the yellow ribbons I saw on the gates and front doors of homes. Homes of families who were waiting for a loved one to return - waiting for a loved one who may never return.

I know this couple, their children attend the same daycare as my youngest. He is a fireman (already a huge hero to me) and a loving father to his two kids. He has already served abroad with the military and has once again been called up to do his patriotic duty. This changed the war for me. I still don’t support it but now I actually know someone who is going over there to fight. Now as I drive between school and afternoon dance classes and girl scouts, I look at the ribbons through new eyes and the significance they carry for those they represent is overwhelming. Stay safe my friend, stay safe.

Soccer Hooligan

What a wonderful example to set for young children, especially those in the UK. Joey Barton. Who? I hear you ask. Joey Barton - a twenty-something football/soccer player for Newcastle United in the UK. He has just been sentenced to 6 months in jail for assault and affray. What a waste of the talent that he has been given. He is earning a very good living by doing something he obviously enjoys but has chosen to be a thug instead. These are people that children look up to. Football/soccer is a religion in the UK and many children look up to these sporting stars as an inspiration to achieve something with there lives. I know, Joey Barton is not the first and he definitely won’t be the last.

Gas

Gas is costing around $4-00 a gallon here in my neck of the woods. It is up 68 cents compared to this time last year. I don’t drive much, thank heavens. Hubby commutes in on the train so my monthly budget for gas is relatively low. Coming from the UK, initially, I could not understand why Americans complain about the gas prices in this country. Where I lived we were paying $10 per English gallon. That is right TEN DOLLARS and remember that an English gallon is less than an American gallon. Granted the cars are smaller with smaller gas tanks and the public transport is so good, you really could get around without a car. But still ten dollars a gallon. However, my rose tinted glasses with which I viewed this country have slightly gone off color. Things are more expensive than they were two years ago. But coming from where I have come from (both SA and the UK), life is still pretty good here and is still pretty affordable if you shop around.

Can I speak to a real person?

I have had the displeasure of having to phone a few service providers over the last few days to schedule furnace repairs, cable box replacements, Internetconnection repairs, amongst others. Never have I felt more like an outsider, a foreigner than when I am confronted with an automated assistant. Press 1 for English, 2 for Spanish. So I press 1. You need to speak your answer but little Miss Automated does NOT understand my South African accent. I am sorry, I did not get that. So I shout ‘Customer Representative’ for the 10th time. I am sorry, I did not get that. Let me transfer you to a customer representative. Why thank you, you are so kind. Our customer service center is currently closed. Please call back between 8am and 5pm. I look at my watch. 5:07pm. When I placed the call it was 4:50pm. Please help me not to go crazy here….

******

So these are my issues today. But on a lighter note. I had the windows cleaned. They are old and with permanent storm windows at the top so me clingingclimbing on a ladder outside trying to wash them is not a good idea. The company arrived this morning. Cleaned all the windows and did it all in a half an hour. I was impressed. But today I felt like a desperate housewife for the first time in my life - ogling the 20-something year old Enrique Iglesias look alike who was adding a shine and sparkle to my day as he washed the windows! I am sure I will call them back again to wash the windows before the winter!

A while ago, my eldest daughter turned 11. Eleven! OMG where has all the time gone! But this post is not about how big she is now, and connected to that, how old I am getting (or am!). So fret not, I am not having a middle-age crisis right now - I will save that for another day.

On the day of her birthday, it was a school day, I decided as I do with every birthday, to cook the special dinner. I planned the menu, all of her favorites: Roast pork loin, roast potatoes, chocolate bread and butter pudding, etc. etc. etc…. The table in the dining room had to be laid properly - white linen, good dinner ware and decorations. We have a chandelier type light fitting so I thought of hanging pink and lilac balloons on silver ribbon from that, with pink tulle on the table and pink flowers. Very pretty. I had everything except the pink balloons. No crisis there - before baking the birthday cake and making the pudding, I could nip to the craft store, pick up the pink balloons and the ribbon.

11:00am - hop in the car and dart off to the craft store. I wonder through the birthday section, the wedding section both with no joy in finding pink balloons. I look in the baby section but only find pink ones emblazoned with “It’s a Girl!”. Well, I know she is a girl - she has been in my house for 11 years, so those will not do. I asked the assistants for help - it took me ten minutes just to do this - they were deeply involved in their conversation about another assistant who was having boyfriend issues involving an ex, a police cruiser and an amount of bail money. Finally, the assistants looked at me, the mother with the last minute list of to-do things (clearly to them I am a bad planner) and told me indignantly that they do not sell balloons. Technically they do (It’s a girl/boy and Congratulations graduate) but they don’t.

No panic yet, a major toy store is just across the parking lot. Run in there and dash to the party section. Invitations, wrapping paper, party favors, streamers, cake toppers, ribbons but NO BALLOONS.

“So how can I help you today?” I turned around startled at the over-friendliness of the question to find the trainee assistant manager beaming at me - his double chin vibrating with the sheer anticipation of being of assistance to me - the by now, panic stricken, clock watching, clearly disorganised mother of the birthday girl.

“Hi, I am looking for pink balloons…” I gasped with eagerness in my voice and a look of hope on my face.

“I love your accent, which part of England are you from?” he said with an air of authority. I sighed, this was going to take longer than I thought and for some or other reason, I did not opt to humor him and pretend I was an Oxford native - which I normally do to get out A.S.A.P. No this time I corrected the offender.

“Actually, I am from South Africa.  Balloons?”

“Oohhh, I have not been down to those parts in a long time.”

Those parts? Really? 

Instead I asked when trainee manager had been there last.

“I can’t tell you…” Why?

“I was there with, ah, I really should not tell you this…” and then a deep whisper…”special ops…”

OMG, when?

“1985!” he blurted… “this is all classified you know…we were training the military in that area to help combat the drug running ships on the south coast…”

I remained silent by mouth but my mind was screaming…Oh, bollocks! I lived on the South Coast and there was no massive drug running operations taking place. Sure we had some poachers in the seas but in the 80’s South Africa practically only new marijuana, no real hard stuff.  I looked at him knowingly…

“Surely, you mean you were in special ops in South America? I am from South Africa?” waiting with relief at his acknowledgement of his error. But he was insistent…

“No, South Africa…the military was assisting their military…”

Look pal…you are mistaken…but I pressed further…

So what did your ops entail?

“Oh, that is classified, I can’t tell…”

Oh, if you do, will you have to kill me…I eyed his price scanner with scepticism, it could do the job but would make an awful mess here amongst the spiderman and barbie party goodies…

“We helped them capture boats, confiscate drugs and arrest the runners…”

Classified hey? I said to him with a slow nod.

“Yes, very…” he said

Ah-ha…but do you have pink birthday balloons?

“Oh, no, sorry we are out of stock…but I do have, ‘It’s a girl’ ones!”

Mission impossible.  I smiled, thanked him for all the classified information and left the store…I could tell you what I was thinking, but then I would have to kill you.

It has been a weekend and a half in our house. Enough action to span four days, was crammed into a day and a half. Our weekend actually only begins at 11am on a Saturday when my youngest finishes her ballet lesson. Then we get to doing weekend things. Last weekend was glorious, we spent the entire time outside in the sun doing gardening, playing or having a barbecue (refer to Troubleshooting the Hubby).

This weekend we had to spend more of our time indoors because the weather was not playing along and gave us some wind and rain. So we moved furniture, cleaned an antique bed for our youngest’s room, got rid of stuff, steam cleaned the playroom carpet and replaced the winter clothes with summer ones in the closets. As I sit here tonight, I am exhausted, I don’t think that there is one muscle in my body that does not ache. Including my right knee and this is why…

On Saturday afternoon, my eldest daughter was busy working on a science project in her room, my youngest was playing with toys on the living room carpet, endlessly chattering to her dolls amusing herself. Hubby was perched on the rocking chair - his favorite spot to blog - doing what he does best - blogging. I decided it would be great to sneak upstairs and catch forty winks on my bed dappled with sunshine. I lay my head on my pillow and tickled one of my kitties who always sleeps on my bed. I must have been asleep for just 20 minutes when I heard this almighty scream coming from the living room. I jumped off the bed, grabbed my glasses from the bedside table and headed towards the stairs. The crying continued, interspersed by my husband trying to ascertain what had happened. I think I heard ‘nose’ as I headed down the stairs, two at a time. I was trying to put my glasses on at the same time. Now, normally, I am a legend at multi-tasking. But in my semi-comatose state I am not so good at running, thinking and seeing at the same time. I missed my step and in slow motion, fell forward down the stairs. My arms were flailing and were incapable of stopping or breaking my fall. Funny that, there is no grip on a painted wall. I put my right leg out - incidentally the same leg which has the knee that had me in physio for 12 weeks. The thing is, going down stairs and landing on a straight leg is not the ideal landing. My bottom is a lot flabbier than what it was 20 years ago but trust me when I tell you that butt flab does NOT soften the landing. My knee jolted and I traveled four stairs. But hey, bully for me, I managed to put my glasses on mid flight! I raced down hobbled down the rest of the stairs and flew into the living room: “What happened?”

“My nose, it is up my nose!” my four year old wailed. OMG, she is four years old and has only now decided to start depositing things up her nose? About four months ago, she swallowed a penny. When she pooped the penny, she promised that the only things that would go in her mouth were her food and her edible treats. Clearly I should have covered ears and noses in the mantra I said over and over again. Hubby, the hero looked up her nose and saw the offending object. “Should we go to the ER?” I asked dishevelled and panting slightly. But before my words were said, Hubby had removed the little piece of plastic: a jewel from Disney Princesses. I sat with her and calmed her down. She had got the fright of her life and although my heart was racing 100 miles per hour, I spoke soothingly to her and reassured her that she would be fine, as long as she no longer found alternative hiding places for her riches.

As I sat there I realised that the pain I was now feeling was no longer for the my daughter and her fear, but pangs coming up from my knee. Hubby then took the little one and I hobbled away and slowly climbed the stairs. In my room, I inspected my knee and if I did not know my anatomy, I would not have been able to tell you the front from the back. I sighed and lay down again on my bed, knowing that I could not recoup those 30 winks I have never had and that 10 winks were just not enough. I lay in the warm spring sunshine and started thinking where my knee guard was.

So, tomorrow is Monday. Normally the mere thought of the day would send a chill down my spine but somehow, I am comfortably relaxed about the beginning of the week. The house is looking relatively neat and I can go about my chores happy in the knowledge that Hubby is safe at work, eldest daughter is diligently working at school and that youngest is at daycare where somehow, she NEVER gets up to half the mischief she does at home!