“Your Song”- Elton John

Last Sunday was Mother’s Day and also marked the 40th day of my baby boy’s life. I was for the very first time celebrated as a mother. It got me thinking about the days preceding and why people are not more frank about the hardships of motherhood. It is a question I asked in desperation to every mother who visited my dimly-lit room and watched me fumble with the one-too-many-buttons and vests that threaten to crush my infant’s little arms. I desperately reached out to all mothers hoping to hear them confess how crazy they were when they brought home their little “bundles of joy”. Surely they, like me, worried constantly that they had mistakenly poisoned their baby with Milton, burned their baby’s mouth with a boiled dummy or pinched his skin in the car seat strap. How can something so stressful leave you with much sense of enjoyment? The awesome moments where you fall asleep sniffing his beautiful head are quickly forgotten when you have been awake for 3 hours with what you are sure is a ground-breaking new back muscle ailment and trying to figure out why he won’t stop crying.

And then the answer dawned on me. The magical 6-week mark. It’s not a myth people. Everyone told me to hold on until then but the advice got lame-zoned along with all the others being thrown my way. But like clock-work, at 6 weeks, I fell deeply in love with my little boy. I am besotted. This feeling has replaced the sense of responsibility and the survival instinct that I have been depending on to keep him alive so far. At 6 weeks, babies are more responsive, they begin to smile and little patterns begin to form. In the first 5 weeks my little one seemed to be acting on instinct too but now I feel as if we have finally turned a corner.

Motherhood is 1 part love and 1 part confidence. Despite all the chaos, feeling love for him was the easy bit. I distinctly remember the first night we brought him home and we were taking turns going out of our minds. On my husband’s turn he looked at me and said “I can’t wind him, I don’t know what I’m doing”, to which I replied: “I know you don’t but don’t let him know that”. Ironically, I would be the one to reveal all my insecurities, lack of confidence and even anger and frustration to my baby boy over the 5 week period. It is a low-point in your life when you are asking a newborn why he won’t latch* or why he is drinking his bottle so fast when he knows that he will just get terrible winds later on. Learning to read a baby is something every mother is capable of doing with time. And at 6 weeks I was able to distinguish between different types of crying and at least have an action plan should the crying persist. I finally don’t feel like I’m drowning and I finally feel like I am all my baby needs to make it in this world. Built inside of me are all the answers and capabilities I just needed to build up the confidence to see it.

I can remember wishing the days away so that we could fast-forward to summer. Summer where we could eat fruit, spend days equally long and warm by the pool and wet wipes wouldn’t make him wince in pain. But now I understand why people miss this time in their baby’s life once it very quickly passes.

It’s magical not to wish you were in another place or time or even that you weren’t so damn tired all the time. It means things are pretty peachy just the way they are.

*Baby only started latching on the 38th day

Three Cheers for the Small Town

My husband and I recently took advantage of the long weekend by road-tripping to Tulbagh. Tulbagh is one of many small town gems in the Western Cape.

When I travel, I try to make a point of blending in and not being an obvious tourist. It creates a more authentic experience and I’m left feeling like I really have gotten to know a place in time and a pocket of people. This is relatively easy to achieve in a small town.

We are spoiled for choice in the Western Cape. Towns are isolated from each other and far enough away from the city to feel like a different part of the world. I had been to Tulbagh once in my teens and had always felt like I wanted to return.

In my adulthood it is very apparent why this town is still so lovely to me. Tulbagh is Cape Dutch architecture at its best. Gables, thatch, stoeps (porches), wooden floors and window frames.

Tulbagh by night

In small towns, the stars shine so much brighter, the trees are taller, the hills are more commanding, the people are almost always nicer, the roads are safer, the lifestyle is simple and the colours are intensified. There are picturesque dams around every turn.
Small towns are known mostly for their produce and shops normally stock the town’s finest offerings. In Tulbagh there are many olive and wine farms and although I don’t eat olives nor drink alcohol, it is still impressive to see the great detail and care that goes into showcasing these products.

Tea at Tulbagh

The guest house that we stayed in overnight was called Vindoux Guest Farm, Luxury Tree House and Spa (www.vindoux.com). The Vindoux Guest Farm and Spa is about 5km from the town’s centre. Our accommodation, a tree house overlooking a mini game farm, also offered sweeping views of the Saronsberg mountain range and rows of divine orchards. The tree house has all of the essentials: a jacuzzi, a wooden deck, massive glass sliding doors and a homely touch like fresh flowers and a French coffee press. They offer the option of breakfast in bed which has a magical way of making you feel like royalty.

The biggest pool in Tulbagh was easy to find 15m x 8m and right outside our tree house

I relaxed in the spa the next day which was lovely and serene. In fact it was so calming that I fell asleep (a rookie mistake).

Tulbagh Titbits best viewed from the saddle of a mountain bike

On your way to Tulbagh? Be sure to try the Olive Terrace Bistro at the Tulbagh Hotel for a yummy and well-priced (by Cape Town’s standards) meal. We had the chickpea burger which has a great texture and is served with coleslaw and real potato fries (www.tulbaghhotel.co.za)

Look up Vindoux, they are running some awesome specials at the moment that give you real bang for your buck.

If you liked Tulbagh you’ll love Elgin, Franschoek and Montague.

Homesick in the time of Skype

Capetonians strive to be different. When the Hipster virus spread through the streets of Cape Town it was like a scene from Contagion. Hipsterism is the key to being set apart, to being cool first and to having the freedom to finally wear that mangy jersey you’ve been two minded about for 11 years. But more than anything, being a hipster means not having to be common*

It was on that *oxymoron of note that we jetted off to another country in December desperate to avoid the dreaded what-are-you-guys-doing-for-New-Year-scene. The question activates the pressure to come up with unique and Instagram-worthy moments on New Year’s Eve. But instead of competing with your neighbour and that girl you stalk from Pilates, you now have to compete with Kim Kardashian and Rihanna for Iger dominance.

I couldn’t wait to escape this.

My husband and I landed on foreign soil revelling in the idea of being completely unrecognisable for a couple of days.

And then a funny thing happened.

The search began.

What search you ask?

Well for familiarity of course. For something to call home. For a smiling South African face. A picture of Nelson Mandela in a Parisian bookstore. A wispy South African flag against a dreary London sky. A rooibos tea bag. A prized packet of Woolies ostrich biltong to be rationed with brute force.

Me and my Madiba in Paris

Upon seeing a group of women in traditional African attire I stupidly assumed they were what Capetonians would affectionately call mamas and I made a point of squeezing in next to them on a jam-packed tube. To my disappointment they were a bunch of locals. No unique accent. No shared history. No instant connection.

Imagine my sheer delight the day I found a South African Muslim woman in a tiny Islamic centre in Switzerland.  She was small, brown and she came complete with a set of gold teeth. Unmistakably Capetonian! Mind blown. After living in Switzerland for 36 years, she still had that Cape flats swag and was still fluent in Kombuis Afrikaans.

On a continent that is so starkly different from our own, there was enough dissimilarity to contend with. And with it becoming increasingly difficult to miss someone due to social media, it makes me wonder: is this what being Homesick in the time of Skype feels like?

New Year’s Resolutions. Revisited.

The last of my eyelash extensions fell to my desk with a thump as if to signal the end of my holiday glow.

It is with sadness I report that the post-Eurotrip high has reached its expiry date and not even a daily browse through our 2096-strong photo collection can bring it back.

Yes, it’s clear, life has returned to normal.

As we were away during the time I would normally have been making my long elaborate new year’s resolution list, I had to settle for mental notes and a delayed start. Here goes…

For my 2014 New Year’s Resolutions I thought I’d try something different. So I chose the theme realistic because I wanted to make simple but pertinent life changes and because a dose of realism goes well with my personality-type.

This is one of a very few images of a woman of colour i could find in a vegetable garden… going to try not to read into it 🙂 image from: world-crops.com

1. GROW MY OWN VEGETABLES
We were so lucky that during out Eurotrip we got to visit my friend, Kathi, and her family in Offenau in the Heilbronn district of Germany. Germans seem extremely conscious of what they put into their bodies. For instance, we had no salad while we were there because salad vegetables were out of season and they refused to eat any non-organic produce.

We were treated to home-made apple juice (kept in the cellar), home-grown spinach and free range eggs (as in the chicken who laid the egg was in our back yard). Besides being extremely relaxing, the trip inspired me to be more aware of what we are eating back home. I try to do the whole organic-free-range thing but often it’s just not affordable. That’s when I decided I would start my own veggie patch. I have been wanting to do it for a while but being exposed to that lifestyle just put me into gear.

Anticipated problems: I killed my plant (Finn) in October 2013.  Too much water?

Too much sunlight?

Too much love?

I don’t know the circumstances surrounding Finn’s death but I am anxious about mass murdering my vegetables.

Solution: By using google, I plan to become an overnight expert. Stay tuned to see the garden progress!

2. BEING A MORNING PERSON
Shortly after the death of Nelson Mandela, it occurred to me that no one ever became legendary by cutting corners or wasting time. They certainly didn’t observe the late nights and rushed mornings that I do. The resolution I made was to wake up when the sun rises and rest when the sun sets. That way, by the time the day begins, I wouldn’t feel like I need a coffee drip for my drive to work. Religions and other spiritual orders have promoted this lifestyle for thousands of years. And if you really think about it, it doesn’t get more logical than planning your day early and respecting your body’s need to rest at the end of a long day.
While I make an excellent and inspirational argument, I have turned out to be my own worst enemy. I am entirely in awe of people who spring out of bed in the morning and begin admin but I just can’t gather the strength to apply it to my own life. I want to be a morning person and I am determined to make 2014 the year where I see more sunrises than I miss.

Anticipated problems: That life gets so busy that I can’t establish a healthy routine and that when I do finally get into a good rhythm no-one else around me will be in one and as a result I will be the only person in my whole life getting the recommended 8 hours of sleep which will lead to the untimely end of my social life.

Solution: Simply that we have to be the change we want to see in the world.

Don’t let anyone tell you that new year’s resolutions are pointless. Creating the intention of moving towards a new and improved version of yourself is already half the job done.

 

Here’s some Steve Coogan to end off with:

The Secret of Life of Walter Mitty

This movie got me. If I was a movie, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty would be my hero.

Visually it was amazing. Over-saturated colours, portrait-style shots and breath-taking locations. Not only does Ben Stiller deliver one of his finest performances, but he looks really good doing so. (Don’t believe me? Watch it and see).

It’s funny, has a memorable soundtrack, gave me actual goosebumps and made me happy-cry.

But for me, when it comes to movies it will always come down to the storyline. Even the character is secondary to the plot. The Secret Life of Walter Mitty tells a brilliant story. It’s based on a book by James Thurber and directed by Stiller himself.

It’s a book I’d love to get my hands on. Once the book embargo of 2013 has been lifted (a sanction placed on me by my husband because I buy more books than I have time to read), I am definitely going to make time to explore this short story.

I have been remarkably inspired since the start of 2014. This movie was a metaphorical pat on the head.

A must-watch.

one of my favourite scenes

Cue this Blog

 

This is not my first attempt at blogging. I probably have a go once or twice a day. On my long and lonely drive to work, I hash out the details of a really good post. Most of the time the self-doubt creeps in about 6 minutes into the exercise and I throw it into the imaginary scrap pile.

As my (young adulthood phase of) life draws to an end, I have become more comfortable with considering myself as a writer. What does one have to do to be considered a writer anyway? Technicalities aside, there exists inside of me a desire to write and a desire to be read. I think for now, that will have to do.