The parent-ship

Magazines spread lies. Especially baby/child magazines. They show you parents that are well rested. Babies that smile at you with blue eyes and blonde hair. Children that are well behaved and who, when they speak probably sounds just perfect.

My world shatters all and every child care/baby rearing magazines ever published.

Instead of laughter, my baby cries. A lot. Babies do that. And I have forgotten how much they cry. Instead of beautiful clean clothes, I am a canvas for poop, pee and spit. My hair is in a pony tail until I can go get a haircut because when she grabs hold of my hair, it’s as if there’s a tug of war going on between her grib and my head. And I have dark circles around my eyes which can pretty much win a competition, if there ever will be one between sleeplessness and a tattoe. And what they don’t tell you is that you transform into a cow once you have given birth. For a healthy purpose. But no one will hunt you down and make a dairy farm out of you or eat you like a piece of steak. My name is not Bella for nothing.

Today my eldest found a pair of scissors on her bed just as she got ready to have a nap. Instead of putting it away, she played with it and cut a very neat hole in her bright white, new pants. In an attempt to hide it from me, she went to the bathroom but got distracted and started playing with the sqeaky rubber duckies, waking up the baby just when I finally got her to sleep. Yeah, I planned to have a nap today, but forgot to post a memo on my forehead for all to see.

My middle child threw a tantrum today because she didn’t want to do her school work, which consisted mostly of colouring and counting. I thought all kids loved to colour instead of doing some dreaded math problems and word puzzles. To think of a punishment she hated more than me taking her toys away or her snacks or something to that effect, I told her that I will take all her clothes out of her cupboard and threw it on the floor for her to pick up, fold and put back in her cupboard. I was a bit nasty, said sorry as I hugged her little face. She did her work without saying another word.

They also don’t tell you how you have a staff and fairy dust in your mouth and eyes behind your head and ears on the walls.

I had a tough day. But I love my family and I wouldn’t give this up for all the chocolate and ice cream in the world. And I do love me some chocolate and ice cream, especially the Woolies chocolate and mint ice cream. (Why couldn’t the English dictionary writers not spell it icecream instead, no, they had to go make it two words. I wonder sometimes why they thought of words in a certain way. If we could each write our dictionary it would look completely different. Like who thought it would be a good way to write colonel and pronounce it curnal?)

I love my family, screams and all!

Charlotte and Caroline

Do you remember the names of your dolls you had as a child?”

Well, I never really played much with dolls. It was far more interesting playing with toy cars. We had a wonderful treed back yard where I build towns and created my own city oud of mud, sand and stones. My favourite cars, the stars in all my plays, were a silver Mercedes Bentz and a blue Volkswagen Beetle. I also collected micro cars, but they were too valueble and didn’t go outside on the sand. No, for them I created a city on my bed.

Eventually I got some dolls and some stuffed animals. Just so I can play dolls with my cousins when they came to visit. I could never understand why they loved playing with their Barbie dolls so much. They only played dress up and braided their Barbies hair. (Keep in mind that it was before Ken became romantically involved with Barbie) It was so boring. When we got older Ken dolls made for some interesting games, but their embrace was rather plastically. Oh, I longed for the time to come for them to leave so I could go play cars. If not cars then surely with my toy guns. Something totally different than plastic dolls. If they stayed over for the night, we played a lot of boring doll games until I gave them each a piece paper to draw a fairy tale on. They couldn’t,  so I did. It kept me busy and away from the dolls. One thing we did like, all of us, was making a christmas bed and listening to records. We would sing and dance together and dream of one day when we would be famous.

But yes, I had two dolls. Charlotte, who had red hair and Caroline, who had brown hair. They were Cindy dolls from Pep stores. So cheap that they got beheaded before we even reached the house, but not too cheap so we couldn’t fix it quickly. My teddy’s name was Poepies and my blue stuffed teddy had names from various crushes I had. Chris, Johan, Koos, Kobus, Saun, Riaan, Leslie and Macguyver. Let’s not forget him   But mostly it remaned nameless, especially when my sisters asked to avoid the endless teasings which I think my teenage heart should have been immune to, but just never did. They bothered me so.

I was obsessed with the names Charlotte and Caroline. Every doll I had after them was either Charlotte or Caroline. Once in Primary School we jad a fundraiser competition. You pay a certain amount of money to name a doll. It was the biggest most beautiful doll I have ever laid eyes on. The winning name would win prize money and the doll. I jumped on that, payin twice to enter the names Charlotte and Caroline. Man was I ever excited!

A week went buy and the winner was to be announced, just in time for the school holiday. We all gathered in the school hall, full of excitement, mine is better than yours expressions nailed to our foreheads …. And the winner turned out to be a Sarie. No originality. No thinking out of the box. Sarie. I was so upset! That day I turned into a bully, but only in my head. I went to go spend the holiday at my uncle and aunt on the farm. It’s there that a cow chased me and my cousin into the dam, where I got lost in a corn field and where my cousin baked a cake and forgot to pilut salt in, and sugar. I have some fun memories of that farm.

Enter boyfriend no. 1 and Charlotte and Caroline had to make way for make up and nail polish. I kept my stuffed toys, Poepies and the nameless one, because on those teary nights when the whole world turned against you and nothing is just good enough, they would give you the most wonderful hug, be with you while you sleep and listen to you when you wanted to vent.

I wonder what ever happened to them. My dolls eventually broke, I think the one had a melted head and the other one a chewed leg and one arm. My dog loved them so. I think the stuffed toys just got lost from all the moving we did. I still have my cars though, just in a box somewhere.

Music and us.

Music washes from us the dust of everyday life. I love listening to music. I love hearing my children sing and making music and want to make music. I love singing, although it is confined to the shower or my bedroom most days.

I am married to a musician so music is very important to us as a family. My husband performed and shared stages across America and Canada with bands like Audio Adrenaline, Newsboys, Thousand Foot Crutch, to name but a few. And yet, he never liked performing in stadiums or in front of big crowds. The screams and worship from the crowd never appealed to him. Thank God it did not. He never made it big or became famous, nor did he seek fame. Everytime, just before a CD recording, something came up and he had to leave for some place or the other. Recently one of the bands he played with got a Dove award for best new single on the Christian market. He left the band to return to South Africa at that point and various of the original members also left because of studies and work commitments. Since being back in South Africa he played bass guitar for the church and together with the other musicians in church, have recorded some CD’s. God restores and give back the things that you give up for His sake.

You see, people want something to worship. So the easiest thing to worship is what is right in front of them, what makes them happy and what speaks to them at that point and time. It is interesting to note that the second temptation Jesus endured was that of worship. And I’m not saying my husband is Jesus or whatever. We are called to worship God alone. Satan was in charge of music in heaven. He became proud and wanted all worship for himself, so he got banished from heaven. When we have pride, God comes with a toothpick and prick us a bit so we can deflate, because pride is sin. So, when we look at concerts  and shows (Christian or not, it’s not very different from each other nowadays), you see people crying, shouting and just putting their arms up in the air, waving, in worship, or just being carried away with the crowds and the music. (I experienced this, watching a show from backstage one year. We were in charge of transporting the band from the hotel to the concert venue.  The leader of the band later told us that he can’t believe what people become like when the music starts playing. People forget who they are at that point and just give over to the music, almost becoming a slave to the music.) But they do not worship God. They worship the music and the band, without knowing it or even realizing it. When you put your arms up in the air like that, it is a form of surrendering. You surrender to the music and the sad thing is that people know the songs better than what they do the Word of God, and most of the lyrics are trash anyway or do not line up with the Word. The one thing that really bothers me of most Christian music is the fact that it does not line up with Scripture. “One day we’ll be free.” “One day we’ll hear Your voice.” It irks me, but that’s something for another post…

You cannot listen to some music and think that you will grow, or think that it will bring you closer to God. If you have not fed your spirit, you will surely die. You feed your spirit by worshiping God. Worship in Spirit and Truth, because it is liberating and because God is a spirit. Worship is not for man, but for God. Through worship He delivers, heals and works. When you worship God in spirit and truth, your spirit is lifted and you begin to see with the spirit eyes what your natural eyes can’t see. It expands your vision and gives you a deeper understanding of your salvation. It increases your joy in the Lord. The understanding of your salvation is so great and it gives you something to rejoice about constantly, because nothing is going to take it away.

Everything worships. Everything speaks. People are not seeking an entrance into eternity, but are looking to for an entrance to God. That is why so many people worship bands, people, things. They look at religions or various mediums. They are looking for a relationship with something, something to fill a void. It is a longing in each of us, something crying out for a special relationship, just like Adam had with God before the fall. But all effort is filled with self and that was the original thing that destroyed  the relationship in the first place. God gave His only son to restore the relationship and it is only through Jesus that we can enter into that liberty and freedom we have with a living God.

Music is important. It washes, it refreshes and it sooths. But we need to know that only God can fill a void, not music, nor people. No concert or performance will fill what is lacking.

 

 

 

Facebook or Fistbook?

Technology is wonderful, but with the growing and ever changing technology comes great responsibility. And that great responsibility includes de-friending some friends every now and then, just to keep the peace in your world, so to speak.

Facebook is a wonderful tool. Where else can you wish those far away, happy birthday, keep far away friends and family in the loop and show off your children? But alas, it has become a place of business, slander, gossip and took the fun element out of social networking. (And not to mention the ever changing features on there). Maybe it’s just my “friends” but it surely makes me wanna de-friend some people and say some very nasty things that should never ever come out of my mouth!

It was so fun in the beginning, to be included into their world and include them in my world, share thoughts, jokes and just be myself. But lately I have to watch what I post, because my message inbox might explode with messages of people telling me what to say, how to say and when to say things. (And it honestly did happen some time ago …) Even posting a comment on other’s posts might land me in hot water. Geez, what happened to friendliness and kindness? Does no one have a sense of humour anymore? Have we become so self righteous and boastful that we only see the mistakes of others? Have we become so plastic that we can’t even laugh anymore? Love and laughter is what we are all after, but lately it’s no fun, love and laughter anymore. Only when it suits us, or them. People’ll hunt you down and correct your way of thinking and posting. Yes we live in a world with all sorts of crazies out there, lost people, found people, sad people, happy people. Yes, reach out, but don’t promote yourself. I’m venting a bit, but I’m seriously thinking about deleting my profile. But then, I probably won’t go so far.

Technology changed so much, it took us out of the dark ages and brought us into an age where information is freely and widely available. It’s all good but in some respects it has become a curse in its own way. We spend so much time on our smartphones, on the internet, in front of the TV, doing the most unimportant things just because we can. Everything has become instant and family values and quality time has vanished into thin air. Yes, it gives us pleasure and helps us to just switch off sometimes, but is that really worth giving up so much of our precious time? Time we could have spend with our kids, friends or family. Pleasure is taking over and is stealing those precious moments from our kids. Families are breaking up because he said, she said on social networks. We believe everything we read, without taking into account what was actually meant to be said and without really thinking and knowing, or get to know that person. It is a sad, sad place to be in. Facebook is not the real world, and that is one aspect of social networking that I have forgotten. I have become so self absorbed and opinionated that I alone am right and have the right to say things and feel things.

So, right now, I’m giving Facebook my fistful, punching it to oblivion… only until next time.

On love

I have come to the realization that we all are afraid that love might run out sometime, so we try it to keep it deeply hidden in our heart’s deepest vault. It is there where no one can touch it, safe and sound, away from prying eyes, where we alone can enjoy it and nourish it. We love our neighbours at a distance (well, I do)  with our fists, but we forget that it is the stuff that we give that makes us rich. And it really does not take much.

What is the meaning of love if no one uses it, or gives it away? We have so much to give, yet we keep it to ourselves, most of the time. And what is the smell of a flower if no one stops to smell it sweet scent or stop to pick it and give it away? There’s a whole world full of flowers out there, but we choose to overlook the small things that really matters in life. It is not the big and extravagant things in life that makes us rich, but the small, often times mundane, things.

I’m no Nancy Drew or Sherlock Holmes, but I do suspect the heart works like the widow’s jar full of oil. It remains full, even if it’s in use, and love is like the oil in its belly. It never looses its flavour and it never runs out. The more you give, the more you get. It’s like a perpetual motion, but with each passing day it just gets bigger and bigger.

Love is patient, it does not parade against itself, it does not brag and it does not anger quickly. Love is never ending. And it does not dry up. It really is so simple and yet we all murmur and complain because love is a lesson that very few people ever learn, or ever want to learn, because of fear or past experiences.

You can not pick up love like a book on a shelf and put it down when you are done reading it. You cannot  rent it like a movie at a shop and just return it when it’s due.  It is not something you can balance in a cheque book, for love’s total profits remain reversed.

It is a lesson. It is a journey. It is ours to give and receive. Freely.

On poems

A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom. It is with that, that I am revisiting some of my favourite poems from poets I’ve long forgotten.

I’ve watched “Dangerous Minds” in highschool and cried so much throughout the movie. My sister thought I’m going mad, but it really is one of those Kleenex movies. Dylan Thomas’ poem became an instant hit, at least for me. So here goes my number one favourite.

1. Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas

2. Sonnet 116: Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

William Shakespeare

3. And lastly one by Robert Frost. My husband introduced me to his poems, and I must admit that I’m now a big fan of his work.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost

The freshness of clean bedsheets.

Clean bedsheets smells like early winter, the air cuts through your nose all the way to your lungs, full of freshness, it makes you wanna crawl in bed and stretch until the day is done; close your eyes and start the day all over again.

On Saturday.

To say the West Coast can be moody and windy is like saying that there is a bit of salt in the ocean. One day it is absolutely beautiful, clear skies, warm sunny days and the next day can be quite the opposite with the wind kicking up such a storm that you have to keep your mouth and eyes shut to prevent all the sand from coming in and decorating your teeth so your mouth feels like sandpaper. And not to mention the sand in your eyes!

It was a gorgeous day in Cape Town on Saturday and it is because of the lovely weather that a colleague and friend of my husband took us out to Yzerfontein (a very small town up the West Coast) for the day, mostly to go see the wildflowers in bloom and to spend some time on the beach.

Well, the drive there was fun and fast, we didn’t get to see much of the flowers, but the company was good. I’ve never been to Yzerfontein so this was a first for me. Before Saturday I had no idea this place actually existed. They got their first ATM machine in 2004 and they’re busy building their first chain store, a SPAR! We had to drive through the town a bit to get a shop that was open for business, seeing that it is a small town and it was a public holiday.  We eventually found a Corner Cafe where they sold fish and chips, chicken curry vetkoek and chip-’n-dip.  We love fish and chips! But the fish and chips we had were really not the best we’ve ever tasted, it was kinda’ blah and salt-less, without much talent and very little taste, and doughy, but we ate it as we were hungry and didn’t want to drive around a little longer to find another place that was open for business. I have noticed that they have more houses and mansions than shops, I didn’t even see a movie rental shop, but then again, we’re not from there so we don’t know what the locals do over weekends, other than surf, I guess. It was windy. It was cold, and so different from Cape Town’s weather, but needless to say, we sat outside while people driving by just looked at us shaking their heads and probably saying to each other, “yeah, they are surely not from here.” The nice thing about that little cafe was that they sold Gemsbok Droewors for a very good price, so I had two pieces!  I haven’t had proper biltong or droe wors (except for the beef biltong we got as a gift from Namibia, which was, according to the man who gave it to us, Namibia’s cheap and “not the best” biltong. But “not the best biltong” from Namibia is better than the best biltong we buy locally here in Cape Town).

The Strandkombuis was closed for the day. They had a wedding there so we couldn’t really eat there or much enjoy the beach there. We did however, spend a good fifteen minutes on the beach, just enjoying the tranquility of the ocean. It really calms you down, refreshes you, even though the wind blows and the sand keeps hitting you behind your knees.  I did see a dead seal and an albatros. I’ve never seen an albatros before, not in real life, but only only on paper.   They are beautiful birds, and with the dunes and some flowers, it really makes for a beautiful backdrop. And then in the end, we ended up looking at properties more that the wild flowers. Although the glimpses of the flowers were spectacular. It really amazes me that those same flowers, if planted in my garden, will not grow. It just happens, so wild and so free, totally at ease and without much effort, gently, unbidden and sometimes unobserved. I mean, no one sits in front of those wildflowers and observes how it grows and the pace they grow at. It rains and the next day you have  a wilderness full of colour.  God is so clever!

On our way home we stopped at a farmstall, just to enjoy the warmth of the sun and eat some ice cream. It is so interesting to note that when we left Cape Town, there were hardly any wind. When we arrived at Yzerfontein, the wind was so strong and cold. And just a few kilometers away, at the farmstall, it was sunny, clear skies and there was hardly a wind. The people are friendly and nice but I did get some weird looks when I said, quite loudly to my husband that I’ve never in my life tasted bokkoms. (Dried, salted fish). I must not be local or something, but I have never tasted it. Although I want to, I don’t think I’m brave enough to try it. I might cave in under peer pressure, but neither of the ladies in the shop wanted to give me a taste and neither of my friends will force me to eat it, because they themselves hate it. So that probably says a lot about the fish. I might just try it, though, maybe when my dad comes and visit. I hope he is brave enough with me to try our first bite of bokkoms.

It was a fun day, albeit cold and windy up the coast, but home is sweet, warm, familiar and wonderful after a long day out. Pooped we sat watching a movie and pooped I made dinner, just bacon and eggs, but I really shouldn’t make dinner when I’m tired, because I burnt the eggs and not even any type of sauce could rescue it. It takes skill to burn eggs, and skill I’ve got!

I did make it up to the family though, by buying a nice piece of fresh hake and soaking and baking it in lots of butter, garlic, salt and pepper. A meal fit for royalty! And that my friends, was my weekend.

I’m probably not going to be very popular after saying this, but I really don’t like the West Coast much. I prefer the mountains and the trees and would rather go out on a lake or walk under trees, watch a waterfall or have a picnic. I loved going out and experiencing part of the coast for the first time in my life. I guess I just really miss Canada right now and no other place can compare with it.

Pens and paper

I love pens. It is a weakness of mine.

I have a whole collection of pens in my cupboard, some fancy, some cheap, some not working. But I just can’t seem to part with the ones that ain’t working anymore.

In the first three grades of school we used pencils. The normal HB pencils, the yellow ones with the pink eraser on top. They were the cheap ones that my mom bought us and I guess they did the job just like any other pencil, although they broke easily. I didn’t much like writing with a pencil, they had no feeling and you could erase your mistakes so easily and just start again as if nothing happened. But then again, a pencil is always at the ready, providing it has lead (if you’re using a mechanical pencil) and providing it i sharpened

After grade 3 we used pens. Again my mom bought the cheapy pens. I didn’t mind the cheapy ones, they were softer to write with and felt very nice in my hand. My granny used the BIG click pens, she always had a purple click pen in her pocket and for some reason she treasured that pen. I could only use it with her supervision. Nothing special about the pen, but that was her favourite. I loved my Scripto cheapy pen and when they stopped making that it was on to the normal yellow BIG pens. They didn’t write as nice but we had an overflow of them in the house and my mom refused to buy other pens while we still had working pens in the house. And even when I did my utmost best to loose the pen, she somehow found it again and just put it back in my pencil case.

With a pen you have to think about what you want to write. You have to almost plan your thoughts, because you can’t just erase the ink and start over again, or tear out the paper and start again, which I actually did numerous times.  I loved writing with pen, it made me work extra hard on my handwriting so I won’t make mistakes.

When I started earning pocket money, doing chores in and around the house for my parents and my granny, I used the money to buy pens. Pens of all colours, shapes and sizes. And paper. A pen is useless without a paper. I had a whole stack of paper, and a pen of for every single piece and mood. Later I started buying paint and paintbrushes. I owned my own stationary shop, well a suitcase full anyway. But my sisters didn’t share my love for pens and they frequently did some stock taking when I didn’t look.

I’m not particularly fond of my handwriting, but there’s just something about writing with a pen on beautiful paper and send it off to somebody around the world. Snail mail is not very popular anymore, and over here in South Africa mail gets lots, every single day, but there is something so magical about receiving mail, handwritten mail.

I’ve long searched for those cheapy pens, but they are engraved in my memory and I shall treasure it always. I’m sentimental that way. I can’t part with my pens. My husband got me a pen in Scotland one year. A beautiful pen and it felt so nice in my hand and was absolutely lovely to write with. It got stolen the next day when they broke into our house. Of course I was devasted because my digital SLR with the lens, our Apple laptops and some old jewelry that has been in the family for generations got stolen, but I was heartbroken that they took my pen as well. I had big plans for that pen. But alas, it too is engraved in that pen memory of mine.

So here’s to the pens I have lost and the pens I have gained!

Be true to yourself.

Someone once said that blogging is like gardening, you have to do a bit everyday to care for your garden/blog. I have been neglecting it to say the least.

There are so much going on right now. So many questions I have that, if answered, I might get the short stick of the deal. I might just turn out to be the bad guy and I really don’t like people thinking bad of me. I hate that. I was raised to be seen, not heard, to be a people pleaser even if I don’t have the time to or don’t want to. Those little words: ” I don’t want to” was taken out of our vocabulary from a young age, so that now, as a grown up, I have conflicting emotions about certain things. As I already said previously, I hate that.

But on a different note, I’ve long since thought about the idea to write some of my childhood memories, discoveries and happenings, down. Maybe it just might help some people, or maybe it might just be too much information. But I’m going to write it anyway.

My grandfather didn’t have much love or patience with me. He hated me. I was looked upon as a curse on the family who was out to destroy them. (My dad, who was raised a Baptist, married my mom who was in a Charasmatic church, whose dad had his own business and who reached out to farm workers, which in that time, during the apartheid area, was a genuine BIG no go.) When I was born, my feet didn’t grow straight, but inwards. I had to have a lot of treatments to straighten my feet and at the age of one and a half I had my first operation. I had casts on my feet up until the age of two and a half. After that I had no more feet problems, but I had to stay a certain weight all my life and not go over that limit for fear it might hurt my back and feet, which meant I had to watch what I eat. And seeing that I look more like a tree and my sisters like reeds, it was a tough excerise.

My grampa didn’t much like me in his house, so when I was old enough, I had to play outside, when we visited them, and only speak to him when spoken to. I loved it outside. They had a huge acorn tree in their yard and I loved to play under it. One day I sat under the tree and saw a dove kick out her baby so it could fly. But it didn’t. It tumbled down, down, down, just before he hit the ground, somehow he realized that he has wings, which he flapped wildly. He got away and flew! I was in tears, relieved that he didn’t fall on the ground. I ran inside, not minding my manners and interrupted the grown-up conversation to tell them the wonderful news of little boy dove and his mom. They didn’t take to kindly to that. But oh, I loved my gramps very much. I never had the opportunity to tell him that and after his death I had to receive councelling cause it just bothered me so incredibly much.

My mom felt the weight and pressure of raising me according to my grampa’s standards and it became too much for her to bear. She became abusive, verbally and sometimes physically. No one ever knew that, not even my dad, as my mom were so ashamed and didn’t want my dad to know. I love my dad! He is the best guy on this planet, except for my husband.

But through all the rejection and verbal abuse, I actually enjoyed my childhood. I’ve played first team netball for several years, been a shotput athlete, did long jump and ran short distances for the school.

I went to Primary School in the farming community between Parys and Potchefstroom, in Koedoesfontein. To have school in the hills with lots of trees and a vibrant plant life, was incredible. In the winter mornings we would play rounders on the frost covered grass, play barefoot whenever we wanted to and practise our running on thorn covered fields, in order to become faster. The school’s budget didn’t cover proper care for field and track maintanance, but we didn’t mind. We were fast and we won a lot because of the thorns in the field. If you run faster you won’t feel the pain. We had concerts and fun evenings, braai’s (BBQ’s) and boeresports. It was a wonderful school to be in and we were but 49 kids in the whole school!

When the school closed down, because of politics surrounding the Transvaal – and the Freestate governments, I went to the Primary school in Parys. That was awful. Everything was so strict and formal and you had to work hard. It took the fun out of school for me, but I had to make the best of it. I didn’t excell in school, but I did okay. I went to the highschool across the street (we don’t have middle school here in SA). In the beginning it was fun, but the fun soon disappeared. I hated school. It was very academical and I sucked in math and science, and because I didn’t do well in those subjects they told me to rather leave it and take some other subjects. But because I didn’t have math or science, the choices were so thin spread that I couldn’t do much. It was then that my cousin and I had the brilliant idea of talking my mom and dad into me changing schools. She went off to college and I could get all her old school uniforms and even stay with her mom and dad during the day and go back in the evenings with my dad.

You see, my dad worked in Sasolburg, the next town, and that is where my uncle and aunt lived. Both parties agreed to it and I changed schools. I had art, art, art, and more art and a whole lot of other subjects that I really flourished in. I loved the school, but I hated staying with my auncle and aunt. My uncle was away at work during the day, which left me with my aunt and my cousin (who was in the technical school and in the same grade as me). There were days when it went well, but most of the time I locked myself in the bathroom. My cousin loved the female body a little too much, I guess every boy/guy goes through that sometimes, but he got stuck. And I was an easy target. No one believed me when I told them about my cousin and his sexual tendancies. Not even my parents. That was the tough part. One day his mom went out and asked me to go help him in the storage room where he was busy making trophies for the Sunday School prize giving which were to be that weekend. I helped him and it is there, away from the eyes surrounding us, that he took advantage of the moment and I got raped. I didn’t tell anybody. I couldn’t. I buried myself in art, painting, drawing and I wrote, a lot. At least I had reason to distance myself, because I was in my final year of school and we had a big exibition in art class for our final examinations.

I love my family, despite the difficulties and the things to go with having a family. I forgave them for everything already and I moved on. My past doesn’t defy who I am and how I should feel. I am happy, really happy and I think that I have the best husband in the whole wide world!

I was always afraid of getting married, because I’m not much of a talker and I always wondered what I will say to my husband one day, but it’s more than just talking. I have discovered to speak. I can laugh (I used to hate the sound of my own voice and laughter) and I laugh so much that it hurt sometimes. My husband is the funniest guy I have ever met and then on top of that, my kids follow in his footsteps and I laugh continually. I am restored. I love my life!

This might just be a little too much information for some, but you know what, this is where I just talk. My little “garden” of rumblings, mumblings and thoughts.

“To thy own self be true”- Shakespear.