Monday 25 May 2015

weird stuff i believed when i was a child

I was reading the story of Cain an Abel today and was reminded of what I believed about them when I was young.

In my children's Bible there was a picture of Abel's altar. The smoke from his offering went straight up to heaven. There was also a picture of Cain's altar. The smoke from his offering did not go straight up, but at an angle. So whenever my dad made a fire (for a "braai"/barbeque) I always tried to see if the smoke from his fire went straight up to heaven or not. Most of the time, it didn't. Needless to say, I was very worried about my dad.

I was also very shocked when, at the age of 18, I realized that the Bible doesn't say that there were three wise men. It only speaks of the wise men, and the gifts the bore - gold, myrrh and incense.

I believed in Santa. I also believed in the tooth mouse. Yes, Afrikaner people don't teach their children about the tooth fairy. We just know the tooth mouse. He collects teeth to build his house. When I was about 6 or 7, we lived in a house with a wooden floor. There was a tiny hole in the floor in our spare bedroom. My mom used to say that that was where the mouse would come into our house to collect our teeth. But then, I guess, they made a mistake by giving me a 1 rand coin, which was way bigger than the hole. So I started questioning the existence of this mouse. Eventually, after many questions, my mom told me that he doesn't exist, but that I shouldn't tell my sister.

My mom also used to tell me that if I eat while lying down, I would grow horns. So I tried my very best not to do this. But sometimes, when eating an apple or some other fruit, I would lie down and take a bite. Then I would get up and go to the mirror, part my hair and check whether or not the horns had started to grow. Speaking of fruit, I also believed that if I swallowed the seeds of an apple or watermelon or whatever, I tree would grow inside my body and out my ears. Maybe this is why I still spit out watermelon seeds. 

Oh, and I also believed that if I swallowed gum, my intestines would be tied into a knot and I would die. I can still remember the exact moment when I swallowed my gum for the first time (by accident). It happened as I was walking over some railroad tracks. I didn't want to tell anyone, because I wasn't allowed to chew gum. I just silently waited for death.

My parents also told me that I used to be a monkey that lived in the mountains. They caught me and chopped off my tail and that's how I became their child. 

But, despite what the professionals say, this (finding out that these things weren't true) didn't make me trust my parents less, or doubt the existence of God. So don't deprive your child of a wild imagination. I think I turned out okay, regardless of what my close friends would say. 

Here's a few other weird things I believed: - that all cats were girls and all dogs were boys, - that the crusts of sandwiches contained all the vitamins and goodness, - that pumpkin gives you curly hair and red cheeks (i wanted neither of these, so I tried not to eat pumpkin), - that people in portrait paintings are watching you, - that there was a ghost in our house and it lived in the stain on the bathtub (the stain formed because of a leaking tap and looked like a face)




Thursday 14 May 2015

burning the chicken

I'm not much of a cook, but the one thing I'm quite proud of, is my chicken mayo sandwich. Over the weekend, after putting some chicken on the stove, I went downstairs for ten minutes. Mike and I started moving stuff around, and ten minutes turned into almost an hour. 

Mike went outside to talk to our neighbor. He asked if we were cooking something. Mike didn't realize that the chicken was still on the stove, so he just told the neighbor that we were cooking something earlier. When Mike told me about their conversation, I shouted, "The chicken!!" and we both ran upstairs. The whole house was covered in black smoke. Five minutes after Mike had removed the pot from the stove, black smoke was still coming from it. The chicken was reduced to a black, sticky, tar-like substance. (So you CAN melt chicken!?) We both decided to just throw the pot out along with the crap in it.

Now, almost a week later, the smell has still not left the house. It's like we live in a crematorium. Except, on top of that nasal treat, you can still smell the raw chicken. Weird, because what was left in that pot, would never have passed as chicken. I have left all the windows open every day since that terrible event. I have cleaned the stove and the extractor fans. I have washed the walls. I've stuck things into my nostrils.

Chicken 1. House 0. 

Tuesday 12 May 2015

the art of making a decision

I've been married to Mike for almost 5 years now. We have grown in many areas, but one thing that we both (still) suck at, is making decisions. I think we're okay with the big stuff, like deciding where to live and whether or not to get a pet (although this could also be kicked up a notch). But when trying to make the small decisions on a day to day basis, we definitely fall short. Other couples argue over who gets their way, but we argue over just having "a way" or a preference. 

This is how it goes... (I didn't use our names, because regardless of who asks and who answers, this is the typical outcome.)

Q: What should we do for date night tonight?
A: What do you wanna do, babes?
__________

Q: What do you want to eat tonight?
A: Doesn't matter, love. I don't mind.
__________

Q: Do you think I should hang this picture like this or like this?
A: Any way you wanna hang it. 
__________

Q: What movie should we see?
A: Whatever you wanna see, baby. Doesn't matter to me.
__________

Q: What time do you wanna go?
A: What time do you think we should go?

And after all these I could add: "I asked YOU." "But I really don't mind." "Me neither. Just make a decision." "I don't know, babes. Anything." (etc. etc. etc.)

I just told Mike about this post, and he said he is totally able to make a decision. Like last night, when I asked him what he wanted to watch, he said '+The Walking Dead'  (knowing that this isn't really a decision, because I don't do "zombie"). And I pointed this out to him, and said, "You could have said '+The Middle ' or '+Modern Family' or '+Community' or 'Big Bang Theory' or ... those cupcake girls - what's it called again?" And then his eyes lit up for a second.

So now this post is taking an unexpected turn. I was initially going to conclude that we would have to resort to a game of ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS for all our minor decisions in the future. (Although here in Taiwan it goes by "Paper, scissors, stone", and in South Africa we know it as "ching chong cha")

After our brief lunchtime chat, I finally know what I need to do to really find out what Mike's preferences are:  I need to start naming all the options... and not stop after 2. Just keep going, until I see that same spark in his big brown eyes that I just saw when he thought of "+2 Broke Girls". And if that spark doesn't come, maybe he really really really doesn't mind. (I'll test this theory and let you know if it worked). 

Now it's his turn to figure out my "tell".



Monday 11 May 2015

mother's day aftermath

Mother's Day can be quite a stressful time for me, a 35-year old childless-and-happy married woman. (Just calling myself a woman feels kinda strange, because in my mind I'm still too young to own up to that title. )

Last year on Mother's Day Sunday at church, I mistakenly received a flower, because every woman over 30 is surely a mother, right? This year they made all the moms stand up, so I was saved from that situation repeating itself. After the service, while chatting to some people, one of the youth leaders looked at me with an uncertain frown on his face and said-asked, "Happy Mother's Day?" Ah man! We came so close!

It's almost like people feel sorry or embarrassed for you if you don't have children. They don't even consider the possibility that you might have chosen this. But the look on their faces say, "Oh, poor you. Don't worry. This will happen. Just keep on trying". 

I deal with a lot of children every week, and I love some of them with all my heart. But most of the time when I see children in shopping centers and restaurants interact with their parents (and always get their screaming way), I just wanna give those parents the pity-face I have received so many times - that is, after dream-punching the little brats until they stop screaming.

Just the other day there was a little 6-year old girl in our café with her family who awoke that exact same emotion in me. I was trying to get a sentence in with her mom, and she just kept yelling "MOMMY!!! MOMMY!!!" at the top of her lungs, to ensure that mom doesn't talk to anybody but her. And her mom totally entertained this - paid attention to her after every yell, never telling her to stop or give the two grown-ups a chance to get a word in. A few minutes later she was throwing a tantrum to get the toy her younger sister was playing with. Again, her parents responded by yielding to her demands - asking the little one to hand the toy over to big sis. I guess you can't really blame the child if her parents make her the queen of the household. And I really do get that this is definitely not the case in all households. But those are the moments when I'm extremely thankful to be where I am in life.

But, to all the wonderful moms out there, I respect you A LOT. You are raising a child in a lawless generation. Succeeding in this, must be the most rewarding thing ever. You have the privilege to raise your kid any way you wish. You have the privilege to sow seeds that will keep on growing forever, good or bad. You have the privilege to teach, direct, nurture, comfort, guide, influence and mold that little blob that came out of YOUR OWN BODY, and see them grow into (hopefully) an amazing person with his or her own unique personality. 

I guess what scares me the most about being a mother, is having a daughter like me. So, to my mom I just wanna say, I don't know how you did it. You are braver than me. I love you.

a good place to start

This is NOT a travel blog. This is NOT a photo blog. This is NOT an expat blog. This is NOT a Christian blog. This is NOT a music blog. This is NOT an entrepreneurial blog. This is NOT an auntie blog. This is NOT a being-a-good-wife blog. This is not a lets-get-fit-and-thin blog. This is NOT a diary blog. This is NOT a songwriting blog. This is NOT a shopping blog. This is NOT a cultural blog. Maybe this isn't even a real blog.

Now that I've set the bar incredibly low, and created absolutely zero expectations, I feel we are at a good place.