Don’t wear sandals, try to avoid scandals

So the Grahamstown festival was just dandy. Saw some crazy shit. Ate loads of Hare Krishna food. Drank even more red wine. Slept in a res room that smelt of teenage boy. Strolled down memory lane. And missed my son a whole lot.

Church carved out of stone.

Churches carved out of Palmolive soap.

Yum?

Where leather coats go to die.

No hands. This dude has NO HANDS.

Not 7de Laan.

I bought an original piece of art at the Festival. Not one of these.

Stand-up comedian of the Year? Awesome. What’s that you say? Oh nominee only.

Look it’s your brother.

On the way to Port Alfred for tea (red wine).

Henri and me in shadows.

Boy feeds cat

Just so you don’t miss us too much, I scheduled this little post.

Jackson loves the cat, the cat doesn’t love Jackson so much.

You can say that you’re not jealous, but I won’t believe you

Lovely friend: Hey, are you going to A&A’s birthday party this weekend?

Me: Nope, I’m going away.

Lovely friend: That’s cool, where are you going?

Me: The Grahamstown Festival.

Lovely friend: Awesome, there’s a great children’s festival there too, are you taking Jackson?

Me: HELL TO THE NO.

That’s right, folks. I am off to the Grahamstown Arts Festival (SA’s version of the Edinburgh Festival) for the weekend with my best girl Henri and NO TODDLER.

Both Henri and I were at uni in Grahamstown, and my first ever proper job was doing the PR for the festival, so as you can imagine, I am well excited.

Here are Henri and I going to a ‘what-you-would-find-at-a-kid’s-party’ dance party while we were at Rhodes. I think we went as kids.

Now, I am not usually a betting girl, but judging by the size of my pupils I would imagine that it’s a fairly safe bet to assume that I had done something illegal before this party.

As for Henri…well, I couldn’t possibly say.

This little video is for Super Sarah. I finally managed to capture our “Who’s the boss?” moment on camera.

But of course, I can’t just leave well enough alone, so I push it and just end up looking rather silly.

It’s only 8 seconds long, so don’t be afraid to watch it.

See y’all next week.

Oooooooooooooookay then

There are some conversations you just wish you’d never had.

Like this one.

Scene: we are playing with weird yellow ball (see photo)…

Jackson: Mommy…bol, bol…HOORAY…bol.

Mommy: Catch the ball Jackson, that’s right, catch the ball there.

Jackson: HOORAY…bol, BOL, BOL.

Mommy: Kick the ball with your feet Jackson, no…with your feet, yeah, good kick baby.

Jackson: Goal…goal…goal…YAY.

Mommy’s very clever friend (catches ball and gets ready to throw it to Jackson): You know Jackson, not only is this a ball, it is almost an exact replica of the AIDS virus.

Mommy: OHMIGOD DUDE. I’ll never be able to feel the same way about that ball again.

Mommy’s very clever friend: I’m just saying.

Jackson: HOORAY! BOL!

He’s gonna give him a t-shirt he can’t refuse

Jackson’s godfather sent this for him all the way from the UK. It’s pretty cool, no?

It’s also…and how do I put this delicately…pretty snug.

Yep, I’m afraid that, despite being only 19 months old, my child wears clothes for a 2-3-year-old.

Nevertheless, he wore it with pride on Sunday when we went to Erin-Daye’s birthday picnic in the park.

Here he is on the ubiquitous bike…

Not able to ride, but who cares as long as he doesn’t have to share the ball.

I have long since given up trying to stop Jackson making friends with random strangers. Here is is playing cricket with a lovely lady in a Hijab.

[Ok, I realise that this makes me sound like a terrible mother who doesn't educate her child in the way of stranger danger and all that, but I think you get what I mean. I'm all eagle eyes and everything, of course. Don't be calling social services now.]

Ahoy there Captain Adorable

I have decided that I am to become the lifetime president of the Jackson is Totally Awesome Society (JITAS), because, without a word of a lie, Jackson IS totally awesome.

Now I’m not sure if it’s just the age he’s at or what, but suddenly he has become this super-adorable, super-cute, super-chatty, super-funny, super-smart, little super-hero who makes me laugh just about all of the time.

One of the wisest things I ever read, is that a parent should never take too much credit or blame for the way their children turn out and I try very hard not to do either.

But, credit and blame aside, I’ll tell you this for nothing…I am really, really proud of that kid of mine.

I love you so dearly, I love you so clearly, I’ll wake you up in the morning so early

It started like any other Saturday morning painting fun…

[Can you see that he is rocking the two paintbrush magic here?]

…but it ended up being SO much more fun than we had planned…

Whatever…just check out the two little Jackson Pollock’s Humphry’s I got from the morning…

btw, even though it’s stay-at-home-Saturday, it doesn’t mean that there is no need to accessorise…

And what better way to enjoy a chicken drumstick than in an ohmpeacebewithyoualllivingcreatures t-shirt…

We are, like, so totally Zen in our house.

I just hope it wasn’t important

One of those really weird things happened to me yesterday, you know…one of those things that you read about on page 6 of your local community newspaper.

A letter arrived in my postbox, (not unusual) that was posted in Turffontein (half and hour down the road – also not unusual) in DECEMBER 2004 (wtf?).

Now, I know that the South African postal service is not rated particularly high, and it does get a bit busy come Christmas…but, seriously, four years?

Anyway…it’s school report time again. Yay!

And it’s three pages this time for your reading pleasure, let me know if you notice anything odd (hint: look closely on pages 2&3)…

[I only hope someone tells Ryan's mom that he likes to paint, but doesn't know how to sort shapes properly.]

So, it’s just my food that he doesn’t like then?

I have really begun to worry about Jackson’s appetite. He hardly eats a thing of an evening, and being a prolific eater myself, it makes me very uncomfortable.

When I dropped him off at school today, I decided to have a little chat about it with his Teacher Candice.

But just as I started to ask her, Jackson launched himself from my arms and RAN to the table where his breakfast porridge was, sat down and promptly started shovelling it in, so Teacher Candice’s bemused reply was: “but he has an EXCELLENT appetite.” (And I swear she emphasised the word EXCELLENT.)

So I guess food issues are something that I don’t have to worry about any more then.

Talking of food, after 20+ unsuccessful family dinners at grown up restaurants, we have finally surrendered to the Spur (I think only South African readers will appreciate this). And with more bal-LOONS than he knows what to do with, this makes Jackson very happy. As you can see from the picture, Jackson takes his bal-LOONS very seriously.

[Ah man, look at him like a little mini Hugh Hefner, going out in his pyjamas.]

And this, my friends, is why you have a Nana

Once a week, after school, Jackson and I visit our local Toyzone megastore, just to look around and go “woWEEEEEE” at all the incredible stuff.

Last time we were there, Jackson took a shine to the bicycles, and because I was feeling generous I thought that I would buy him one.

However, the bicycle that I wanted him to have (black, sleek, super-cool) was NOT the bicycle that he wanted (red, yellow AND blue, tassels on handles, super-gawdy). So, in my most mature and adult way, I decided that if he wasn’t going to get the bike that I wanted him to have, then he wasn’t going to get a bike at all (I am almost ashamed to actually write that).

Anyway, I was busy telling Nana the story the next day, and she reminded me that when I was growing up, one of my (many) woe-is-me stories was that my parents would never let me chose my own toys/clothes/books/etc – that if I wanted stuff, it had to be stuff that my Mom and Dad wanted me to have (whether this is actually true or not is debatable, but it’s my truth and I’m sticking to it).

But I guess what is true, however, is that it is your destiny to turn into your parents (both good and bad parts), unless your parents are around to remind you exactly what it was you swore you were NEVER going to do when you were a parent as you flounced off to your sixteen year old room.

So I thank you Nana, and Jackson thanks you too. And from now on, I SWEAR, he can have any colour bicycle he wants (as long as it’s black).

JOKES, DUDES, JOKES.

[Jackson and Nana. Have I also mentioned that Jackson ADORES his Nana? Which is, of course, another good reason to to have a Nana.]

Very sadly, it would have been my beloved Nana’s birthday today. Only she knew her real age, but I think she would have been 84. I still miss my Granny Joy, every single day.