The Godmother

The other day my sister and I thouht about the time my brother was born in 1984. I was going to be six years old that August and she turned nine in December. When my mother was in hospital we were split up, she went and stayed with my mother’s eldest sister and I had a Godmother who looked after me for that week. Somehow to this day my sister thought we were together, but we werent. It is amazing how far back one can remember if you just sit to take the time and think.

I stayed at my Godmother’s for that week. I can remember my Dad walking through the door at her house with great pride, anouncing that it was a boy. It was the time before scans and C-sections. There was enough to keep me busy. In the mornings we would bake cup cakes with my best friend at the time that happened to live across the street from the house. We made clothes for my Barbie on her hand driven Singer sewing machine. It was the best time, the time I spent waiting for my brother while my mother was in hospital.

Last I heard she was living in Frankfort in the Free State, baking cupcakes for the local church.

She must be over 70 by now.

Winter

I can still remember the cold winters during my childhood in the little town where I grew up. The pipes would freeze so you had to wait for it to defrost before you could take a bath. Every morning there was a thick layer of ice on our front lawn, it never snowed but the morning dew had a thick layer.

My Dad used to return home early in the morning from his regular night shift and would brief my mother on the reading of his thermometer at work. Dad was funny in that way. We had a rain meter, and about 3 thermometers around the house. If there was rain he had to know how much. If it was cold, he had to know and had to get an up to the degree update. “It is –5 this morning”, I could hear him in the kithcen when my parents were having their morning coffee while we were curled up in bed waiting for my Mom to callus later on.

I can remember the naked trees that were robbed from their leaves by the morning breeze. I can remember the sound of the wind around the corners, a sound I would never forget and haven’t heard in a long long time. My sister and I shared a room and used to put all our blankets on one single bed and keep each other warm. Sometimes when she sleeps over in winter we still do that.

I miss the winters down there.

The Higveld would’nt know what a winter is if it bites it in the ass.

The R40 fortune

One Winters day when I was about 11 or 12 years old we were short of money. You could always sense that as a child cause there was a bit of tension in the house, usually in the last week of the month when there was month left at the end of the money. My mother did not know where the next meal would come from, and feeding a husband and 3 children was mostly one of her main concerns.

The wind was strong and the air cold. To give you a bit of background - in our front yard we had a wired fence, with a big gate and a little gate and a red post box by the little gate. Oh that is something else I miss – the postman on his bike delivering post – but he has no relevance to this story.

For some reason on this day about 20 years ago, my mother stood by the window staring outside, maybe wishing for a miracle to come flying in the door. All of a sudden, something caught her attention outside. She called my Dad to come and have a look, as if her eyes betrayed her at that very moment. By then she had everyone curious so we were all standing a bit closer to have a peep out the window.

Then I saw it. Two R20 rand notes were blown in by the strong wind onto our front mesh and got stuck inside. To this day I don’t know how one could get stuck, let a lone two. Dad went outside to collect our newly found fortune. We all know R40 was allot of money back then.

I think she must have prayed, like always during those harsh times.

God listened, and provided for a week until the next payday.

The Kite

So who’s going to make him a kite, Dad? Sometimes I wish things were different, boy, we screwed up so bad between us. My husband has two left hands as you know. If there is anyone that can make my little boy a kite, it would be you Dad…

You made us things when we were little. You helped with assignments. Remember that Plaster of Paris set that you bought me one Christmas. We moulded the shapes and then you showed me how to paint it. I remember I brought home an assignment once where we had to create a Netbal field on a carton so you went to school to make notes so we could get the lines on the field right. I got an A for that assignment, Dad.

I always thought that if I ever have children that need assignments done I would bring them to you. You would be creative enough to think of something when the time is right. Those memories are all I have. Sometimes I wonder if you still recall those times when we were little, Dad?

I have to build him a kite. You showed me how, remember?

You are missing out on so much, Dad.

I still love you.

The Big Sister

Ever since we brought our little boy home our little girl wants to do everything on her own. We were worried because we thought she would wet the bed again or start whining like a 2 year old, but luckily none of those things has happenend yet. In the mornings she gets dressed herself, and she knows now that the lables come at the back and the print in the front. She even puts her shoes on the right way; it does not look like two bananas turning outward anymore when it is the wrong way around.

There are some things she just can’t do on her own but she managed to find ways around it. One day while I was busy breastfeeding she came running with a cup in the one hand and the milk carton in the other. I make sure all the yogurt and viennas are on the botton shelf of the fridge so she can help herself whenever she feels like it.

When her brother naps in the afternoon and I get time to do the dishes and start cooking she brings her chair and “helps” me do the dishes by playing with plastic cups in the dishwater. After that she wants to help with the drying so I give her the teaspoons to dry. It might sound strange but it is a bit of bonding time, and it takes me back to when I was five and helped my mother around the house. It is amazing how much of yourself you see in your children.

We all had to make some adjustments when the new baby arrived.

The Matter of the Cake

“What about Spongebob Mom?”

“You had a Spongebob cake last year.”

I feel bad, it feels like I am making the decision on her behalf. He is obviously as popular as last year so I should just order old Spongebob again. She is lucky to have a choice, when I was five you had to take what was coming your way, the people were not so creative with wax paper back then.

“I also like Barbie.”

“Ok, can we get you a Barbie cake?”

She thinks for a moment.

“No, I think Mickey Mouse…”

I smile for a moment. She can’t make up her mind, now I feel better about old Spongebob, maybe he is’nt that popular afterall.

“Oh, and don’t forget about Hanna Montana,” I say with a little sarcasm, because looks like we have to cover the whole Disney channel here.. The moment I say ‘Hanna Montana” she jumps to her feet.

“Oh yes, please Mom! Hanna Montana! Hanna Montana!”

I pick up the phone and start dialing.

“Are you sure?” I ask, but she is already dancing halfway across the room and I know that the matter of the cake is settled.

A moment later the cake woman on the other side squirts out a giggle.

“A 5 year old that likes Hanna Montana”, she says,”they start early these days.”

One Hanna Montana cake coming up for my 4 old daughter’s 5th birthday.

The New Brother

When our son was born our daughter was a little bit dissapointed. Her father said that the doctor will cut me open and then her brother will jump out and grab her around the neck, and being a small child with a big imagination, she believed him. I sometimes fight with him because he tells her all these stories and she hangs on to every word he says.

“But he sleeps the whole time,” she said after the first few days at home. So, the precious times when he is awake I call her to hold his hand or massage cream into his hands and feet. She fights with me when I clean his ambilical cord. He cries cause he is cold I try and explain, but to no avail, she thinks I am torturing her brother.

“This is my brother and not yours!” she yells to her cousin when they come and visit.

“I know,” Emma answers patiently.

“Emma just wants to have a look love, and besides, you can share him,” I try and keep the peace so that no one feels left out.

Another year or so and they will all three be running around the house, then they can finally play with the long awaited brother/cousin.