Oh 2018, if you were a human I would tell you to fuck off. Not good to see you go. Not bye. Just fuck off.
It has been, without a doubt, the toughest year of my life.
My poor body. What a fight it had to fight to make it to the end of this year. Rounds and rounds of chemo, chemo allergy, hospitalization, blood thinner injections, blood tests, sonars, xrays, MRI, radiations, operations, burns… The list is longer than I wish to remember. It was no walk in the park and in all honesty it is still not. My breast still hurts, my legs are in constant pain (sometimes agony) and my feet are permanently sore. All thanks to the side effects of my last chemo.
Emotionally I’m not in a good place. I’ve had some serious parenting downs and after finishing my cancer treatment I’ve been emotional. I don’t know why, I just am.
I’ve come to realize that people I thought would be there for me, would not. They did not support me in the way I deserved and they should have.
There were obviously some good times and good people who came into my life. For that I am thankful. I’m still alive and in remission (as is my mom) and for that I’m hugely thankful. I have a special, very honest and open relationship with my children. Different from most parents I think and for that I’m thankful.
2018… Off you will fuck.
When we were little, my dad used to work for United Bank. (I actually ended up working for them as well at some stage during my studies)
Anyway, I can clearly remember that when we used to visit my dad in his office I would ask him if I could play with his phone.
NOT the office phone because that was simply not done.
Obviously not the cellphone for this was way before cellphones.
I was this little “phone” Actually a calculator. It reminds me so of that time in our lives. I still feel like that little girl. I can clearly remember “talking” and calculating
even as I got older
My dad had a client this afternoon and they had their little granddaughter with them. He heard her asking if she could play with the phone and just as he stretched to take hold of this phone, he realized that in fact she wanted her Ouma’s smart phone.
How things have changed.
How time flies as well. No longer a little girl, holding a pretend phone against her ear, while talking to pretend clients and doing pretend calculations. I now work with my dad, with proper phone against the ear, talking to very real clients with regards to their very real tax calculations.
This morning I found a box while looking for something else.
A box filled with memories.
Filled with letters from my youth.
Letters written to me by friends, boyfriends. Journals that I kept (I do apologize to all teachers who had to read that handwriting!). Faded photos.
Will our kids still have this? Do they still write letters or is it all on whatsapp and BBM and text messages? Photos shared electronically. Never printed out to keep.
I hope that it is not lost. The feel of paper between your fingers, with the memories just there for you to read. One letter and I’m 12 again. Or sitting in my
boring English class.
What a treasure to find.
An end to an era.
That is what yesterday was.
Our bulletjie rugby journey started nine years ago when Quintus first started. Even before Zander was born.
Zander grew up next to the field. First year he was just the baby in the sling. Hardly showing his face. Then the little boy who carried rugby balls, like other kids carried soft toys.
Finally he could wait no longer and started playing rugby before he even went to school.
How things have changed since then, yet stayed the same.
Still his big brother giving hugs and advice.
Still the thing with his knees.
Always wanting to be the kicker
From that first try to one of his last. He has made us proud bulletjie parents
It’s over too quickly
Day nine, tell a story from your childhood
There are obviously many childhood stories to be remembered and told. We would have to start a fire and get ready for a long night. Yet, I have to tell only one.
I clearly remember Sundays at the dam. We would wake up hoping for the wind to blow. We had a catamaran. I loved it when the wind would push it over and we all fell in the water. Or holding on to the pipe in the front and being pulled through the water. Or if the wind would calm down, just swimming next to the catamaran, waiting for the wind to pick up again.
Often my parents would buy a bucket of KFC. A big treat for us.
Wish we took more photos way back then.
I know everyone said that this would happen. That within a blink of the eye, they would grow up. That I should savor every moment.
And I did. I still do. Every second of every day.
Yet, within what seemed like months, my grade R and then Grade 1 little boy turned into the young man he is now.
Today he finished his primary school years.
8 years gone by just like that.
“Quintus, in these 8 years you have done nothing but make me proud.
From that little boy who made sure everyone had tuck money, to the one giving away his market day purchase to a younger boy when it was sold out.
From the little boy who ran onto the rugby field in Grade R to tackle a boy his friends missed, to the 1st team rugby player who stood back for no-one.
From the little boy who sang in the school choir, to the one now a member of the North West Children’s choir.
You have grown into such a special, awesome boy.
I hope your high school years will be brilliant. These are the years you will really remember as an adult. You make amazing memories in High School. I hope that all your memories will be good.
I love you.
I am proud of you always.
Nope. Not the conventional mother at all.
I’m the mom who keeps the kids out of school because it’s snowing and they have never experienced snow before. Because it most probably will never snow (proper white snow that your legs get lost in) in Klerksdorp. (oh and the poor little snow men are tiny, since we don’t own mittens and your hands tend to get very cold for some reason!)
I’m the mom that keeps them out of school to take them to the Voortrekker monument. Won’t you remember more about it when you have been to the museum? Actually seen the toys they played with. The flags. The guns. They way they lived? Won’t you appreciate your language more if you understand how they fought for it?
I’m the mom who takes them out of school early, so that they can meet up with Ouma and Oupa at the train station. For them to see the very smart and luxurious Blue Train. To get the chance to meet their butler and take a small quick tour of the train.
Yes, I’m the mom who feels that some days they can learn more from missing day at school.
Don’t tell the teachers though lol