Sibling Writhe-elry

Well hello, blog. Good to see you're still here after a whole year.

So, today I took Nikhil to the community rec center for a 45 minute science class on Wriggly Worms. I had planned to drop him off and then run some errands, but peer pressure is powerful, so I take my seat on the edge of the class with the other parents and try not to retch when the promised worms are produced.

Ariane sits on my lap, quietly soaking in everything the "Mad Scientist" has to say, and behaving like a model child. I watch her with curiosity, and then the images start flashing through my mind like punchy slides in a PowerPoint presentation:
YESTERDAY: We went to SunSplash waterpark. Three of us got wristbands just like everyone else there, but Ariane, being under3, paid nothing and got no wristband. "Mommy, when I grow big I will get a wristband too."
LAST WEEKEND: At the homeschool conference, everyone wore green lanyards with name tags hanging off them. Ariane was too young to pay or get a name tag. "Mommy, when I grow big I will wear a name tag."
MONDAY: Nikhil got BeyBlades, the coolest craze amongst the Crossfit kids. Ariane's not co-ordinated enough to play. "Mommy, when I grow big I will battle BeyBlades."

And then it hits me: my sweet child, like me, is The Younger Sibling. Fated to a lifetime of not being old enough - knowing that no matter how quickly she grows, she can never catch up to her sibling. He'll always be cooler, faster, stronger, cleverer, more advanced.

 As a kid, even things I loved were always shown up as juvenile trivialities next to my Older Sister's Important Stuff. At 4 years old, I had to sleep on the lower bunk because she could be better trusted not to fall out of the mysterious Bed In The Sky. At 10 years old, I thought I was glamorous and fashionable in my "bubble skirt", such a hit in the early '90's. Until I spotted my 14 year old sister in... wait for it... a STRAPLESS top. How could I ever hope to be that cool? I slunk away in my bulky bubble and watched from a distance as she flirted with the neighborhood boys.
And so it was all through childhood and beyond; I mastered writing my alphabet - she was already Writing in Cursive. I was graduating from pharmacy school, she was Getting Married. I was getting married, she was Having A Baby. I took one step - she was always 2 steps ahead.
I learnt that nothing I ever did would be good enough, or novel and exciting - it had all been done before, or was being done better than I could ever do it.
Reeling out of my reverie into the Worm Seminar, I watch Ariane watch Nikhil get a real live, fat, wriggly earthworm on a petri dish. Feel her hand tremble with anticipation as he is invited to touch his worm. Hear her swallow when he is given an animal cracker to dissolve in his mouth without chewing, like a toothless worm. By the time Nikhil gets his big, bright yellow magnifying glass, I can't make out if it's Ariane's voice or mine I hear in my head: "One day I'll be big/ important/ clever/ cool like that." Only, I know older siblings never wait for younger ones, and she never will get her wish.

I whisper in her ear, "When we go home I'll get your magnifying glass and you can look at the worm, ok? Are you sad?"
"Uh-huh. I... I... I just want to go home, Mommy."

My throat too tight to talk, I swoop her out of the room, to the front desk and try to sign her up for a soccer program, basketball, ballet, t-ball, science classes, ANYTHING! They can't do it till she turns 3. As a homeschooling parent, it frustrates me to have to be limited by such an arbitrary constraint as a date of birth. Don't they know that at 2 years and 11 months she can sit still and listen just as well as she will a month from now? Feeling powerless and annoyed, I hand her a dollar bill and let her buy a snack from the vending machine, an ineffectual gesture to quell my discomfort.

Hours later, the emotions writhe in my gut like a tub full of earthworms. My daughter is my 2nd chance to prove to the world that younger siblings ARE important. We CAN achieve what older siblings can, we can be original and clever and cool. Will I win this time around? Or will I loosen my grip and let my daughter prove it herself? I pray for the grace to support her unobtrusively, letting her claim her place in the world. May she do a better job than I did.

Reflections on the Square

Nelson Mandela Square in Sandton City, Johannesburg.

Sitting at a cafe drinking lime & lemonade while children squeal and splash in the fountains...
Eating Greek meze on the terrace with Carien, chatting philosophically about the challenges of life...
Rendezvous at Exclusive Books, wandering around fantasizing about owning half the bookstore...
Sushi at the Cape Town Fish Market with the pharmacists, followed by a movie (quarreling over a chick flick or a skop,skiet & donder action movie for the guys, and somehow the guys always winning). Afterwards, coffee and ridiculously large slices of cake at Mugg & Bean...
Sitting at an outside cafe with Kerry in the middle of winter because she wanted to smoke - me shivering and sipping hot chocolate like a child, she quaffing wine and waving a cigarette around like a woman of the world...
Taking a break from a Saturday of studying with Anni and Senton, to get a lunch of Woolies pasta salad and chocolate soy milk...
Dinner at The Butcher Shop on Kim's birthday, lots of meat and red wine, lots of laughing...
And always, always, forgetting to use the restroom until we got to the car park, and having to use the creepy, isolated restroom at the exit while Brad waited outside...
Then sinking into my cushy European company car while Brad drove us home...

It turns out that what I miss most are little moments spent laughing with great people.
I miss "posh" places like Sandton City and Monte Casino, places where you had to get all dressed up to go eat at a restaurant with white linen tablecloths and wine glasses the size of grapefruit. Of course there are such places here, they're just very far away, and they haven't been a part of our experience here as yet - just like apple sauce and disinfectant wipes exist in South Africa, but they hadn't formed a part of my experience there. (Boy, did that cause an indignant uproar, when I said I loved Lysol wipes and apple sauce in America!)

I really do miss Exclusive Books, that vast bookstore that made you feel like the world was right there waiting for you to experience it between the pages of a crisp new book. Our bookstore, Borders, is undergoing a liquidation - now our nearest bookstore is nearly an hour's drive away.

I miss public restrooms with fancy granite surfaces, cleaned to a high shine by invisible elves, to make you feel like you had just been in an upmarket hotel. (How strange, to be missing toilets!).

But then I look around me at these picturesque tree-lined suburban streets, and I'm grateful for my wide running paths, so grateful that I can go out every morning and feel perfectly safe to run by myself, even get lost in a daydream, without fear of being attacked. I'm so grateful that Brad can hop on his bike and ride around whenever he wants, without having to drive to a safe place first, because cyclists kept getting attacked near the squatter camp by our house.

I'm so grateful that when I drive with my kids, (in my self-funded Japanese car), I can sing to them and chat to them, instead of having to formulate an action plan in case of hijackers (if that sounds excessive to you, you haven't had it happen to people you know.)

I'm grateful for safe, clean, well-maintained parks that my children can play in. I'm grateful that they can wander into the next aisle in a store without me panicking that they've been kidnapped.

And so it seems it matters less where you are than how grateful you are - if you appreciate what you have, any place can be home. I am so grateful for the friends and family I have in South Africa and the unforgettable memories we made. What makes their absence bearable, is knowing that this is now my home, my safe haven, my place. And of course, knowing that they are just a click away...

Life is a double nut chocolate chunk cookie

I arrived home this evening to find Brad cooking roti and paneer makhni, the house spotlessly clean, laundry clean and folded, and the children contentedly playing with Play-Doh. It's so difficult being me...

My life and outlook have improved dramatically since my previous blog post. Work is more pleasant, my tyrannical manager has learned to respect me (even, dare I say, value me) and our social life has been pretty good, all things considered.

Sadly, though, my waistline continues to suffer the effects of all the American food I insist on stuffing into my pie-hole. I just can't free myself from the temptation of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Cookies 'n Cream ice cream, and Costco's double nut chocolate chunk cookies. They make the perfect ending to a relentless day when savoured with a glass of vanilla-flavoured almond milk, while mindlessly surfing the Net and listening to the soothing sighs of slumbering children.

Yet, if my weight is the only casualty of this fabulous journey, I consider myself fortunate. Moving to a different country allows one to take on a completely different perspective - I'm fully immersed in this life, and at the same time, strangely detached. For instance, driving to work, I trundle along in the slow lane, drinking in the spring sunshine; appreciating the young vineyards, the cow-dotted green fields, the endless wildflowers; admiring the raptors circling and swooping overhead, and I know that I am luckier than anyone who is not here, in this place, right now. I watch the other drivers, eyes locked ahead, minds already at work, and smiling inanely to myself, I know I am luckier than all the people who are here, in this place, right now.

At home, things are settling down nicely. The children occasionally make it through an entire night without waking once, and I'm finally, for the first time in over 3 years, able to join that elite club of moms whose children "sleep through". Spending all this time with Brad has been wonderful for the kids. The biggest development in Nikhil has been emotional - he's become more reasonable, less prone to tantrums or sulking. Ariane is starting to say 2-word "sentences". When she wakes up earlier than Nikhil in the mornings and can't find him, she runs through the house calling "Keel! Baba!" (Nikhil, brother).

Ariane is fascinated with shoes, clothes and makeup (she calls makeup "kup-up") and I usually find my makeup under the bathroom counter, smashed and scratched and smeared everywhere. She prefers her dad over me most of the time, even in the middle of the night or when she gets hurt.

Nikhil is now into typing. He's figured out how to change the font size and colour in Word, and has fun typing out words. We promised him a bunk bed once he learns to put himself to bed, so he ran over to the computer and typed "bucbed".

Both kids call Brad "mom", I have no idea why. They call me Mom too, sometimes Nikhil calls me Dad. It's quite strange how they have this inborn notion that the primary caregiver should be mom. The other day, Nikhil was giving us a lengthy list of all the things he wanted us to buy, so Brad, exasperated, told him he should go out and work so he could buy all these things. Taken aback, Nikhil replied, "No, I can't go to work! I'm not a lady!" I hope he's good at identifying sugar-mommies...

The Daily Grind

Life has settled into a very comfortable routine, finally. I'm working regular hours, the kids are used to the fact that Brad takes care of them most of the time, and Brad is now accustomed to managing the household and kids. I've finally stopped needing my GPS to get to work and back (give me a break, I've been driving in the dark, rain and fog for the past few weeks!) and I understand the American accent a little better now.

Working in an American pharmacy is amazing. The system we work with at Rite Aid is fantastic - it makes the work day so simple and hassle-free; it's practically paperless. Prescriptions come from the doctor's rooms electronically, we fill them and bill the insurance electronically, and the patient gets notified to pick up the medication electronically. Alternatively, the patient can send us an electronic request for medication, we send an electronic request to the doctor, the doctor replies electronically, and the patient is electronically notified to pick up their medication - all without a single phone call or fax message being sent.

Most of the people I work with are great - upbeat and fun, really enjoyable. My manager, on the other hand, is a pain in the neck. He constantly tries to make me feel stupid, and reprimands me for not doing things properly when I haven't been shown the right way to do them. He gave me a written warning for a mistake I made in my second week on the job - 2 more written warnings mean I get fired. He never misses an opportunity to tell me how much more money than me he makes (despite the fact that I'll be earning the same in about 10 months), how much better educated he is than I am (despite the fact that I passed an equivalence exam that satisfied the Board of Pharmacy that I am equivalently qualified), or to pass on "helpful tips" on how to be a good pharmacist (despite the fact that I've been a pharmacist for 9 years, he for 3). In my head, I know that I shouldn't let him get me down, but he wears me down with constant reprimands multiple times a day, to the point that I come home feeling inadequate and incompetent. It doesn't matter how perfectly I do anything, he finds something wrong with everything I do, at least a dozen times a day. I'm not in a position to argue, having only been on the job for 4 weeks, so I just nod and try to do it better next time...

On the bright side, I will soon be splitting my week between 2 pharmacies, and the way my schedule works out, I'll only have to work with this guy one day every 2 weeks. I can't wait.

Socially, I haven't made many friends yet. Working full time and studying the rest of the time doesn't leave much time for finding friends. Brad has made friends at CrossFit, where he works out 2-3 times a week with the Benades. They are a bunch of insanely fit, good-looking people who are passionate about their health and about CrossFit. They routinely do things like lift 1 million times their body weight, do 1000 push-ups on their pinky fingers, and run 50 miles in a single workout, (and that's just the ladies!) on a strict diet of broccoli, lean chicken and almond milk. I've met some of them, and they are all wonderful people, but I have to fight the urge to shrink into the shadows and try to hide my unsculpted form. I can't tell those people the ugly truth about myself - that I can barely do 10 push-ups, and that I partake of bread and ice cream and cheesecake. When they start talking about burpees and thrusters and pull-ups, I hang out with the kids and we talk about Humpty Dumpty and the three blind mice.

Brad and I wake up at 5am every morning so I can work out (he's my personal trainer because I have no willpower). Some mornings I get a workout in, but often the kids wake up and we lose the opportunity. It's very frustrating, especially when I see how defined and strong he is, and I realise I'll never get there at this rate. Another thing to feel inadequate about... I guess I'll just go get myself a big bowl of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream then.

So that's me, folks - a shadow of my former self. An incompetent pharmacist, a fat, slovenly wife and social misfit. Things can only get better from here. I'll keep you updated on my progress - hold thumbs for me.

American English - an Oxymoron

It's a wonder that we have survived nearly six weeks in this place without getting punched or verbally abused, contracting food poisoning, or having a serious car accident. With the discrepancies in meanings between South African English and American English, we are practically learning a foreign language.

I mean, where am I supposed to drive when the tarred road surface is called the pavement, and the pavement is called the sidewalk? How do I operate a car when a bonnet is a hood and a boot is a trunk, and neither one is opened, but both are popped? Do I toot my horn or hoot at the truck (which is in fact, a bakkie - a truck is either an 18-wheeler or a big rig or a hauler or any number of other things)?

Where do I put my laundry when a washing machine is a washer and a washer is a... O-ring? I don't even know what a washer is called here. A geyser is called a water heater, and a hot spring is a geyser. A cistern, believe it or not, is actually a tanker truck and has nothing to do with the house plumbing. If I ask a shop assistant for the bathroom, they wonder if I need an emergency shower. Toilet sounds too crude, I have to remember to ask for the restroom.

What do I wear when a vest is a waistcoat and an undershirt is a vest? Do I wear a vest over my dress shirt and an undershirt under my shirt dress?

Where do I sleep when a single bed is a twin bed, and a three-quarter is a full size? Luckily, a queen is a queen and a king is a king, but how big is a California king? A night frill is a bed skirt, but could someone please explain what a sham is? In SA, you certainly would not buy anything advertised to include a sham.

What do I eat when Cinnabon is a breakfast treat, and maize porridge (grits) is eaten savoury with eggs and bacon? When sausage is not the same as sausages, and hamburger is not the same as hamburgers? You can eat sausage on biscuits (English muffins) and hamburger with macaroni. A vienna is a frank, and boerewors doesn't exist. If you ask for mince meat you get fruit mince, if you want minced meat you ask for ground meat. A rib roast is not a rib eye roast, is not a rib eye steak, is not an eye round steak. And what the hell is tri-tip? Could I ask the butcher to show me his weiners, or would that be inappropriate?
Tomato sauce is ketchup, tomato puree is tomato sauce, fresh tomato sauce is pasta sauce (I think). Cherry tomatoes are grape tomatoes... oy vey.

I told Nikhil we were going to Food Source - he wanted to know if he could have some food sauce too? Brad in particular is having trouble pronouncing "sauce" and "source" in American.

And where do I buy all these things when a shop is a workshop and a store is a shop? What would people in South Africa think if I told them I work in a drug store? Drugs are medicines and narcotics are drugs - our narcotics are called, what? Sedative-hypnotics? Really looking forward to the first week at work...

I arranged to meet a guy in 20 minutes, and told him I would see him "just now". He seemed alarmed and told me he would rather see me later.

At least Nikhil seems to be adapting. After Thanksgiving lunch, he discovered there's a whole BUNCH of people who speak just like Malissa, and now he's started pronouncing all his R's at the end of words, like "wateR", "betteR", "grateR". He even told me he'd had a good "ideaR". I don't think he believed me when I told him IDEA doesn't end in an R. He'll have to hear it from Malissa, I suppose...

Out of the mouths of babes... A kiddie update

Nikhil is coming along really well with his "schoolwork" (pre-Kindergarten activity books). Today we were learning about opposites, and one of the examples was a pretty princess and an ugly witch. Out of the blue, Nikhil says "Mommy, if you eat all your food, you'll grow up into a pretty lady one day." Amused, I asked him what I am now, ugly or pretty? "Not ugly, and not pretty, just nice." Not so amused anymore.

I asked him if Ariane is pretty, and he confidently said yes. So I asked who else is pretty? "Malissa is pretty! One day, when you're pretty like Malissa, I'll say, Oh I love you Mommy!"
The funniest part was watching Brad trying to salvage my feelings.

Ariane is saying a few more words, like Duck (she really does love birds), and G'bye. She's started biting Nikhil, though. If he has something she wants, she bites him. If he takes something she has, she bites him. If I take something away from her, she bites Nikhil!

In happier news, Nikhil's verbal skills are progressing quite gratifyingly. Today he told me, "When Ariane grows up into a lady she won't bite me anymore. But at the moment, she's still a baby, and she doesn't know any better." I was quite impressed - I certainly didn't tell him that. He's still trying to figure out exactly what a husband is, though. Today he told me he was going to the park with his husband - being Brad.

We took the kids to Toys R Us because Nikhil wouldn't stop asking for a lawnmower to "lawn the mow". We found a cute one that blows bubbles, but he only wanted the one with a choke to start the motor. He threw one of those "Whose kid is that?" tantrums because we wouldn't buy him a huge motorised tractor, and then he saw the golf clubs... In the end, we gave him a choice between the golf clubs, the lawnmower and a tricycle (because Ariane was getting a ride-on), and he chose the golf clubs. He LOVES golf - on the way home he told us all about how his grandfather taught him how to play golf but he's in South Africa now...

Anyway, it didn't stop him crying for the lawnmower once we got home. Or fighting with Ariane over the ride-on. That's a lesson in making choices and living with the consequences.

We're still waiting patiently for the day the kids can put themselves to bed and sleep through the night. At 14 months and nearly 3 years old, I fear we may have missed our window of opportunity...

Thanksgiving

We've been adopted by the Johnsons, Malissa's family. We spent Thanksgiving at Grandma and Grandpa Johnson's house today.

We were invited to attend The Stuffing of the Turkey early in the morning. It was a 19lb turkey, almost the size of Ariane.

 

The Stuffing actually started about 3 days previously, when the turkey was taken out to defrost. This morning, the Johnsons prepared great-grandma Johnson's original recipe turkey stuffing, with much squelching and squeezing. (I got the recipe! This confirms that I'm family!)

 

Once the stuffing was declared perfect, it was stuffed into the turkey with a respectable amount of huffing and puffing.

 

Finally it was all sewn together with the requisite pulling and tugging, and then basted with melted butter.

 

(That's Malissa's mom - now you know where Malissa got her good looks!)

Finally the turkey was wrapped cosily in foil and tucked into the oven for five hours. Coincidentally, that's about as long as Ariane sleeps before she wakes for the first time at night. Hmm...

Later in the afternoon, we returned to the Johnson's to the delicious aroma of a perfectly roasted turkey. We indulged in a feast that was satisfyingly traditional, yet not sickeningly rich. Succulent turkey (I expected dry!), flavourful stuffing, the most buttery orange sweet potatoes (no marshmallow topping, thank goodness!), tart cranberry sauce, fluffy mashed potatoes... Crisp salad of baby spinach, nuts and cranberries... And of course, pumpkin pie to end it all off. Just perfect.
Oh, yes, and Jell-o and cream with the main course... Still trying to figure that one out.

I'm now infatuated with orange sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie - they're plaguing my brain like a teenage crush. I can't wait to see them again (apologies to Miley Cyrus).

The Johnsons have the perfect grandparents' house - it's full of interesting pictures and ornaments to intrigue little minds (and fingers!) as well as an attic full of toys that make their way into the living room. Best of all, it's owned by smiling indulgent parents of four, who say "Oh, let him have another helping of dessert!" and bounce children around, making silly noises. Grandparents are the same all over the world.

I explained the concept of gratitude to Nikhil, and asked him what he was thankful for. His answer: "Umm, smoke detectors and air conditioners... and stuff." Well, I suppose that's a fair answer. With some encouragement, he conceded that he is also grateful for gumball machines and Halloween and Mom, but what about Dad? "Hmm... ye-es, but sometimes he makes me cross!" Mommy's boy.

And what about my Thanksgiving list? I'm grateful that we are finally here, after years of planning and praying. I'm grateful for sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie. I'm grateful for friends who keep you afloat when you think you might drown. I'm grateful for adoptive families. And I'm grateful that I have a real family to miss as much as I do.