How the times they are a-changing

If I, as a 4 year old, back in the early 80's, had been caught singing anything other than "Edelweiss" and "Jesus Loves Me", my parents would have definitely raised a disapproving eyebrow or two and warned me not to repeat the refrain in public.

If my grandparents had ever caught a whisper of "Blue Suede Shoes", or, heaven forbid, "Wake up Little Suzy", well, there would have been some serious scolding to follow I'm sure.

But oh, the times have changed, haven't they? Not only do my children sing the entire ABBA album backwards, they've cottoned onto some more recent artists too. Mika, Katy Perry, and the girl who sings "Mercy" are all hot favourites amongst the girls. (Note my musical expertise coming through. Ahem. - what's that chick's name, anyway?)

And it's not that they just hum along, but we actually get them to rehearse their version of a particular song for the mild amusement and listening pleasure of our friends. (See, this is why we even have kids: cheap entertainment!)

So then, is something rotten in the state of Denmark? By encouraging the wild musical flavours of the current times are we nurturing rebellion, low morals and social disintegration? I don't think so. After all, we grew up with the music of the eighties. And even with the birth of techno and grunge mixed into the brew of our musical nutrition, we didn't (all) turn into delinquents, criminals or rodent sacrificing satanists.

Perhaps our generation has learnt that sticks and stones can break our bones but words can never harm us? It's an understanding our parents never quite had, fearing our souls would be lost forever if we listened to too much rock 'n roll or heavy metal. Maybe we don't regard words with as much fear and respect as our predecessors did. Maybe we are more flippant and careless with the language we use. Maybe.

But, when all is said and done, you have to admit that it is still a hoot to watch your parents cringe at words like "Fart", and even more so when it's your tiny little angel saying it.

Yes, we have less fear of the effects of music and lyrics on our offspring. Our concerns are more focussed on technology and the internet and what effects cellular phones will have on our children's lives. And who knows, maybe in twenty years time our kids will scoff at our concern over things like radiation. Maybe they'll put their babies in their microwave ovens to warm them up on a cold day, and joke about how we react to that.

Maybe.

Toothbrush Tales

While we stayed overseas, I would write regular updates back home to our friends and family informing them of all the new and fantastic things that were going on in our exotic lives. I happened to be going through these letters the other day, and found one that I think you might like. Here goes:

It was the night before last week Saturday, and all through the sandpit, not a creature was stirring, not even one of those really big geckos that cling to the walls around the compound.

 

Brett was in Riyadh for the whole of last week on a training course for work. For Brett this meant going crazy in a hotel room (because he didn’t know what else to do on his own in Riyadh) and for Jess it meant going crazy at home because she didn’t have a car to use for the evening Cinnabon gathering missions.

 

All should not be seen in a negative light, however. Brett did get a chance to work out in the hotel’s exclusive gym AND go for mid-week drinks at the American Embassy in Riyadh (by cordial invitation only, bar closes at 8pm). And for Jess… well this may take a little explaining.

 

Jess’s toothbrush is a sacred object. A holy shrine to privacy, if you wish. All too often, the pre-bed/ post-rise/ mid-morning ritual of toothbrushing in the Commaille household has been interrupted with Jess’s high-pitched squeals of utter disdain and disbelief at the sight of Brett sacrilegiously scrubbing away at his pearly whites with her toothbrush. Sometimes, if Brett gets himself together before Jess (also not uncommon), Jess may get to the bathroom to take part in her dental hygiene regimen only to be met by a dripping wet toothbrush, while Brett’s is bone dry.

 

These sins have been commonplace ever since, on the acquisition of our last toothbrushes, Brett refused to take the blue one (because “I always have the blue one”) and insisted on the green one. Needless to say, old habits die hard, and if them teeth are used to that old blue scrubber, there is little chance they will stay away from it.

 

Brett’s absence last week gave Jess a kind of respite, a truly orthodontic peace, knowing that her toothbrush was set apart for her exclusive use.

 

But, as we all know, all good things do come to an end. First night back home and Brett was happily scrubbing away with Jess’s toothbrush once again!

 

But this is not a tale of woe and sorrow. Oh no! Behind every trial we face, there is a lesson too valuable to ignore. Jess took action. Without saying a word (although if looks could spit, Brett would have needed a life jacket), she rushed her toothbrush to the dressing table and proceeded to paint it in Yardley Crushed Berry nail polish.

 

And that, folks, is what they mean by necessity being the mother of invention. At present an unusual calm rests in our bathroom – a sense of harmony, peace and dental well-being. The paint-job has worked beautifully. On more than one occasion Brett has stopped short realizing that he has grabbed the incorrect brush and thus avoided recommitting his serial offence.

Making the Most of my New Year Oomph

Ok. So maybe I was a little cynical back then. Back there in 2008. I'm only human. I made a mistake. But, I'm older now. And wiser. And I had a weirdly satisfying revelation today which I intend on sharing with you.

So there I was, getting high on Mr Muscle Multi-Purpose House Cleaner, scrubbing blisters onto my knuckles. My knees and elbows groaned under the strain of nitty gritty tile cleaning. I thought to myself that I am always a little slow on the uptake. Here I was undertaking a fairly monumental Spring Clean, and we're half way through summer. Geez, someone give the girl an espresso!

Anyway, inhaling detergent fumes might do that to me, I don't know, but I realised, amidst the scrubbing and dusting and disinfecting, that the last three days have been, well, awash with domestic activity of the cleansing kind. In fact, since the dawn of the new year, I have washed over 10 loads of washing, ironed 6 of those ten, composted the garden, raked all the leaves off the lawn, cleared out the guest room, vacuumed three carpets, exterminated 15 (plus) spider webs and ant colonies on my domiciliary boundary, and packed away all the Christmas decorations! (I know it was early, but I don't abide by the twelth night rule, ok?) And, on top of all of that, home life has been business as usual, if not a little more than usual, being holidays and all. We've hosted a braai, attended a braai, gone to a movie, watched at least 362 movies at home, played Balloon Lagoon more times than I care to remember, and Cranium Cadoo too few times, PLUS we've climbed a mountain. And that's all happened this year. In three days. What on earth has gotten into me? Me. Tired me. Exhausted me. Me who needs more sleep hours than awake hours in a day. Me who often lacks the necessary energy required to brush my own hair.

It's that New Year thing. That thing that I was all cocky about. That thing of how December 31 is just the day before January first, no big deal, no major change, just one day following the next. And yet, I think that there must be some magic to it after all. My Done List* would have been impossible without a little magic, a little fairytale sparkle, a little bit of impossible becoming possible.

(*The Done List is the To Do List as veiwed in the past tense. This is particularly helpful to individuals, like myself, who get more inspired by remembering the things they have already accomplished than by being reminded about the things they still need to do.)

And as I was musing about that 'je ne sais quoi' -kiness of the New Year, a little bit of a fairy tale played out right before my eyes.

AirBear had been watching me spray, scrub, rinse and mop for some time. I had suggested she go play with her My Little Ponies, but she stayed and watched. After a while she pronounced that she would help me clean the floors.

"Are you sure you'd like to help me?" I asked. She nodded and took the mop out of the bucket and poised herself for mop duty. I cringed at the muddy puddles she was dripping all over my already cleaned floor. But I acquiesced. Suprisingly, my little four year old took to mopping like a duck to water. I was fairly impressed, and relieved at how things sped up with her assistance.

After a while, she Sighed. With a capital "S". "Are we servants now?" she asked.

"No," I laughed. "We're cleaning our house. For us."

"But it feels like we're working for someone. Like we're servants. This is not a nice job."

I put my hand out for the mop. "You can go play if you want to," I said. She held tightly to her tool and shook her head.

"No," she said. "I'll stay. You need me to help you, because I'm really good at this. And anyway, my daddy will see me, and he'll say I'm his champion, and you'll say I'm your super star. I'll stay," she shrugged those amazing little shoulders and set back to work slopping bleach up against my couch covers.

I smiled and thought that we might just live happily ever after after all.

Not my child

T-Bird (while regarding the wildlife in the TygerHills Nature Reserve): Mom, that tortoise is just like me.

Me (trying not to laugh): And why is that?

T-Bird (dead pan face): Because I also eat grass.

My New Year's Wish

I've never been one for wishing that all your dreams come true and magic ponies in cashmere bubbles carry all your fears to the other side of the rainbow. Blergh! No. And because I'm not particularly taken by mystic bunnies that poop cotton candy, I'm not going to wish you the very best year you've ever had.

No.

In fact, I hope that your best year ever is still many years away and that the build up to THAT year is exciting and thrilling and possibly even a little adventurous.

As far as 2009 is concerned, I would love for it to be, for you, a bit like the opening act of a Shakespearean play - precocious and gripping, alluring and ever so enchanting. That it will put a wry smile on your face and tickle your curiosity just enough to get you interested in exploring it a little further.

I'm not going to wish you strength and courage and hope and prosperity. Sorry. If you're looking for those blessings, you might want to check out the Hello Kitty website. Nope. I'm not going to hope that all things change for the better. Uh-uh. If anything about you changes in 2009, I hope that it would be that you would become more adventurous, more daring; that you would take on the world with more Oompah! and that you would believe in your own abilities more and more.

I'm not going to wish you a perfectly happy year. A whole year of happy would rapidly become tedious. Instead, I wish you inner peace between the happy times. I wish that the gaps from one happy to the next will be short, and that as you pass from one to the next, you will remember that you are so much stronger than you think you are.

Sincerely

Jx.