Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

Just in case you were wondering, it’s May.

Again.

Generally I love May. It’s actually a pretty awesome month. There are loads of public holidays. The flowers are so beautiful. It heralds the start of summer up here. The days are long, the rosé is sweet, it’s Mothers Day Sunday which means gifts and I get to indulge twice thanks to being ‘binational’ (obviously when it suits me).

May mornings on my terrace.

But it’s also May, the longest month of remembering Mum, and quite sadly, all I seem to remember is the last weeks. The weeks of not having her reply to my text messages. The moment of finding out she was terminal. I still remember lying prone on my couch that Wednesday night with my phone on my chest and Dads text message cane through to say “call me. You need to come home.” I remember what the girls wore to the airport. I remember walking across to the shop over the road to buy French gifts of wine for my family; I remember walking into the hospital at any time of day, regardless of visiting hours. I remember rain falling unseasonably; I remember seeing dusty countertops in her kitchen, unused; her handwriting on her grocery list; the day we brought her home, her body wrecked; I remember her lying on the couch, berating herself for not being stronger to sit up (we didn’t lie on couches on our house). I remember making scrambled eggs and paw paw for her to eat; I remember lying in her bedroom with her one afternoon while she slept, terrified she was going to pass away on the one time I was on my own with her. I remember the phone call from a friend of hers who told me she still worried about me living in France and that I wasn’t happy; I remember the church friends who came round to pray for her and how sad and uncomfortable I felt. I remember kissing her goodbye on my last day in SA before we came back here, telling her to go well. I remember thinking how sad it was that I couldn’t hold her and hug her, knowing that that last hug was going to be my forever hug.

This is why I hate May.

3 years ago. Already.

But, as I said, it’s also Mother’s Day. And instead of thinking all of those mesmerising sad thoughts, I’ve decided to remind myself – and all of you too, to capture the good and happy moments.

So, there are my 10 Random Thoughts and Memories To Consider And Be Grateful For This Mothers Day:

1.) I had a new(ish)born baby at my house last weekend. Cheese and rice, he was so gorgeous and squishy. I never get broody, but last Saturday after seeing Micah, I just wanted to recapture those days when I could just fall asleep in my bed with either of my baby girls curled up next to me, and just sleep the afternoon away.

2.) So while I can’t sleep the afternoon away with my babies, at least I am able to shut my eyes for an afternoon nap, knowing that my kids aren’t going to hurt themselves, or wreck the place, or run away while I do so. Plus, I can tell them to come and wake me up at a certain time with a cup of coffee.

3.) I may spend the most ridiculous amount of time shuffling my kids around on public transport, in the car or on bikes, but if we’re clever enough and done sufficient research, we can take them to cool parent and kid friendly places- like the Doolin caves when we were in Ireland. We can impress them with amazing achievements of people who have come before us, we can inspire them.

4.) We get to wear kitsch colourful homemade jewellery and our kids think we’re amazing. Plus nobody looks at you funny when you do because we’ve all had to do it.

5.) It turns out that letting your kids hang around a pub, complete with beer drinkers and pool players is not entirely detrimental to their well-being. It turns out that they become sociable, are able to learn how to be comfortable in themselves amongst unfamiliar people, to hold a conversation, and develop an idea of work…(my girls try to work when they come to work with me. It’s not always possible but when they can help, they do).

6.) Music is one of the very best tools to keeping something alive. Play an instrument, play a song; tap out a beat; swing your hips; make it loud; make it melodic; talk about it; talk about the people who do it. It can be classic, powerful, light or dark but whatever you do, take something from it and become inspired.

7.) My kids are like chalk and cheese in a lot of ways. It’s quite uncanny how different their personalities are. And it often leads to bickering and fighting. I get really angry when I have to mediate- I brings out the very worst in me. But never would I ever wish to change those personalities. Without one or the other, life wouldn’t be the same. Just as much as they differ, they each bring out something in the other that I can’t teach them. They learn it by experience.

8.) Apparently French Kids Don’t Throw Their Food. There’s a book out there to that affect. I never finished reading it, I kind of lost lost interest or became disgruntled. Basically the American author noticed how French kids are like little Mini Me’s of their parents and at the time, I couldn’t get my kids to sit still on the tram so what hope did I ever have if turning my girls into little French kids? Turns out French kids do actually throw their food, they are also prone to supermarket meltdowns, some do actually manage to wrap their parents round their little finger and one day my kids will discover the delights of mac ‘n cheese. Until then, I will cook meals for them that I know they enjoy. And this admission has been a particularly difficult one to overcome.

9.) At the moment I’m trying very hard to maintain a hold on what my kids wear. Flip-flops are cool, but not for school. Sparkly pink brand name footwear won’t last very long if they’re worn every day. A constant reminder to tuck in a shirt hanging way over the short shorts, but any other t-shirt isn’t ever long enough to cover the long limbs wearing inappropriately thin leggings. At which point I stop regulating their outfits I will never know, but how much does it matter? (I was 33 when Beth was born and Mom came to stay with me. We went shopping, less than a month after Beth was born via Caesarean section so I was wearing trakkie-pant and flip flops. Mom actually had something to say about my outfit and bought me a new pair of summer sandals. Go figure).

10.) Hugs and kisses. And text messages. Beth is always seeking my hand, my touch, a kiss from me. She would be quite content for the world to fall apart, so long as she could lie in my lap and have her back tickled. Alex doesn’t seek it out to the same proclivity but every single night when I’m at work, she will pick up her phone and send me a text message to say goodnight and “I love you”.

*(A 10 year old having a phone seems a little far fetched, but then again, this is where life is nowadays. Lest I be judged, note that she has a Nokia phone, cannot use the internet and her phone contract is restricted to calls and messages to a handful of select people.)

This Mothers Day (for South Africans) let me take this moment to applaud you, and challenges and skills, your moments of bath-time bliss and impeccably timed cups of coffee, your moments to read to your babies or to yourself, or even taking the opportunity to cook up a gourmet storm for one. If you can’t cook up a gourmet storm, I’m pretty sure baked beans in toast or chicken nuggets and peas will suffice. Because tomorrow is always another day.

‘Til tomorrow my friends. ‘Til tomorrow.

Best wishes,

Moi