the adlards

The party began before the sun rose. The two wunnerful li’l things woke and crawled into Mum & Dad’s bed just five minutes before the doorbell went off, in the pitch dark, to signal Granny & Grandpa’s arrival. Birthday cake was never meant to be consumed before sunrise, but one makes sacrifices for one’s children.

At 8.30 I took The Three (and a half) to the airport to go and visit Granny Heather and Grandpa Ian. The only thing that could have made this birthday better would have been for it to be a BIG plane, not a LITTLE plane. And to have had more (any) friends at her party. Tricky, given the allotted hour.

The Army taught me to sweep. Well, in truth the Army taught my Father to sweep and he taught me which I suppose is not quite the same thing. Many of my generation missed that particular life-lesson, but I didn’t. The Army also broke my Father’s front tooth so that he had to stick it back in with superglue before a speaking engagement when I was 17 so really I’m rather glad. That I missed that particular life-lesson I mean. I’m sure if the Army had taught me to drink my taste wouldn’t run to the kinds of fine red wine that it does. I don’t know whether that would have been a good thing or not. I have a friend who spent considerable time around the time I was born setting up radio outposts in the Far East whilst a member of the One Tonne Club, drinking a hundred pints a week. Would I feel culturally deprived? Would I feel anything at all? Probably not with my body mass.

Missing things is intriguing. I miss a lot of different things, usually in a very non-specific longing sort of way. Some are things that happened to me, some are things I made happen, some are things that never happened. Very occasionally I miss a person. I miss different things on different days. Most days I don’t miss anything at all which makes me wonder if I’m ever missing anything.

What I miss most today is going down the pub to watch the World Cup. An entire nation of fanatics would pack into that pub every afternoon. We’d groan together, hold our breath together and jump up and down screaming together. A school chaplain once taught that that sort of behaviour is OK – just not in a group. He didn’t understand football.

I have had cause over the last few weeks to think a little about what we chase and why we chase it and whether, while chasing our tails like itchy dogs, we’re perhaps accomplishing something that might be objectively considered to be useful. On the side. By mistake as it were. I don’t think we are. I think if we want to achieve something useful we have to mean to. And then if we really want to achieve something useful we have to.

Michelle’s had a lovely day. Really. Take it from me.

This weekend just past I found a notebook of mine from 1994, here is my log of petrol fill-ups driving from Cape Town to Grahamstown at the end of that year:
R63,63 Pinelands
R42,50 Heidelberg
R42,60 Plettenberg Bay
R11,86 Storms River
R33,40 Colchester

This morning I put R50 into my nearly-empty tank and it looks like being enough to get me to the office and back. Twice, I should think.

We had our 20-week scan yesterday and we’re having another little girl, which is GREAT. I love being Dad to little girls. I’m sure I’d love being Dad to little boys too, but I just don’t know 🙂

We got a DVD of the scan so will no doubt get some pics online soon. She’s thriving and “normal” whatever that means. I’m not sure I’ve met a normal child.

Last Monday night I was as low as I’ve ever been, alone in a hotel room in Johannesburg afflicted with some dreadful virus. Looking at my pale reflection in the glass shower door opposite my porcelain throne, not only was all ill with the world but I was responsible.

This Monday night I’m alive.
This Monday night I want to run around in circles screaming “Hallelujah” at the top of my voice.

But that would wake the children.

… New Year would be in autumn. This is my season of new beginnings, when the air is crisp though the sun is shining and everywhere’s a rustle of leaves. This is the time for journeys and camping and fires in the early dark.

My brother Pete was visiting the day Granny and Grandpa took the girls to see Peter Rabbit. We got the full story played back on their return, then:

Josie: Hey! Peter! I want to tell you something. Your name’s the same as Peter Rabbit’s!
Peter: That’s right Josie.
Michelle: And Jo, what’s Daddy’s other brother’s name?
Josie: Ummm …
Michelle: It’s the same as a rabbit’s name.
Josie: Ummm … Flopsy?

Ben, I’m afraid it didn’t matter how much we tried to explain “cousin Benjamin”, it’s Flopsy, Mopsy or Cottontail for you.

As night falls two small girls hone their tracking skills …

The deer tracks are just next to the tyre tracks. Really.

We went on holiday the week before Easter to Wilderness, about four hours drive up the East Coast. It was very beautiful and we had a lot of fun. Unfortunately the accommodation we chose wasn’t really suited to little chidlers, so much energy was spent staying away from home for as long as possible. We had a very relaxing Easter weekend back in Cape Town 🙂

Pics in the gallery.

80.3mm from crown to bottom; almost 14 weeks old and sucking his/her thumb.