Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Blog is Moving
So my blog is moving. Please follow me now at foreignservicenomads.blogspot.com. Thanks!
Friday, July 20, 2012
And You Shall know her by her trail of Hello Kitty's....
As most of you know, Lovely Little Girl is on the Autism Spectrum. Very high functioning, but still on the spectrum. One of the things you learn when you do research into Autism Spectrum Disorder is that many people on the Spectrum have special interests. Boys tend (and I'm generalizing here) to obsess over things like trains or something else. They become fixated and obsessed. Girls also do, but they (and again I'm generalizing) tend to obsess over things that girls like.
My daughter is a Hello Kitty fiend. Strange since both her mother and I are dog people. In fact we both believe that cats are sent from hell to spy on us. We've never had a cat, and since Lovely English Lass is very allergic to them, never will. So imagine my surprise when LLG suddenly took an interest in Hello Kitty.
You see, LLG has had many special interests. There was first Upsy Daisy from "In the Night Garden", and then it was Sleeping Beauty. Shortly after that it was Ernie from Sesame Street. Then came Hello Kitty. And to be fair to all of them, this one seems to have stuck for a bit.
My daughter is now a Hello Kitty industry unto herself. She almost never goes out without at least one Hello Kitty on her body, and numerous times carries at least one Hello Kitty doll with her. She has at least 3 Hello Kitty toothbrushes, one Hello Kitty toothbrush holder, 3 Hello Kitty dolls, one Hello Kitty egg-shaper (it makes hard boiled eggs look like Hello Kitty) a few Hello Kitty containers, and numerous clothing options including socks, shirts, nightshirts and hats.
We counted the other day at dinner, and she was wearing 7 Hello Kitty items of clothing. It's one of those things you notice if you see her all the time. She begs to be allowed to wear Hello Kitty.
As a male with two brothers, this kind of obsession with Hello Kitty is a bit weird for me. I had my obsessions of course, but it was never like this. (At least I think not. Mom and Dad, no comments from you please.) However, it does seem to be perfectly normal for kids her age to love Hello Kitty. (Or Sleeping Beauty, or even Ernie for that matter as evidenced by a joke on the TV show "The Big Bang Theory.")
Lovely English Lass did kind of have an obsession like this, but it was with the band Take That and specifically with Robbie Williams. (I have it on good authority that she went to see the same concert three nights in a row.) I've also been told that this is actually quite normal for little girls. In fact, I remember seeing a ton of unicorns and horses from girls when I was younger, and numerous girls going crazy over New Kids on the Block.
So I guess this phase will continue, and maybe it'll change to something else. Lord knows I'm not looking forward to seeing her get obsessed with boys, or rock bands, or Flying Spaghetti Monster forbid, Justin Bieber. I suppose I can deal until then with Hello Kitty clothes and watching her DVD of "Cinder-Kitty" for a while longer.
My daughter is a Hello Kitty fiend. Strange since both her mother and I are dog people. In fact we both believe that cats are sent from hell to spy on us. We've never had a cat, and since Lovely English Lass is very allergic to them, never will. So imagine my surprise when LLG suddenly took an interest in Hello Kitty.
You see, LLG has had many special interests. There was first Upsy Daisy from "In the Night Garden", and then it was Sleeping Beauty. Shortly after that it was Ernie from Sesame Street. Then came Hello Kitty. And to be fair to all of them, this one seems to have stuck for a bit.
My daughter is now a Hello Kitty industry unto herself. She almost never goes out without at least one Hello Kitty on her body, and numerous times carries at least one Hello Kitty doll with her. She has at least 3 Hello Kitty toothbrushes, one Hello Kitty toothbrush holder, 3 Hello Kitty dolls, one Hello Kitty egg-shaper (it makes hard boiled eggs look like Hello Kitty) a few Hello Kitty containers, and numerous clothing options including socks, shirts, nightshirts and hats.
We counted the other day at dinner, and she was wearing 7 Hello Kitty items of clothing. It's one of those things you notice if you see her all the time. She begs to be allowed to wear Hello Kitty.
As a male with two brothers, this kind of obsession with Hello Kitty is a bit weird for me. I had my obsessions of course, but it was never like this. (At least I think not. Mom and Dad, no comments from you please.) However, it does seem to be perfectly normal for kids her age to love Hello Kitty. (Or Sleeping Beauty, or even Ernie for that matter as evidenced by a joke on the TV show "The Big Bang Theory.")
Lovely English Lass did kind of have an obsession like this, but it was with the band Take That and specifically with Robbie Williams. (I have it on good authority that she went to see the same concert three nights in a row.) I've also been told that this is actually quite normal for little girls. In fact, I remember seeing a ton of unicorns and horses from girls when I was younger, and numerous girls going crazy over New Kids on the Block.
So I guess this phase will continue, and maybe it'll change to something else. Lord knows I'm not looking forward to seeing her get obsessed with boys, or rock bands, or Flying Spaghetti Monster forbid, Justin Bieber. I suppose I can deal until then with Hello Kitty clothes and watching her DVD of "Cinder-Kitty" for a while longer.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Dandy
My wife used to say that she didn't realize she was marrying a Dandy until it was too late. You see, I decided, later in my life than most, that I needed to look a bit better than I had been. When I lived in Suriname, I went to work in polos, khakis and boots. I was working in General Services, which included Warehousing and Maintenance, and I figured that it was best to dress that way to keep my good clothes good.
My Ambassador at the time, a Management Officer himself, gave me some real good advice when I left. "You need to dress for the job you want. If you dress like a GSO, people will treat you that way." In other words, I was dressing like I wasn't in fact a diplomat, so no one treated me that way. (It didn't help that I shaved my head, or bleached my hair which turned orange, grew a very large goatee and in fact just stopped caring about how I looked.) He was 100% correct. But it wasn't until I went to London that it really started to hit home for me.
Men in London dress NICE! They wore suits with incredibly large white stripes and pocket squares, with incredibly nice shirts and knots on their ties that are enormous. But it works for them. After being there a year, my friend Gee decided I need some new shirts because the ones I was wearing to work were starting to get ratty, and I looked horrible in them.
She took me to Jermyn Street. Now, everyone knows Saville Row is where people buy suits. Not just suits, but some of the nicest suits you can buy. Jermyn Street is like that for shirts. Thomas Pink's flagship store is there, as is numerous other places for shirts. We walked from shop to shop looking for the perfect place. Finally, we ended up at Charles Tyrwhitt. I bought three shirts from them, and have been a faithful customer since. (They do a fantastic mail order service too.)
Since that time, I've become more and more a dandy. Lovely English Lass bought me a shaving set with a badger hair brush to shave with, and I started buying hats and cuff links as well. Sartorially, I think I cut a smashing figure for an overweight guy.
Recently, I went one step further in my dandy-hood. This was, strangely, brought about by cost. In South Africa, it is incredibly expensive to buy razors for my Gillette razor. An 8 pack costs upwards of $80.00. Not sure I like paying $10 a razor that doesn't last that long. I started doing some research, and something kept coming up in all the comments about shaving. Safety Razors are cheaper to own that a disposable razor set. Razor blades are only about 10 cents a piece, and while it is difficult to understand how to use one, once you get the hang of it, the shave is pretty darn close. After looking on the internet for a bit, I found that there is one made from a company called Parker. Well, I'm going to buy that, right?
The metal razor handle was less than thirty dollars, and so far it has lived up to its reputation. Nice clean shave, and with the help of an anti-septic stick, not bad on the cuts. Highly recommend it for you men out there, as it'll save money in the long run, and the actually shaver will last quite a while. (Look on eBay, as there are some from the 1930s in good working condition being sold.)
I suppose an entire blog on my being a dandy is a bit much, but it's something going on here right now. I'll talk more later about my kids, and Lovely Little Girl going to a new school next month, and how Crazy Little Man got to meet Phineas and Ferb. But for now I'm going to go and have some coffee and get to work. I may not be much of a Diplomat, but I certainly look like one now.
My Ambassador at the time, a Management Officer himself, gave me some real good advice when I left. "You need to dress for the job you want. If you dress like a GSO, people will treat you that way." In other words, I was dressing like I wasn't in fact a diplomat, so no one treated me that way. (It didn't help that I shaved my head, or bleached my hair which turned orange, grew a very large goatee and in fact just stopped caring about how I looked.) He was 100% correct. But it wasn't until I went to London that it really started to hit home for me.
Men in London dress NICE! They wore suits with incredibly large white stripes and pocket squares, with incredibly nice shirts and knots on their ties that are enormous. But it works for them. After being there a year, my friend Gee decided I need some new shirts because the ones I was wearing to work were starting to get ratty, and I looked horrible in them.
She took me to Jermyn Street. Now, everyone knows Saville Row is where people buy suits. Not just suits, but some of the nicest suits you can buy. Jermyn Street is like that for shirts. Thomas Pink's flagship store is there, as is numerous other places for shirts. We walked from shop to shop looking for the perfect place. Finally, we ended up at Charles Tyrwhitt. I bought three shirts from them, and have been a faithful customer since. (They do a fantastic mail order service too.)
Since that time, I've become more and more a dandy. Lovely English Lass bought me a shaving set with a badger hair brush to shave with, and I started buying hats and cuff links as well. Sartorially, I think I cut a smashing figure for an overweight guy.
Recently, I went one step further in my dandy-hood. This was, strangely, brought about by cost. In South Africa, it is incredibly expensive to buy razors for my Gillette razor. An 8 pack costs upwards of $80.00. Not sure I like paying $10 a razor that doesn't last that long. I started doing some research, and something kept coming up in all the comments about shaving. Safety Razors are cheaper to own that a disposable razor set. Razor blades are only about 10 cents a piece, and while it is difficult to understand how to use one, once you get the hang of it, the shave is pretty darn close. After looking on the internet for a bit, I found that there is one made from a company called Parker. Well, I'm going to buy that, right?
The metal razor handle was less than thirty dollars, and so far it has lived up to its reputation. Nice clean shave, and with the help of an anti-septic stick, not bad on the cuts. Highly recommend it for you men out there, as it'll save money in the long run, and the actually shaver will last quite a while. (Look on eBay, as there are some from the 1930s in good working condition being sold.)
I suppose an entire blog on my being a dandy is a bit much, but it's something going on here right now. I'll talk more later about my kids, and Lovely Little Girl going to a new school next month, and how Crazy Little Man got to meet Phineas and Ferb. But for now I'm going to go and have some coffee and get to work. I may not be much of a Diplomat, but I certainly look like one now.
Friday, June 29, 2012
The zen of owning a vehicle in South Africa
We've been car shopping.
So we're purchasing a car from our friends across the street who are leaving in the middle of July (boo!). But we also decided that instead of renting vehicles when we have people visit (and for ease of travel for the entire family when some of us have one thing to do and others have something else) that it wouldn't be a bad idea to buy a new vehicle as well. The cars here actually hold their value quite well, and most come with a maintenance plan too. So, win win!
You see, in South Africa, Public Transportation is basically useless for US Mission employees. There are Kombi buses (they call them taxis) that are usually old VW vans or the like, which frequently get tire blow-outs that result in fires and mass loss of life. (In fact, two days ago one of them crashed and killed 17 people in all.) The Gautrain, recently built and extended to the Central Business District of Johannesburg, is a great idea and one that should catch on, if they can get a lower pricing system. (Think DC's is bad? Try a minimum ride of $5. It does go to the airport, which is awesome though.) Walking can be dangerous, and impractical with two small kids. So a car is the way to go.
Prior to our arrival in Jozi, we purchased a 2001 Volvo S-40. Ran like a dream. If your dream is written by Clive Barker that is. This thing has been a pain almost since day one. The brakes had to be replaced about 1 1/2 months after we picked it up, and the temperature sensor went bad as well. (I've talked about that time previously, when my bank and I almost broke up over my debit card being cancelled.) Recently the throttle body and air intake sensor had to be replaced as well. The price for both of these, plus the oil it burns through, has been about 1/2 of what we paid for this monstrosity. Sweeden: love you for IKEA and ABBA, but not so much this car.
Anyways, even though they replaced the throttle body, this automatic vehicle stalls. All the time. Which is a bit dismaying considering the crime in this country. Really don't want to be stuck in traffic with bad guys coming at you and your car stalls. It's a sickening feeling, and I hate that Lovely English Lass has to put up with this.
So we're purchasing a car from our friends across the street who are leaving in the middle of July (boo!). But we also decided that instead of renting vehicles when we have people visit (and for ease of travel for the entire family when some of us have one thing to do and others have something else) that it wouldn't be a bad idea to buy a new vehicle as well. The cars here actually hold their value quite well, and most come with a maintenance plan too. So, win win!
We searched for what we wanted, and found one. Now we just have to wait until the Foreign Ministry approves the sale, gives us the documents, and I transfer the funds to them so we can get rid of our Swedish Nightmare and enjoy a reliable type of transport. It's a good car, but it's not flashy enough that someone will want to steal it. (We hope.) Besides, baby seats don't fit in a McLaren or Lotus, do they?
Monday, June 25, 2012
Traffic Stop
In Johannesburg, or South Africa for that matter, a traffic stop sometimes is more than it seems.
Sometimes you get pulled over by a Policeman, and he talks you through it all and sends you on your way with a ticket or a warning. Sometimes, a Policeman will pull you over and ask to be compensated appropriately for his work so you don't get a ticket or arrested. Sometimes, a Policeman that pulls you over isn't actually a Policeman, but someone with a blue flashing light on his vehicle. Not a good one to have.
The question then becomes, what do you do when you see a blue light in your rear view mirror? The government has put out notices that if you feel the person isn't a police officer, you don't have to pull over. You just drive to the nearest police station to deal with the issue there. (Again, this is official government notice.)
So Saturday night, Lovely English Lass and I went to a wedding. Lovely experience, great venue, and a good night was had, sans kids. We did have to leave early, though, to make sure the kids got to bed and to relieve the babysitter.
Imagine my surprise when we come up to a checkpoint on the road. There were local and national police around, and they were stopping all the cars. As I pulled up, I prepared my speech, but was cut off by the officer, who politely asked, "Sir, have you had anything to drink within the last 24 hours?"
Well of course I had. I was at a wedding and they had a champagne toast. But, being a good boy, if somewhat back-slidden Baptist on the idea of alcohol, I only had one glass 2 hours prior to driving. When I informed the officer, he asked me to pull the car to the side of the road. He came over, took my Diplomatic ID and asked me to follow him to a van which was on the other side of the road. I had handed LEL my phone to call the Regional Security Officer, but it's not really intuitive to unlock, so she called his wife on her phone. Luckily he answered it and talked her through the situation.
Meanwhile I was in a line of people waiting to blow into a breathalyzer. I was handed a straw in a wrapper and told to wait in line with everyone else. After 5 minutes, which felt like 30, I reached the front. Another officer took my straw, placed it on the breathalyzer, and told me to blow until he said stop. Now, I'd been watching these people in front of me do it for 5 minutes, and they always had to blow for at least 10 seconds. So, I took a deep breath and blew into the breathalyzer. 2 seconds later the guy tells me to stop, he's good. (Turns out playing tuba and soccer really helps develop strong lungs.) After being complimented on my lung power by the officer, I was released with a 0.0 BAC. I was handed my id, and told to drive safely.
Granted my experience wasn't exceptional. Heck, in Northern Virginia this happens almost every Friday night. But after hearing the tales of police corruption and the fake officers, you can understand being a bit wary of anyone. However, gotta say I'm happy that they are going after drunk drivers. If they focus on the crimes, and make the police look legit like they're helping, it's a move in the right direction. It gives me hope that one day someone in Jozi will see the blue lights in their mirror and won't think they're about to be shook down or robbed. Progress starts with one step.
Sometimes you get pulled over by a Policeman, and he talks you through it all and sends you on your way with a ticket or a warning. Sometimes, a Policeman will pull you over and ask to be compensated appropriately for his work so you don't get a ticket or arrested. Sometimes, a Policeman that pulls you over isn't actually a Policeman, but someone with a blue flashing light on his vehicle. Not a good one to have.
The question then becomes, what do you do when you see a blue light in your rear view mirror? The government has put out notices that if you feel the person isn't a police officer, you don't have to pull over. You just drive to the nearest police station to deal with the issue there. (Again, this is official government notice.)
So Saturday night, Lovely English Lass and I went to a wedding. Lovely experience, great venue, and a good night was had, sans kids. We did have to leave early, though, to make sure the kids got to bed and to relieve the babysitter.
Imagine my surprise when we come up to a checkpoint on the road. There were local and national police around, and they were stopping all the cars. As I pulled up, I prepared my speech, but was cut off by the officer, who politely asked, "Sir, have you had anything to drink within the last 24 hours?"
Well of course I had. I was at a wedding and they had a champagne toast. But, being a good boy, if somewhat back-slidden Baptist on the idea of alcohol, I only had one glass 2 hours prior to driving. When I informed the officer, he asked me to pull the car to the side of the road. He came over, took my Diplomatic ID and asked me to follow him to a van which was on the other side of the road. I had handed LEL my phone to call the Regional Security Officer, but it's not really intuitive to unlock, so she called his wife on her phone. Luckily he answered it and talked her through the situation.
Meanwhile I was in a line of people waiting to blow into a breathalyzer. I was handed a straw in a wrapper and told to wait in line with everyone else. After 5 minutes, which felt like 30, I reached the front. Another officer took my straw, placed it on the breathalyzer, and told me to blow until he said stop. Now, I'd been watching these people in front of me do it for 5 minutes, and they always had to blow for at least 10 seconds. So, I took a deep breath and blew into the breathalyzer. 2 seconds later the guy tells me to stop, he's good. (Turns out playing tuba and soccer really helps develop strong lungs.) After being complimented on my lung power by the officer, I was released with a 0.0 BAC. I was handed my id, and told to drive safely.
Granted my experience wasn't exceptional. Heck, in Northern Virginia this happens almost every Friday night. But after hearing the tales of police corruption and the fake officers, you can understand being a bit wary of anyone. However, gotta say I'm happy that they are going after drunk drivers. If they focus on the crimes, and make the police look legit like they're helping, it's a move in the right direction. It gives me hope that one day someone in Jozi will see the blue lights in their mirror and won't think they're about to be shook down or robbed. Progress starts with one step.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Father's Day
So we got to celebrate Father's Day yesterday in South Africa. Unlike Mother's Day, which there seem to be many different dates for it depending on the country, Father's Day tends to be the same worldwide. So, no extra presents for me. (Lovely English Lass on the other hand celebrates Mother's Day in March for the UK, May for the US, and the date if there is a separate one for the country we are living in. That's just how she rolls.)
I got some great gifts from the kids and from LEL. Lovely Little Girl bought me a french press that is only used for one cup of coffee. Very tiny, and very cool! Crazy Little Man bought me cuff links. One is yellow and one is red. One says "Yellow Card warning", and the other says "Red Card send off". I absolutely love them both. I also got a very nice sweater from LEL.
We went to JBs on the Corner for breakfast and the place was packed. When it gets crowded like that, we all get a bit nervous. The noise bothers LLG, and LEL doesn't like crowds too much either. And this place had both. I was afraid we'd have a melt-down of one type or another, but it went off surprisingly well. Afterwards, we walked around and went into a bookstore nearby. The kids browsed for books, and both my wife and I were horrified by two little girls (about the ages of 5 and 8) reading a book about the Kardashian sisters.
After the bookstore we went to Monte Casino, had coffee at Seattle's Best Coffee, and walked around enjoying the ambiance. We then went home, where CLM took a nap and we did some sorting of paperwork. After a quick trip to buy food for dinner, we returned home, ate, put the kids to bed and watched the movie, "Thor" on television. All in all it was a very good Father's Day.
Of course I was reminded bright and early this morning that my day was over, by LLG waking up at 330 and not going back to sleep. Then again, if I didn't have those moments, it wouldn't be fatherhood would it?
I have to say I am very blessed with my family. I have a father that has been a great example and hero to me. My father-in-law is a good man as well, and someone I'd do well to emulate. My children are relatively healthy and happy. My wife is a loving mother, understanding wife and smokin hot to boot. All in all, there are much worse things in life. I'm just glad I get to enjoy it while I can.
I got some great gifts from the kids and from LEL. Lovely Little Girl bought me a french press that is only used for one cup of coffee. Very tiny, and very cool! Crazy Little Man bought me cuff links. One is yellow and one is red. One says "Yellow Card warning", and the other says "Red Card send off". I absolutely love them both. I also got a very nice sweater from LEL.
We went to JBs on the Corner for breakfast and the place was packed. When it gets crowded like that, we all get a bit nervous. The noise bothers LLG, and LEL doesn't like crowds too much either. And this place had both. I was afraid we'd have a melt-down of one type or another, but it went off surprisingly well. Afterwards, we walked around and went into a bookstore nearby. The kids browsed for books, and both my wife and I were horrified by two little girls (about the ages of 5 and 8) reading a book about the Kardashian sisters.
After the bookstore we went to Monte Casino, had coffee at Seattle's Best Coffee, and walked around enjoying the ambiance. We then went home, where CLM took a nap and we did some sorting of paperwork. After a quick trip to buy food for dinner, we returned home, ate, put the kids to bed and watched the movie, "Thor" on television. All in all it was a very good Father's Day.
Of course I was reminded bright and early this morning that my day was over, by LLG waking up at 330 and not going back to sleep. Then again, if I didn't have those moments, it wouldn't be fatherhood would it?
I have to say I am very blessed with my family. I have a father that has been a great example and hero to me. My father-in-law is a good man as well, and someone I'd do well to emulate. My children are relatively healthy and happy. My wife is a loving mother, understanding wife and smokin hot to boot. All in all, there are much worse things in life. I'm just glad I get to enjoy it while I can.
Monday, June 4, 2012
My wife is English
Now for most of you reading this, the title of this blog post is self-evident. Most of you have met her, heard her speak, and know where she was born. I even refer to her as Lovely English Lass. She carries a red passport along with her blue US one. She is undoubtedly English.
But, there's something you have to know. There's English. And then there's ENGLISH. My wife has always fallen into the former rather than the latter. She's from Yorkshire, which is quite known for not being fussed with things like the Monarchy, or anything to do with the "Soft South." In fact, the North is where numerous independent thoughts originated from. Socialism and Communism were originally thought of in the North. (Manchester for Communism.) At one time in the 1800s, there were over 100 vegetarian restaurants in Manchester alone. Sheffield, where LEL is from, provided the steel for the British Empire. Labor (or Labour in British English) has always had a strong appeal up North.
Which is why it was so disarming on Wednesday of last week when I received an email from my wife asking if we could have a Jubilee Party on Saturday. To say I was a bit gobsmacked is an understatement. Really? But she was serious, and so the planning went on for my wife to celebrate the 60 years on the throne for Queen Elizabeth (God save the Queen! Long may she reign!). She even started downloading patriotic British songs. ("Jerusalem", "Land of Hope and Glory", "Rule Britannia" and of course, "God Save The Queen.")
LEL tried very hard to get the kids involved in the planning. She'd ask Crazy Little Man, "Are you British or American?" At first, all she got in response was, "I'm American." But soon, he'd reply, "I'm British AND American." Good enough for government work, that. Lovely Little Girl meanwhile was not interested in the event, mainly because it was for someone royal that wasn't her.
The day arrived, and we still had a lot to do. Sadly, the car was acting up again, so we were without our normal set of wheels. That didn't stop the party though! With the help of a rental car, we finished our shopping, CLM took a nap, and LLG tried very hard not to get into any trouble, with little success. But, my Lovely English Lass was on a roll! She was in the kitchen preparing homemade Coronation Chicken and her own invention: Coronation Chickpeas. She made her own cream for scones and to go on top of the Trifle. She made bacon wrapped sausages and made Pimm's to drink. She made her own decorations, and had photos of the queen through the ages printed and placed around the dining room. She even took a Kleenex Box, covered it in Union Jacks, and placed slips of paper inside with famous gaffes from Prince Philip. (Everyone at the party would take out a gaffe and read it aloud. The party agreed that his use of the exclamation "Ghastly!" was brilliant, and that we should try to use it at least once in a meeting this week.)
Everyone arrived, and the party went quite well with one exception. The player for the iPod kept making a funny noise, so we moved the music to her iPhone. However this didn't put a damper on the festivities. Everyone loved the food, the kids played on the "Bouncy Windsor Castle" we had outside, and the day was a complete success.
I thought about all of this later on, and realized how much LEL has given up to travel around the world with me. She could have been back in Blighty at a block party, or out with her friends back in London. So I suppose that is why she suddenly felt British this week. That's fine with me. It's part of who she is, and part of who my kids are as well. It'll be nice to go back in September, see her friends and the rest of the family, and finally show Crazy Little Man his "other" home country. And who knows? Maybe one day I'll end up living there too. You never know where life takes you. It took LEL to a Jubilee party, and I know I wasn't expecting that!
But, there's something you have to know. There's English. And then there's ENGLISH. My wife has always fallen into the former rather than the latter. She's from Yorkshire, which is quite known for not being fussed with things like the Monarchy, or anything to do with the "Soft South." In fact, the North is where numerous independent thoughts originated from. Socialism and Communism were originally thought of in the North. (Manchester for Communism.) At one time in the 1800s, there were over 100 vegetarian restaurants in Manchester alone. Sheffield, where LEL is from, provided the steel for the British Empire. Labor (or Labour in British English) has always had a strong appeal up North.
Which is why it was so disarming on Wednesday of last week when I received an email from my wife asking if we could have a Jubilee Party on Saturday. To say I was a bit gobsmacked is an understatement. Really? But she was serious, and so the planning went on for my wife to celebrate the 60 years on the throne for Queen Elizabeth (God save the Queen! Long may she reign!). She even started downloading patriotic British songs. ("Jerusalem", "Land of Hope and Glory", "Rule Britannia" and of course, "God Save The Queen.")
LEL tried very hard to get the kids involved in the planning. She'd ask Crazy Little Man, "Are you British or American?" At first, all she got in response was, "I'm American." But soon, he'd reply, "I'm British AND American." Good enough for government work, that. Lovely Little Girl meanwhile was not interested in the event, mainly because it was for someone royal that wasn't her.
The day arrived, and we still had a lot to do. Sadly, the car was acting up again, so we were without our normal set of wheels. That didn't stop the party though! With the help of a rental car, we finished our shopping, CLM took a nap, and LLG tried very hard not to get into any trouble, with little success. But, my Lovely English Lass was on a roll! She was in the kitchen preparing homemade Coronation Chicken and her own invention: Coronation Chickpeas. She made her own cream for scones and to go on top of the Trifle. She made bacon wrapped sausages and made Pimm's to drink. She made her own decorations, and had photos of the queen through the ages printed and placed around the dining room. She even took a Kleenex Box, covered it in Union Jacks, and placed slips of paper inside with famous gaffes from Prince Philip. (Everyone at the party would take out a gaffe and read it aloud. The party agreed that his use of the exclamation "Ghastly!" was brilliant, and that we should try to use it at least once in a meeting this week.)
Everyone arrived, and the party went quite well with one exception. The player for the iPod kept making a funny noise, so we moved the music to her iPhone. However this didn't put a damper on the festivities. Everyone loved the food, the kids played on the "Bouncy Windsor Castle" we had outside, and the day was a complete success.
I thought about all of this later on, and realized how much LEL has given up to travel around the world with me. She could have been back in Blighty at a block party, or out with her friends back in London. So I suppose that is why she suddenly felt British this week. That's fine with me. It's part of who she is, and part of who my kids are as well. It'll be nice to go back in September, see her friends and the rest of the family, and finally show Crazy Little Man his "other" home country. And who knows? Maybe one day I'll end up living there too. You never know where life takes you. It took LEL to a Jubilee party, and I know I wasn't expecting that!
Sunday, May 20, 2012
When your child is ill...
This weekend started out great. Saturday morning we went to a restaurant called Doppio Zero for breakfast. Crazy Little Man and Lovely Little Girl had the sniffles earlier in the week, but both seemed to be doing ok. They both ate two pancakes and some fruit, and seemed to be doing fine. We decided to go and see about buy LLG more clothes, since she's already started to grow out of the ones we bought less than a month ago.
About 20 minutes after eating, CLM started saying his tummy hurt. He got in one of the shopping carts we had, and sat down. He would occasionally mention again about his stomach, but seemed ok. Then, as we were paying, the sickness came all at once. Lovely English Lass kept him from getting it all over the place, but he wasn't feeling well. As we cleaned up (thank goodness for wet wipes, right?) the woman paying next to us, but not DIRECTLY next to us, looked at CLM and family as if we'd done it on purpose. Believe me, if he could have been weaponized for sick, I would have done it right there with that woman.
We finally got him home, after a delay at the register. (Not sick related, Hello Kitty related. They couldn't find the price tag on a pair of slipper socks.) When we got home, CLM asked if he could go take a nap. At 10 am. He definitely wasn't feeling it. Right before he got into bed, he got sick again.
This was the pattern for all of Saturday. We counted 10 times in all for little man to be ill. Each time he'd rebound afterwards and feel much better, only to later get sick again.
Now, there is nothing worse than when your child is ill. And CLM is one of the saddest little people when he gets sick. He looks and acts like it's the end of the world and begs to be cuddled. (And if you can say no to the little voice with the pathetic look on his face, you're a more stoic person than I.)
Hopefully he'll be ok. Yesterday he was fine, but this morning he's gotten clingy again. Hopefully this bug runs its course quickly because I hate seeing him like this. I want him happy and crazy. At least until he does something like hit his sister with a golf club or something. But that's a whole different sort of story.
About 20 minutes after eating, CLM started saying his tummy hurt. He got in one of the shopping carts we had, and sat down. He would occasionally mention again about his stomach, but seemed ok. Then, as we were paying, the sickness came all at once. Lovely English Lass kept him from getting it all over the place, but he wasn't feeling well. As we cleaned up (thank goodness for wet wipes, right?) the woman paying next to us, but not DIRECTLY next to us, looked at CLM and family as if we'd done it on purpose. Believe me, if he could have been weaponized for sick, I would have done it right there with that woman.
We finally got him home, after a delay at the register. (Not sick related, Hello Kitty related. They couldn't find the price tag on a pair of slipper socks.) When we got home, CLM asked if he could go take a nap. At 10 am. He definitely wasn't feeling it. Right before he got into bed, he got sick again.
This was the pattern for all of Saturday. We counted 10 times in all for little man to be ill. Each time he'd rebound afterwards and feel much better, only to later get sick again.
Now, there is nothing worse than when your child is ill. And CLM is one of the saddest little people when he gets sick. He looks and acts like it's the end of the world and begs to be cuddled. (And if you can say no to the little voice with the pathetic look on his face, you're a more stoic person than I.)
Hopefully he'll be ok. Yesterday he was fine, but this morning he's gotten clingy again. Hopefully this bug runs its course quickly because I hate seeing him like this. I want him happy and crazy. At least until he does something like hit his sister with a golf club or something. But that's a whole different sort of story.
Monday, May 7, 2012
"How can you blend in when you were meant to stand out?"
The above title for this blog post is a tag line for a book my wife is reading. It's called, Wonder and it's about a boy that has a disfigured face. Lovely English Lass loved the tag line, and said it definitely fit with our little girl. In fact we're thinking of having it made into a piece of art as it fits our family well.
It's been a tough one for Lovely Little Girl these past few weeks. Well, not for her, but for her Mummy and I about her. Her peanut allergy has gotten VERY bad, and so we're trying to make sure she realizes she can't eat them. We've also included regular nuts as well, as she's allergic to them too. (Not as bad as the peanut one though.) When we go to the store and pass the rack with the peanuts, we always ask: "Can you eat peanuts?" Crazy Little Man always answers, "NO!" LLG will answer no probably 80% of the time. However, that 20% worries LEL.
Then LLG went to the doctor for more blood work, and the doctor took her measurements, and said we needed to test her for abnormal growth hormone level in her blood. We knew she was tall, but thought maybe she was about the size of a 7 year old. Nope. Turns out, she's still off the charts for an 8 year old, and taller than average for a 9 year old. May I remind you that she's 5. Turns out she doesn't have anything wrong with her pituitary, which is a relief.
Lastly, we found out that yet another remedial school here decided that they couldn't take my lovely daughter. But not before charging us about $500 to test her to make sure they couldn't. She was sick for one of those days, and the tester said they couldn't use the results to form an opinion on her. So, basically we paid them to say no to us, and my wife wasted two mornings with this. I'm sure they could have done this over the phone. As we were leaving, the tester asked us to keep them informed on how we were doing with LLG and her schooling. When I reached the parking lot, out of earshot, with LEL I said: "Not Bloody Likely."
What I don't understand is why they want my daughter, who is not only special needs, but special in a way all her own, to blend in? Is it like the old Japanese proverb: Deru Kui Ga - The Stake that Sticks Up Gets Hammered Down. Come on now! As I've said before, my daughter is incredibly smart (and I might be biased, but not much). Just because she needs a little help doesn't mean that she can't do it. She has to be kept focused, and the way to do that is with more help, not turning her down. Give her a chance! The fact is, Lovely Little Girl can't blend in at all. She's almost 4 1/2 feet tall. She is on the Autism Spectrum, and she is her own crazy little self. She was meant to stand out, not blend in. What we need is someone to recognize the uniqueness in my daughter and nurture it.
Hopefully it'll happen. Last week, right before this school turned us down, the American School here in Johannesburg said they'd take LLG on a trial period to see if she can indeed handle the rigours of mainstream school. They want to ease her into the school, and also give her an aide ot help her with school work. We're still going to look for back-up schools in case it doesn't work. However, when speaking with the woman from AISJ, she said she hoped it worked, because "LLG is such a lovely little girl that has so much to offer."
Sometimes you just can't help but stand out. Maybe LLG is so tall because God wanted to make sure everyone noticed her early on so we can keep an eye out for what she's going to do in the future.
It's been a tough one for Lovely Little Girl these past few weeks. Well, not for her, but for her Mummy and I about her. Her peanut allergy has gotten VERY bad, and so we're trying to make sure she realizes she can't eat them. We've also included regular nuts as well, as she's allergic to them too. (Not as bad as the peanut one though.) When we go to the store and pass the rack with the peanuts, we always ask: "Can you eat peanuts?" Crazy Little Man always answers, "NO!" LLG will answer no probably 80% of the time. However, that 20% worries LEL.
Then LLG went to the doctor for more blood work, and the doctor took her measurements, and said we needed to test her for abnormal growth hormone level in her blood. We knew she was tall, but thought maybe she was about the size of a 7 year old. Nope. Turns out, she's still off the charts for an 8 year old, and taller than average for a 9 year old. May I remind you that she's 5. Turns out she doesn't have anything wrong with her pituitary, which is a relief.
Lastly, we found out that yet another remedial school here decided that they couldn't take my lovely daughter. But not before charging us about $500 to test her to make sure they couldn't. She was sick for one of those days, and the tester said they couldn't use the results to form an opinion on her. So, basically we paid them to say no to us, and my wife wasted two mornings with this. I'm sure they could have done this over the phone. As we were leaving, the tester asked us to keep them informed on how we were doing with LLG and her schooling. When I reached the parking lot, out of earshot, with LEL I said: "Not Bloody Likely."
What I don't understand is why they want my daughter, who is not only special needs, but special in a way all her own, to blend in? Is it like the old Japanese proverb: Deru Kui Ga - The Stake that Sticks Up Gets Hammered Down. Come on now! As I've said before, my daughter is incredibly smart (and I might be biased, but not much). Just because she needs a little help doesn't mean that she can't do it. She has to be kept focused, and the way to do that is with more help, not turning her down. Give her a chance! The fact is, Lovely Little Girl can't blend in at all. She's almost 4 1/2 feet tall. She is on the Autism Spectrum, and she is her own crazy little self. She was meant to stand out, not blend in. What we need is someone to recognize the uniqueness in my daughter and nurture it.
Hopefully it'll happen. Last week, right before this school turned us down, the American School here in Johannesburg said they'd take LLG on a trial period to see if she can indeed handle the rigours of mainstream school. They want to ease her into the school, and also give her an aide ot help her with school work. We're still going to look for back-up schools in case it doesn't work. However, when speaking with the woman from AISJ, she said she hoped it worked, because "LLG is such a lovely little girl that has so much to offer."
Sometimes you just can't help but stand out. Maybe LLG is so tall because God wanted to make sure everyone noticed her early on so we can keep an eye out for what she's going to do in the future.
Monday, April 30, 2012
My crazy spur of the moment idea that'll help autism awareness
This past Saturday, after having breakfast with my wife and kids at one of our favorite breakfast places in Johannesburg, JBs on the Corner, we walked through an area known as Melrose Arch, and I peeked my head into the bicycle shop down the road.
It was a very nice shop, stocked with everything a bicyclist could want. The gent behind the cash register was a very nice South African, and came right up to ask if he could be of service. (Which surprised me, because Customer Service isn't exactly preached here in SA.) Without a thought, I asked about the Johannesburg 94.7 cycle challenge that takes place in November. 94.7 km through the streets of Johannesburg. (All 5600 feet above sea-level Johannesburg.) He explained I needed to register online, and that I should (with a bit of training) do fine since his boss did it last year on a fixed gear bicycle tricked out to look like a chopper.
When I got home, I immediately went to the computer and registered for the race. November 15, I will be on my bicycle for at least 3 hours, and probably closer to 4 or 5. They will give me a tracking dot so that people can keep track of where I am and how I'm doing. In short, it'll be pretty darn cool.
However, how did I come to this point? What makes me think that I, John Benton (Jay) Parker can finish a bike ride of almost 60 miles? Riding a mountain bike? Through the hills of Johannesburg almost a mile into the air? Did I lose sense of myself? Was I high from the delightful Bacon Sandwich I had for breakfast? Am I really that desperate for time away from my kids?
The answers, in the order I gave above, are: I'd been thinking about it a while; I've ridden my bicycle a decent amount; if a dude on a glorified BMX bike tricked out can do it, why can't I on a Mountain bike; yes, it'll be thin air; no, not really; the sandwich was VERY good; No, I love spending time with my kids, but I think doing this is a good way to help my kids and others, as well as myself.
Lovely English Lass stated that to make sure I do this, I should try to raise money for a charity. That would make it so that I push myself to get on with the training, and don't backslide. It was a very good idea, and something that I've decided to do. I'm going to ride for Autism South Africa, because they really need the funds to continue to do the good work for Autism Awareness. LEL volunteers there, and they are a good group of people who see what Autism is about and want to help those who need it the most. If I can raise at least some money for them, it'll all be worth it.
I'm also doing this for my kids. I want them to see their big old father get on a bicycle and do something that takes tremendous amount of courage and self-discipline. If I, a fat 36 year old man, can get through this, they can do anything they want to.
Lastly, I'm doing this for myself. I look in the mirror and see someone that needs a change. I need to make sure I'm around to see my kids grow up. I need to exercise, but haven't been able to motivate myself in the last year to do so. Diabetes runs in my family, as does heart disease. I want to make sure I won't have to deal with those. So if it means I get up at 430 every morning to get to the gym, sit on an exercise bike to build my stamina, and then lift weights to make sure I'm strong enough for the ride, that's what I'll do. I used to ride my bike to and from work when I lived in Luxembourg, and always enjoyed it. Maybe I can make this my new thing: training to ride in long distance bike races. If I can do it, I know I'll consider myself a winner. I'll have helped children with Autism here in South Africa, and I may have extended my life just a little while longer. That seems like a fair trade. Watch this space if you want to donate, as I'll come up with info before the time.
So, 94.7 km in November... Like it or not, I'm going to have to be ready. Wish me luck.
It was a very nice shop, stocked with everything a bicyclist could want. The gent behind the cash register was a very nice South African, and came right up to ask if he could be of service. (Which surprised me, because Customer Service isn't exactly preached here in SA.) Without a thought, I asked about the Johannesburg 94.7 cycle challenge that takes place in November. 94.7 km through the streets of Johannesburg. (All 5600 feet above sea-level Johannesburg.) He explained I needed to register online, and that I should (with a bit of training) do fine since his boss did it last year on a fixed gear bicycle tricked out to look like a chopper.
When I got home, I immediately went to the computer and registered for the race. November 15, I will be on my bicycle for at least 3 hours, and probably closer to 4 or 5. They will give me a tracking dot so that people can keep track of where I am and how I'm doing. In short, it'll be pretty darn cool.
However, how did I come to this point? What makes me think that I, John Benton (Jay) Parker can finish a bike ride of almost 60 miles? Riding a mountain bike? Through the hills of Johannesburg almost a mile into the air? Did I lose sense of myself? Was I high from the delightful Bacon Sandwich I had for breakfast? Am I really that desperate for time away from my kids?
The answers, in the order I gave above, are: I'd been thinking about it a while; I've ridden my bicycle a decent amount; if a dude on a glorified BMX bike tricked out can do it, why can't I on a Mountain bike; yes, it'll be thin air; no, not really; the sandwich was VERY good; No, I love spending time with my kids, but I think doing this is a good way to help my kids and others, as well as myself.
Lovely English Lass stated that to make sure I do this, I should try to raise money for a charity. That would make it so that I push myself to get on with the training, and don't backslide. It was a very good idea, and something that I've decided to do. I'm going to ride for Autism South Africa, because they really need the funds to continue to do the good work for Autism Awareness. LEL volunteers there, and they are a good group of people who see what Autism is about and want to help those who need it the most. If I can raise at least some money for them, it'll all be worth it.
I'm also doing this for my kids. I want them to see their big old father get on a bicycle and do something that takes tremendous amount of courage and self-discipline. If I, a fat 36 year old man, can get through this, they can do anything they want to.
Lastly, I'm doing this for myself. I look in the mirror and see someone that needs a change. I need to make sure I'm around to see my kids grow up. I need to exercise, but haven't been able to motivate myself in the last year to do so. Diabetes runs in my family, as does heart disease. I want to make sure I won't have to deal with those. So if it means I get up at 430 every morning to get to the gym, sit on an exercise bike to build my stamina, and then lift weights to make sure I'm strong enough for the ride, that's what I'll do. I used to ride my bike to and from work when I lived in Luxembourg, and always enjoyed it. Maybe I can make this my new thing: training to ride in long distance bike races. If I can do it, I know I'll consider myself a winner. I'll have helped children with Autism here in South Africa, and I may have extended my life just a little while longer. That seems like a fair trade. Watch this space if you want to donate, as I'll come up with info before the time.
So, 94.7 km in November... Like it or not, I'm going to have to be ready. Wish me luck.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
My golf adventure
One of the guys that works here at the Consulate has been after me to play golf with him since I got here. And while I've definitely played more golf in the last 9 months than I did in the previous 5 years, we just hadn't gotten the chance. However, this past weekend my Lovely English Lass allowed me to go out for a round. I was very happy, and immediately booked a tee time for me and my friend at the Els Club at Copper Leaf.
Now I'd played there before, but the rain was awful and didn't really play as much as survive. So I was looking forward to giving it the old college try again. Now, to be fair, I am a horrible golfer. My tee shots always fade to the right (I turn my hips on my back swing) and I can't seem to keep my head down on my follow through, which tops the ball. But, I enjoy playing, and on occasion I hit a shot that makes it all worthwhile. (In fact, it's coming up on the one year anniversary of my making a 63 foot putt while playing in Virginia with family friend B.)
My friend and I arrived in enough time to get ready, but not enough to hit practice balls. This was a mistake, in hindsight. I wasn't warmed up, and as it turned out we were going to have a long afternoon. We arrived in our cart at the first tee, and met with the other twosome we'd be playing with. As we arrived, the starter took our receipt, and then said, "The rules for this tournament are best two scores on holes, and we'll be playing with handicaps." Confused, my friend and I looked at each other. It was then we realized that the two tee slots I had signed up for were for a tournament, and the people we were playing with (a man and his wife) were regulars on this course and were expecting to win. Yeah..... so not going to happen while I'm playing with them.
It all started off amiably, until I shanked my drive into the rough. It was then I heard them speaking in Afrikaans to each other. Now, Afrikaans is very much like Dutch, and I can pick out quite a lot of Afrikaans (to the utter despair of my local staff members). So what I heard them saying to each other was how crappy their lot in life was that they would draw to obvious amateurs, and one of them obviously out of shape. (Paraphrased). I did nothing over the next 4 hours to dispel them of the notion that they were correct that I was an amateur. Some of my drives took lovely detours into very high grass, never to be seen again, and some of them only went a few yards and stopped. Much sighing and head shakes followed. About the 6th hole, the lady started to actually mock me, telling me that she'd driven it further than I had, and oh I'd just barely cleared the ladies' tees. (Granted, the ladies tees on this course are sometimes at least 100 meters closer to the hole than where I was playing off of, but this started to rankle me.) I didn't re-hit a tee shot, and instead dropped where I'd lost the ball, so she gave me a not-played. If I stopped a putt short, she'd say, "Oh, you need to hit it like a man next time." It started to get annoying.
My friend, meanwhile, wasn't doing too badly for playing the course the first time. He did visit many of the fine bunkers the course has, which made him ask if per chance Ernie Els grew up in the desert. In the end he shot an 87, which was only 11 shots off the guy that plays there twice a week. His wife shot a 96. I shot somewhere close to infinity. But there were times I made myself smile with good shots, or even a putt or two that would have made old Ernie Els himself grin. Considering how much I don't play, it's amazing I finished less than 200. However, we had a good time, and after putting out on the 18th, we all took off our hats and shook hands. But not before the lady had one more parting shot. "You know, you just need to practice more often and play more often to get better. Obviously you don't, but you should to improve." Thanks lady, I'd like to but I have a wife, two kids, which are more important to me than golf, and a job, so I don't get to come out and play golf whenever I feel like it.
When we went into the pro shop afterwards, I walked in and found our partner complaining to the cashier about the stiffs they had stuck her and her husband with for the tournament. She didn't see me, and walked out without noticing me. I told the cashier I was the one she was complaining about, and he nodded and smiled. Then he said, "She's a pain in the ass anyway sir." Definitely made my day.
It was nice getting out of the house to play golf in the sun. When I got home I told Crazy Little Man we'd take his club out the next day and hit some tennis balls, which we did. He liked it, and I'm working on his swing. I want him to have the love of the game I do. And maybe one day he'll be a scratch golfer, and be able to hit that bunker shot to within a club length of the hole. Or maybe he'll be as bad as his father, at which case we'll join tournaments and ruin them for the pretentious people playing with us. Either way, we'll have a good time on the course.
PS Today is my 50th post. Yeah me!
Now I'd played there before, but the rain was awful and didn't really play as much as survive. So I was looking forward to giving it the old college try again. Now, to be fair, I am a horrible golfer. My tee shots always fade to the right (I turn my hips on my back swing) and I can't seem to keep my head down on my follow through, which tops the ball. But, I enjoy playing, and on occasion I hit a shot that makes it all worthwhile. (In fact, it's coming up on the one year anniversary of my making a 63 foot putt while playing in Virginia with family friend B.)
My friend and I arrived in enough time to get ready, but not enough to hit practice balls. This was a mistake, in hindsight. I wasn't warmed up, and as it turned out we were going to have a long afternoon. We arrived in our cart at the first tee, and met with the other twosome we'd be playing with. As we arrived, the starter took our receipt, and then said, "The rules for this tournament are best two scores on holes, and we'll be playing with handicaps." Confused, my friend and I looked at each other. It was then we realized that the two tee slots I had signed up for were for a tournament, and the people we were playing with (a man and his wife) were regulars on this course and were expecting to win. Yeah..... so not going to happen while I'm playing with them.
It all started off amiably, until I shanked my drive into the rough. It was then I heard them speaking in Afrikaans to each other. Now, Afrikaans is very much like Dutch, and I can pick out quite a lot of Afrikaans (to the utter despair of my local staff members). So what I heard them saying to each other was how crappy their lot in life was that they would draw to obvious amateurs, and one of them obviously out of shape. (Paraphrased). I did nothing over the next 4 hours to dispel them of the notion that they were correct that I was an amateur. Some of my drives took lovely detours into very high grass, never to be seen again, and some of them only went a few yards and stopped. Much sighing and head shakes followed. About the 6th hole, the lady started to actually mock me, telling me that she'd driven it further than I had, and oh I'd just barely cleared the ladies' tees. (Granted, the ladies tees on this course are sometimes at least 100 meters closer to the hole than where I was playing off of, but this started to rankle me.) I didn't re-hit a tee shot, and instead dropped where I'd lost the ball, so she gave me a not-played. If I stopped a putt short, she'd say, "Oh, you need to hit it like a man next time." It started to get annoying.
My friend, meanwhile, wasn't doing too badly for playing the course the first time. He did visit many of the fine bunkers the course has, which made him ask if per chance Ernie Els grew up in the desert. In the end he shot an 87, which was only 11 shots off the guy that plays there twice a week. His wife shot a 96. I shot somewhere close to infinity. But there were times I made myself smile with good shots, or even a putt or two that would have made old Ernie Els himself grin. Considering how much I don't play, it's amazing I finished less than 200. However, we had a good time, and after putting out on the 18th, we all took off our hats and shook hands. But not before the lady had one more parting shot. "You know, you just need to practice more often and play more often to get better. Obviously you don't, but you should to improve." Thanks lady, I'd like to but I have a wife, two kids, which are more important to me than golf, and a job, so I don't get to come out and play golf whenever I feel like it.
When we went into the pro shop afterwards, I walked in and found our partner complaining to the cashier about the stiffs they had stuck her and her husband with for the tournament. She didn't see me, and walked out without noticing me. I told the cashier I was the one she was complaining about, and he nodded and smiled. Then he said, "She's a pain in the ass anyway sir." Definitely made my day.
It was nice getting out of the house to play golf in the sun. When I got home I told Crazy Little Man we'd take his club out the next day and hit some tennis balls, which we did. He liked it, and I'm working on his swing. I want him to have the love of the game I do. And maybe one day he'll be a scratch golfer, and be able to hit that bunker shot to within a club length of the hole. Or maybe he'll be as bad as his father, at which case we'll join tournaments and ruin them for the pretentious people playing with us. Either way, we'll have a good time on the course.
PS Today is my 50th post. Yeah me!
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
It's time to be a big boy
We've been going through a very big change here in Johannesburg. Since my son turned three, we've decided it's time for him to become a big boy. He's always asking if he can join daddy when he plays golf, and I've always said, "Crazy Little Man, only big boys can play golf. Babies can't." I figured this would help him drop some of his baby things and become the big boy. Not a chance!
He decided to double down on them. He went everywhere with a pacifier (or dummy as we call them in our Anglo-American House) and wouldn't take it out ever. When he started speaking a little worse than usual, Lovely English Lass and I decided it was the dummy causing the problem. He also refuses to use the potty.
It was so much easier with his sister. Lovely Little Girl was attached to her dummies, but when we took them there was little problem. She also basically potty-trained herself. (She became quite the used car salesman. "Potty for Dora. Potty for candy. Potty for Key Lime Pie." She could definitely leverage her using the potty.) Crazy Little Man just doesn't do it. It was going to be a forceful take over, and one that neither LEL or I were looking forward to at this time.
LEL told CLM Monday that his time with the dummy was through. To protest this, he spent 90 minutes crying and begging for the pacifier instead of taking a nap. Finally LEL just let him out of the bed and skipped the nap. That night, without the dummy, he went right to sleep and slept the entire night. Tuesday, same protest with no nap, and that night same result with sleeping through the night.
CLM also went to a speech therapist, who did say the dummy was causing some enunciation problems, and that they should be fixed soon without the dummy in place. They did say he has some other issues with speech, which we knew, so he'll also be going to speech therapy. I'm sure LEL wishes she'd married a therapist of some kind now instead of a diplomat, so she wouldn't have to spend outrageous amounts of money on therapy.
While we're happy he's finally going to be done with the dummy, it's sad he'll probably end up losing his naps now. CLM gets very cranky when he doesn't get a nap. And so does, LEL, by the way. But to show him he's starting to be a big boy, I'm going to do something for him. Across from the Consulate is a large mall with a sporting goods store. Yesterday I walked past and saw inside a tiny little golf club about the right height for him. I'm going to buy it, and take him into the back yard (or back garden for my British friends) and show him how to use it. Hopefully it'll spur him on to do more things, like potty training. I know one of my fondest memories is the first time I got to play golf with my dad. Hopefully one day, when we get back to Florida, CLM, my dad and I can all go out and play golf together. Three big boys enjoying our time in the outdoors.
He decided to double down on them. He went everywhere with a pacifier (or dummy as we call them in our Anglo-American House) and wouldn't take it out ever. When he started speaking a little worse than usual, Lovely English Lass and I decided it was the dummy causing the problem. He also refuses to use the potty.
It was so much easier with his sister. Lovely Little Girl was attached to her dummies, but when we took them there was little problem. She also basically potty-trained herself. (She became quite the used car salesman. "Potty for Dora. Potty for candy. Potty for Key Lime Pie." She could definitely leverage her using the potty.) Crazy Little Man just doesn't do it. It was going to be a forceful take over, and one that neither LEL or I were looking forward to at this time.
LEL told CLM Monday that his time with the dummy was through. To protest this, he spent 90 minutes crying and begging for the pacifier instead of taking a nap. Finally LEL just let him out of the bed and skipped the nap. That night, without the dummy, he went right to sleep and slept the entire night. Tuesday, same protest with no nap, and that night same result with sleeping through the night.
CLM also went to a speech therapist, who did say the dummy was causing some enunciation problems, and that they should be fixed soon without the dummy in place. They did say he has some other issues with speech, which we knew, so he'll also be going to speech therapy. I'm sure LEL wishes she'd married a therapist of some kind now instead of a diplomat, so she wouldn't have to spend outrageous amounts of money on therapy.
While we're happy he's finally going to be done with the dummy, it's sad he'll probably end up losing his naps now. CLM gets very cranky when he doesn't get a nap. And so does, LEL, by the way. But to show him he's starting to be a big boy, I'm going to do something for him. Across from the Consulate is a large mall with a sporting goods store. Yesterday I walked past and saw inside a tiny little golf club about the right height for him. I'm going to buy it, and take him into the back yard (or back garden for my British friends) and show him how to use it. Hopefully it'll spur him on to do more things, like potty training. I know one of my fondest memories is the first time I got to play golf with my dad. Hopefully one day, when we get back to Florida, CLM, my dad and I can all go out and play golf together. Three big boys enjoying our time in the outdoors.
Monday, April 9, 2012
The Long Easter Weekend
South Africa, like England and a few other places, has a 4 day weekend during Easter. However, the Monday following Easter isn't Easter Monday. It's Family Day. Interesting, I think.
Anyways, we were busy last week with Lovely Little Girl having a chest infection, and Crazy Little Man being off school for a month. (Pray for Lovely English Lass. She'll need it with CLM being home for a month.) And of course April means Evaluations for the Department. Goodness help us if something really big happens during April and May, as almost all of the Department is writing evaluations. I wrote mine, and then I had three others I had to finish as well. So.... very busy indeed.
This meant that Friday was going to be a good day with time off with the kids and of course the long suffering wife. (Long suffering because she has to put up with not only me and my spawn, but a housekeeper that seems to think it's her house and we are just residing in it.) This weekend I learned quite a bit. For example:
1) Crazy Little Man is a VERY apt description of my three year old. He picks fights with his sister, his mother and with me. He runs around and cries at the slightest angry word. He is, in short, a three year old boy.
2) LLG can be quite sweet when she wants to be. However, she still has a huge attachment to her mummy, which can be quite a problem, especially when said mummy is in need of a restroom.
3) My children will say they want to watch a movie for the sole reason that they get popcorn with it.
4) South Africa really agrees with my cooking.
The fourth point is interesting, because I've always liked to cook, but I think I'm doing a better job of it now. For example, I used to use Trader Joe's baking mix for my biscuits while I was back in the US. They are very tasty, and everyone likes them. However, now that I don't have any mix, I've been making biscuits from scratch because that's what my kids want for breakfast sometimes. Let me tell you: I've figured out how to make those bad boys rise even while at almost 6,000 feet above sea level. And they're good too. Never would I have known I could do that without being in South Africa. Somewhere in the afterlife my southern relatives are looking down at me and smiling that I'm making my own biscuits from scratch. (Looks to the sky, kisses fingers and points upward) Thanks guys!
So this weekend I started off by making chili. I got a top roast of meat, put it into the crockpot and cooked that thing down. I also soaked black beans and navy beans overnight, and put them in as well. LEL put some carrot strips and green peppers in and we made a fantastic batch of chili. Sunday I got up and made what I call Sunshine cups. (Bread cut into muffin tin, lightly cooked bacon on top and then crack an egg on top of that.) It turned out pretty darn well. This morning I made bacon and fresh buttermilk biscuits and just now I made really nice burgers which I put fresh made guacamole on top of before eating. I'm telling you, I'm really enjoying this.
Anyways, it's been a good weekend, and I'll be sorry to go back to work tomorrow. Hopefully it'll be a good week, and I'll be ready for next Saturday. Not sure what we'll do, but I think it'll be fun. And hey, I can always cook, right?
Anyways, we were busy last week with Lovely Little Girl having a chest infection, and Crazy Little Man being off school for a month. (Pray for Lovely English Lass. She'll need it with CLM being home for a month.) And of course April means Evaluations for the Department. Goodness help us if something really big happens during April and May, as almost all of the Department is writing evaluations. I wrote mine, and then I had three others I had to finish as well. So.... very busy indeed.
This meant that Friday was going to be a good day with time off with the kids and of course the long suffering wife. (Long suffering because she has to put up with not only me and my spawn, but a housekeeper that seems to think it's her house and we are just residing in it.) This weekend I learned quite a bit. For example:
1) Crazy Little Man is a VERY apt description of my three year old. He picks fights with his sister, his mother and with me. He runs around and cries at the slightest angry word. He is, in short, a three year old boy.
2) LLG can be quite sweet when she wants to be. However, she still has a huge attachment to her mummy, which can be quite a problem, especially when said mummy is in need of a restroom.
3) My children will say they want to watch a movie for the sole reason that they get popcorn with it.
4) South Africa really agrees with my cooking.
The fourth point is interesting, because I've always liked to cook, but I think I'm doing a better job of it now. For example, I used to use Trader Joe's baking mix for my biscuits while I was back in the US. They are very tasty, and everyone likes them. However, now that I don't have any mix, I've been making biscuits from scratch because that's what my kids want for breakfast sometimes. Let me tell you: I've figured out how to make those bad boys rise even while at almost 6,000 feet above sea level. And they're good too. Never would I have known I could do that without being in South Africa. Somewhere in the afterlife my southern relatives are looking down at me and smiling that I'm making my own biscuits from scratch. (Looks to the sky, kisses fingers and points upward) Thanks guys!
So this weekend I started off by making chili. I got a top roast of meat, put it into the crockpot and cooked that thing down. I also soaked black beans and navy beans overnight, and put them in as well. LEL put some carrot strips and green peppers in and we made a fantastic batch of chili. Sunday I got up and made what I call Sunshine cups. (Bread cut into muffin tin, lightly cooked bacon on top and then crack an egg on top of that.) It turned out pretty darn well. This morning I made bacon and fresh buttermilk biscuits and just now I made really nice burgers which I put fresh made guacamole on top of before eating. I'm telling you, I'm really enjoying this.
Anyways, it's been a good weekend, and I'll be sorry to go back to work tomorrow. Hopefully it'll be a good week, and I'll be ready for next Saturday. Not sure what we'll do, but I think it'll be fun. And hey, I can always cook, right?
Sunday, April 1, 2012
My Inner Lester Bangs - 1991
This week, whilest trying to write my evaluation, I hit writer's block pretty hard. I thought about writing many other things instead of my eval. One of these was to indulge my inner critic and see if I could write something about one of my favorite topics: music. I've said before that I've always had a soundtrack going in my head, and it's something I totally enjoy. I have been thinking about music made during my lifetime and decided to start focusing on years. I decided to start with the year 1991.
In 1991 I was 15 years old and either a freshman or sophomore in high school (depending on the time). It was an interesting time in my life, as I had just failed my first class ever (Algebra II) and was starting to wonder if perhaps going to a high profile college was in the cards for me. 1991 was also the year of the end of Operation Desert Storm, with George H.W. Bush's poll numbers in the high 70s to low 80s. Everyone thought he'd be re-elected. The film "Slacker" was released, and a new meme was started nationwide, and a book by Douglas Copeland, Generation X: Tales for an Accelerated Culture gave a generational id to these slackers.
One thing that was greatly in flux that year was the music. If I was asked point blank which year during my lifetime produced the greatest music, I would have to say 1991. There is pretty much no contesting that. The amount of music made during 1991 that is still played today and considered seminal is just astounding. Not only was Rock being revitalized, but rap was about to move to the G-thang with one last gasp from good time hip hop. Even country music was changing. The old tropes were being torn down, and replaced with music that wasn't flashy, like hair metal, or even dopey, like what country music had become (I'm looking at you, Alabama). Music-wise 1991 was a time when no matter the past, all music was valid. Dance, rap, rock, alternative. Everything was around.
Queen released their last album with Freddie Mercury, and Boyz II Men released their first album as a group. Nirvana hit it big with Nevermind, and Pearl Jam slow burned with Ten. U2 re-invented themselves with what at the time was considered the album of the year with Achtung, Baby! and Guns n Roses released a double album, Use Your Illusion I and II. Lollapalooza made it's first trip around the US, with Jane's Addiction having their first farewell tour. Ugly Kid Joe hit it big with "Everything About You", and Matthew Sweet hit it big with Girlfriend.
Everywhere you looked, music was being made that would last. Even a small group like Black Sheep released a song still heard today on television commercials: "The Choice is Yours." A Tribe Called Quest released one of the greatest rap albums ever, The Low End Theory. The Red Hot Chili Peppers came out with Blood Sugar Sex Magik and Soundgarden released Badmotorfinger. Everyone moved to C+C Music Factory's "Gonna Make You Sweat" and and 2unlimited's "Get Ready for This." When except for 1991 would the group, The KLF, be able to release an album and have an international hit with, "3 am Eternal." (By the way, what were the Ancients of Moo Moo anyway?) EMF came out of nowhere with a sample of Andrew Dice Clay and a catchy tune for "Unbelievable."
In fact, I'd put up any of that music against the music of today. Who would you rather listen to: A Lady GaGa song, or PM Dawn's "Set Adrift on Memory Bliss"? One of the kids from American Idol, or Mr. Big's "Be With You"? Even Van Hagar released a great album that year! Jodeci were riding high with "Forever My Lady" and Bryan Adams had a monster hit with "Everything I do (I do for you)" from a REALLY bad Robin Hood movie. I know I'd rather listen to "Hunger Strike" by Temple of the Dog than most of the music today.
So why was 1991 such a banner year for music? Was it because the world was in an economic downturn? Was it because the Baby Boomer's had grown up and their children were starting to come of age as well and were sick of listening to their parents talk about how great Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young were back in the day? Was it a backlash against the excesses of the 1980s? Rock and Rap decided to strip itself down to the basics and make good music again? Why was Seattle hitting it big? I'm not exactly sure. I lived through it, and I just remember thinking that the music was fantastic. I mean, I left LL Cool J's "Mama Said Knock You Out" off this list of great music, and it wasn't even missed.
Needless to say, music back then had a reason for being. People were allowed to experiment, and that's a good thing. I honestly think there is good music out there, but because of the internet it's diluted a bit. No longer is there a great music scene in a city that is just begging to be discovered. The music industry is broken, and they need to find a way to fix it so good music can come back. Pre-fab may be fine for some, but it won't last. Bieber won't be remembered in 20 years like Metallica's Black Album is today. "Enter Sandman" is still a kickin song 21 years later.
Maybe I should go back again to listen to the music of 1991. Screaming Trees' Uncle Anesthesia is a great album, and I still get happy for Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch. Heck, Primus released "Jerry Was a Race car Driver," which still doesn't get the credit it deserves. However, I know in the future I'll probably bore my children to death talking about how the music was much better in my time than there's. Maybe that's just the course for getting older. But, considering what happened in 1991, I will probably be right.
In 1991 I was 15 years old and either a freshman or sophomore in high school (depending on the time). It was an interesting time in my life, as I had just failed my first class ever (Algebra II) and was starting to wonder if perhaps going to a high profile college was in the cards for me. 1991 was also the year of the end of Operation Desert Storm, with George H.W. Bush's poll numbers in the high 70s to low 80s. Everyone thought he'd be re-elected. The film "Slacker" was released, and a new meme was started nationwide, and a book by Douglas Copeland, Generation X: Tales for an Accelerated Culture gave a generational id to these slackers.
One thing that was greatly in flux that year was the music. If I was asked point blank which year during my lifetime produced the greatest music, I would have to say 1991. There is pretty much no contesting that. The amount of music made during 1991 that is still played today and considered seminal is just astounding. Not only was Rock being revitalized, but rap was about to move to the G-thang with one last gasp from good time hip hop. Even country music was changing. The old tropes were being torn down, and replaced with music that wasn't flashy, like hair metal, or even dopey, like what country music had become (I'm looking at you, Alabama). Music-wise 1991 was a time when no matter the past, all music was valid. Dance, rap, rock, alternative. Everything was around.
Queen released their last album with Freddie Mercury, and Boyz II Men released their first album as a group. Nirvana hit it big with Nevermind, and Pearl Jam slow burned with Ten. U2 re-invented themselves with what at the time was considered the album of the year with Achtung, Baby! and Guns n Roses released a double album, Use Your Illusion I and II. Lollapalooza made it's first trip around the US, with Jane's Addiction having their first farewell tour. Ugly Kid Joe hit it big with "Everything About You", and Matthew Sweet hit it big with Girlfriend.
Everywhere you looked, music was being made that would last. Even a small group like Black Sheep released a song still heard today on television commercials: "The Choice is Yours." A Tribe Called Quest released one of the greatest rap albums ever, The Low End Theory. The Red Hot Chili Peppers came out with Blood Sugar Sex Magik and Soundgarden released Badmotorfinger. Everyone moved to C+C Music Factory's "Gonna Make You Sweat" and and 2unlimited's "Get Ready for This." When except for 1991 would the group, The KLF, be able to release an album and have an international hit with, "3 am Eternal." (By the way, what were the Ancients of Moo Moo anyway?) EMF came out of nowhere with a sample of Andrew Dice Clay and a catchy tune for "Unbelievable."
In fact, I'd put up any of that music against the music of today. Who would you rather listen to: A Lady GaGa song, or PM Dawn's "Set Adrift on Memory Bliss"? One of the kids from American Idol, or Mr. Big's "Be With You"? Even Van Hagar released a great album that year! Jodeci were riding high with "Forever My Lady" and Bryan Adams had a monster hit with "Everything I do (I do for you)" from a REALLY bad Robin Hood movie. I know I'd rather listen to "Hunger Strike" by Temple of the Dog than most of the music today.
So why was 1991 such a banner year for music? Was it because the world was in an economic downturn? Was it because the Baby Boomer's had grown up and their children were starting to come of age as well and were sick of listening to their parents talk about how great Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young were back in the day? Was it a backlash against the excesses of the 1980s? Rock and Rap decided to strip itself down to the basics and make good music again? Why was Seattle hitting it big? I'm not exactly sure. I lived through it, and I just remember thinking that the music was fantastic. I mean, I left LL Cool J's "Mama Said Knock You Out" off this list of great music, and it wasn't even missed.
Needless to say, music back then had a reason for being. People were allowed to experiment, and that's a good thing. I honestly think there is good music out there, but because of the internet it's diluted a bit. No longer is there a great music scene in a city that is just begging to be discovered. The music industry is broken, and they need to find a way to fix it so good music can come back. Pre-fab may be fine for some, but it won't last. Bieber won't be remembered in 20 years like Metallica's Black Album is today. "Enter Sandman" is still a kickin song 21 years later.
Maybe I should go back again to listen to the music of 1991. Screaming Trees' Uncle Anesthesia is a great album, and I still get happy for Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch. Heck, Primus released "Jerry Was a Race car Driver," which still doesn't get the credit it deserves. However, I know in the future I'll probably bore my children to death talking about how the music was much better in my time than there's. Maybe that's just the course for getting older. But, considering what happened in 1991, I will probably be right.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Crazy Little Man turns three!
Today, my son turns three years old.
Crazy Little Man was born in Luxembourg less than 3 months before we left the Grand Duchy. However, his was anything but a normal arrival in the world. We found out that we were going to be parents again at Ramstein AFB in Germany while our friend, Eurochini, was visiting. Shortly afterwards Lovely Little Girl, not yet age 2, locked my wife in her bedroom and Lovely English Lass had to abseil down the side of the wall with sheets tied together and crawl in through a basement window to get back into the house. He was fine. Then, the doctors started doing ultra-sounds and thought he might have down's syndrome or worse. It got to the point where doctors, in a very Catholic country, were discussing with us the possibility of an abortion. Scary, right? Turns out he was fine. All through the pregnancy the doctors kept being worried, but it always turned out to be nothing.
Since then, he's lived in three different countries (counting Lux) and started to develop his own little personality. He loves sports, but doesn't seem to understand most of them. He wants to play golf and cricket and tennis, but can't seem to stop hitting people with the bat, club or racket. He loves the movie Cars, and seems to really like Spider-Man. He joins his dad watching Phineas and Ferb, and it is hilarious listening to him say, in a deep voice, "Thwart me Perry the Platypus!" He can name the alter-egos of a surprising number of superheroes, and lately has started calling himself Bebe. (Like he's a French Frank Sinatra reincarnated or something.) He likes to jump off everything, and has perfected the art of acting like he's hurt and blaming his sister (even when she's not in the room). His superhero alter-ego is Zack the Train, and his finishing move on bad guys is the piston-punch and then shunting them into walls. He doesn't yet seem to know if he's a big boy or a baby. His favorite football (soccer) player is Scott Parker, and I can't be mad at him about that. He knows Brad Freidel plays goal and that Sheffield United are The Blades.
He's also an attention hog when he goes out into public. Women everywhere fall all over him and his big blue eyes and straw colored hair. When we go to a restaurant with a play area, all of the watchers pay attention to him to the detriment of the other kids. (This really does happen.) He stares at women until the look at him, and then looks away shyly. This ensures that they are forever in his power.
Crazy Little Man can be the most charming and most infuriating kid you'll ever meet. One minute he's throwing food, and the next saying that Daddy is his superhero.
He's definitely the Robin to my Batman or the Sundance to my Butch Cassidy. But he can also be the Joker to my Batman or the LeFours to my Butch Cassidy. One day I hope he and I will have the relationship that my father and I have. Right now he's my Crazy Little Man and I couldn't be happier for that. Happy birthday Bebe.
Crazy Little Man was born in Luxembourg less than 3 months before we left the Grand Duchy. However, his was anything but a normal arrival in the world. We found out that we were going to be parents again at Ramstein AFB in Germany while our friend, Eurochini, was visiting. Shortly afterwards Lovely Little Girl, not yet age 2, locked my wife in her bedroom and Lovely English Lass had to abseil down the side of the wall with sheets tied together and crawl in through a basement window to get back into the house. He was fine. Then, the doctors started doing ultra-sounds and thought he might have down's syndrome or worse. It got to the point where doctors, in a very Catholic country, were discussing with us the possibility of an abortion. Scary, right? Turns out he was fine. All through the pregnancy the doctors kept being worried, but it always turned out to be nothing.
Since then, he's lived in three different countries (counting Lux) and started to develop his own little personality. He loves sports, but doesn't seem to understand most of them. He wants to play golf and cricket and tennis, but can't seem to stop hitting people with the bat, club or racket. He loves the movie Cars, and seems to really like Spider-Man. He joins his dad watching Phineas and Ferb, and it is hilarious listening to him say, in a deep voice, "Thwart me Perry the Platypus!" He can name the alter-egos of a surprising number of superheroes, and lately has started calling himself Bebe. (Like he's a French Frank Sinatra reincarnated or something.) He likes to jump off everything, and has perfected the art of acting like he's hurt and blaming his sister (even when she's not in the room). His superhero alter-ego is Zack the Train, and his finishing move on bad guys is the piston-punch and then shunting them into walls. He doesn't yet seem to know if he's a big boy or a baby. His favorite football (soccer) player is Scott Parker, and I can't be mad at him about that. He knows Brad Freidel plays goal and that Sheffield United are The Blades.
He's also an attention hog when he goes out into public. Women everywhere fall all over him and his big blue eyes and straw colored hair. When we go to a restaurant with a play area, all of the watchers pay attention to him to the detriment of the other kids. (This really does happen.) He stares at women until the look at him, and then looks away shyly. This ensures that they are forever in his power.
Crazy Little Man can be the most charming and most infuriating kid you'll ever meet. One minute he's throwing food, and the next saying that Daddy is his superhero.
He's definitely the Robin to my Batman or the Sundance to my Butch Cassidy. But he can also be the Joker to my Batman or the LeFours to my Butch Cassidy. One day I hope he and I will have the relationship that my father and I have. Right now he's my Crazy Little Man and I couldn't be happier for that. Happy birthday Bebe.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
A father's anger
Recently, we've tried to find a school that will take Lovely Little Girl. It can be difficult, but there are numerous remedial schools that have fine reputations here in Johannesburg who aim to mainstream their students. That's what we're looking for, a place that will take her, and help move her to a normal school. It's one of the problems we have: Schools won't take her because she's only been involved in Autism centered programs, but she can't get in to a school to give her the chance. It's a vicious cycle.
So when we got an appointment with one of these remedial schools and they said they'd take her on a trial for 3 days, I was excited but also a little scared. 3 days isn't long for someone who isn't on the spectrum to get acquainted with new surroundings. Heck, I take at least a week, and I'm purportedly neuro-typical. Still, it was a chance to get going and maybe have her ready for a new school next year. We didn't prepare her as well as we should have, but sometimes it is better to have her at her worst to make sure the school knows what they're getting. Usually, though, in a new environment LLG is a bit timid at the beginning. I was hoping she would steal the hearts of the teachers and they would say how excited they were to have her coming the next year.
It wasn't to be. They had her for 3 days (actually 2 1/2) and called afterwards to tell us that they couldn't provide for her, and we should try an autism only school. Never mind that everyone that has ever had my lovely daughter in a class or therapy tells us that she is a prime example of a child that would blossom with mainstream schooling. Never mind that you really can't tell anything from 2 1/2 days of school observation. Never mind that they used words that showed they were fixated on her being on the autism spectrum. No, they couldn't help her.
You know what? If they truly didn't have the ability to help my daughter, then I would be ok with that. I'm not going to force them to take her when it wouldn't be beneficial to do so. I have her needs to look out for as well. What really steams me is that it appears that they didn't even try. 2 1/2 days doesn't tell you anything about my lovely daughter. They said she went on "elopement" during her first day to go and jump on the trampoline. That's a particularly "autistic" phrase. My question is: Did you tell her it wasn't time to jump on the trampoline, or did you leave her out there to continue jumping? Did you lay out the rules for jumping on the trampoline? How many kindergarten children, seeing a trampoline at school, would not go and try to jump on it? But, because my daughter has autism you assume that she just does her own thing and can't be told to come join the circle? REALLY?!?!?
Also, the fact that it was only 2 1/2 days. That's all they gave her. She doesn't come out of her shell until at least day 3, and even then it's only a little bit. New school environment, new teachers, what little kid wouldn't be a little off. Heck, I remember crying for my mother when I went to Kindergarten, and she worked in the same school! (I was a bit of a wuss.)
The worst part is, my daughter loved it there. She talked about her new school, and cried when we took her back to the school we have her in. That's what upsets me the most. That my wife and I had to tell her that she couldn't go back to the new school, because it wasn't to be. I've promised myself that no one will ever tell Lovely Little Girl that she can't do something because of her autism. If she wants to be a writer, painter, philosopher, activist or even a mother, no one can tell her no. She will do what she wants to do, all they need to do is give her a chance. This school effectively said she couldn't handle the work they do there, and that we need to lower our expectations.
My response is that my daughter probably would have gotten bored at their school because she is probably smarter than the teachers, and we need to find a place to help stimulate her mind to reach its full potential. While she needs work on some things (like not poking someone in the chest who wears a Hello Kitty shirt as a way of greeting) in others she's fine. Heck, I can't do lenticular puzzles, but she does them in less than 10 minutes. She's already figured out how to use skeleton keys and how to get things from locked rooms without getting caught. My trouble is making sure she uses her powers for good and not evil.
We'll find a school to take care of her. I know we will. But this lack of trying by a school whose job it is to help those who need help the most still bothers me. Hopefully I'll get over it, and one day maybe LLG will use this as the starting point from her speech she gives when she graduates from University at the top of her class. Even if she never reaches that point, I'll still always believe she can.
So when we got an appointment with one of these remedial schools and they said they'd take her on a trial for 3 days, I was excited but also a little scared. 3 days isn't long for someone who isn't on the spectrum to get acquainted with new surroundings. Heck, I take at least a week, and I'm purportedly neuro-typical. Still, it was a chance to get going and maybe have her ready for a new school next year. We didn't prepare her as well as we should have, but sometimes it is better to have her at her worst to make sure the school knows what they're getting. Usually, though, in a new environment LLG is a bit timid at the beginning. I was hoping she would steal the hearts of the teachers and they would say how excited they were to have her coming the next year.
It wasn't to be. They had her for 3 days (actually 2 1/2) and called afterwards to tell us that they couldn't provide for her, and we should try an autism only school. Never mind that everyone that has ever had my lovely daughter in a class or therapy tells us that she is a prime example of a child that would blossom with mainstream schooling. Never mind that you really can't tell anything from 2 1/2 days of school observation. Never mind that they used words that showed they were fixated on her being on the autism spectrum. No, they couldn't help her.
You know what? If they truly didn't have the ability to help my daughter, then I would be ok with that. I'm not going to force them to take her when it wouldn't be beneficial to do so. I have her needs to look out for as well. What really steams me is that it appears that they didn't even try. 2 1/2 days doesn't tell you anything about my lovely daughter. They said she went on "elopement" during her first day to go and jump on the trampoline. That's a particularly "autistic" phrase. My question is: Did you tell her it wasn't time to jump on the trampoline, or did you leave her out there to continue jumping? Did you lay out the rules for jumping on the trampoline? How many kindergarten children, seeing a trampoline at school, would not go and try to jump on it? But, because my daughter has autism you assume that she just does her own thing and can't be told to come join the circle? REALLY?!?!?
Also, the fact that it was only 2 1/2 days. That's all they gave her. She doesn't come out of her shell until at least day 3, and even then it's only a little bit. New school environment, new teachers, what little kid wouldn't be a little off. Heck, I remember crying for my mother when I went to Kindergarten, and she worked in the same school! (I was a bit of a wuss.)
The worst part is, my daughter loved it there. She talked about her new school, and cried when we took her back to the school we have her in. That's what upsets me the most. That my wife and I had to tell her that she couldn't go back to the new school, because it wasn't to be. I've promised myself that no one will ever tell Lovely Little Girl that she can't do something because of her autism. If she wants to be a writer, painter, philosopher, activist or even a mother, no one can tell her no. She will do what she wants to do, all they need to do is give her a chance. This school effectively said she couldn't handle the work they do there, and that we need to lower our expectations.
My response is that my daughter probably would have gotten bored at their school because she is probably smarter than the teachers, and we need to find a place to help stimulate her mind to reach its full potential. While she needs work on some things (like not poking someone in the chest who wears a Hello Kitty shirt as a way of greeting) in others she's fine. Heck, I can't do lenticular puzzles, but she does them in less than 10 minutes. She's already figured out how to use skeleton keys and how to get things from locked rooms without getting caught. My trouble is making sure she uses her powers for good and not evil.
We'll find a school to take care of her. I know we will. But this lack of trying by a school whose job it is to help those who need help the most still bothers me. Hopefully I'll get over it, and one day maybe LLG will use this as the starting point from her speech she gives when she graduates from University at the top of her class. Even if she never reaches that point, I'll still always believe she can.
Friday, March 16, 2012
24 hours of Charity and Work
I love my wife.
Seriously, how can you not love a woman that allows you, within one 24 hour period, to go play in a poker tournament and then play golf all day whilest taking care of our two children (one of whom is ill)? However that is exactly what happened the 14th and 15th. Let me explain how this happened, and the events of the day.
On the 14th I had a quick dinner with the family and headed off to the Country Club Johannesburg. Nice place, gorgeous golf course, and a lovely setting for a Texas Hold-em tournament to benefit Autism South Africa. Lovely English Lass volunteers there, and this was a major benefit for them. I in no way believed I was Doyle Brunson, but I thought I'd do ok. Playing in the game was a handful of guys that played professionally, and did tend to run roughshod over the table where I was sitting. I didn't win, but I stayed at the table for 2 hours, outlasted one of the pros and also beat three other guys to finish 4th at my table. A respectable showing I think.
The next morning I went to work and then came back home to change into golf clothing. I was going to play golf and it was a business thing. The course we played at is called Copperleaf, and it was designed by Ernie Els. (As an aside, Mr. Els is a supporter of Autism charities, as he has a child who was diagnosed as being on the Autism Spectrum.) The only problem? It rained the entire day. Not a downpour, but a steady drizzle that soaks you to the bone. Although I loved playing on the course (a links course with not a lot of water but numerous ways to spend time in the sand, which I did) the day was very draining. Still, lovely place, lovely company, and got a decent amount of business done while on the links.
It's been a very busy couple of days, and I'm glad it's the weekend. Now it'll be LEL's turn to go out and have some fun by herself. Hopefully she'll take it.
Seriously, how can you not love a woman that allows you, within one 24 hour period, to go play in a poker tournament and then play golf all day whilest taking care of our two children (one of whom is ill)? However that is exactly what happened the 14th and 15th. Let me explain how this happened, and the events of the day.
On the 14th I had a quick dinner with the family and headed off to the Country Club Johannesburg. Nice place, gorgeous golf course, and a lovely setting for a Texas Hold-em tournament to benefit Autism South Africa. Lovely English Lass volunteers there, and this was a major benefit for them. I in no way believed I was Doyle Brunson, but I thought I'd do ok. Playing in the game was a handful of guys that played professionally, and did tend to run roughshod over the table where I was sitting. I didn't win, but I stayed at the table for 2 hours, outlasted one of the pros and also beat three other guys to finish 4th at my table. A respectable showing I think.
The next morning I went to work and then came back home to change into golf clothing. I was going to play golf and it was a business thing. The course we played at is called Copperleaf, and it was designed by Ernie Els. (As an aside, Mr. Els is a supporter of Autism charities, as he has a child who was diagnosed as being on the Autism Spectrum.) The only problem? It rained the entire day. Not a downpour, but a steady drizzle that soaks you to the bone. Although I loved playing on the course (a links course with not a lot of water but numerous ways to spend time in the sand, which I did) the day was very draining. Still, lovely place, lovely company, and got a decent amount of business done while on the links.
It's been a very busy couple of days, and I'm glad it's the weekend. Now it'll be LEL's turn to go out and have some fun by herself. Hopefully she'll take it.
Monday, March 12, 2012
A birthday with a reminder
So Saturday I turned 36.
Funny, I don't feel like I'm 36. I mean, I still rock the Batman shoes. I still feel like I'm 26, not 36. Still, the birthday was a good one here in South Africa. Lovely English Lass and I got to go to dinner with some friends to celebrate the night before, and even though Lovely Little Girl was a handful for our babysitter she still agreed to come back again. So, success!
For my actual birthday we went to breakfast and then out to a lovely area near the Cradle of Humankind for lunch with a friend of the family. We met his lovely wife and LLG seemed to really like her a lot. The place had Shetland ponies, which Crazy Little Man swore were cows. He wouldn't be dissuaded. In the ends, it was a nice time and CLM asked these new friends if they wanted to come to his birthday at the end of the month. Good times.
Oh, but did I mention the phone call I received during lunch? Yeah, we got a call from our security officer to alert us to the armed robbery that occurred on our compound. The one guarded 24 hours by an armed guard. Where 3 families from the Consulate and Embassy live. Yeah, that one. You see, there is a house here that is for rent. There are 5 houses on the compound, and we rent 3 of them.
It seems the man who was looking to rent the vacant house had withdrawn a large sum of money from a bank, and had been followed by the robbers for 13 miles to our compound where they pulled a gun on our guard and robbed the man looking to rent the place. (I'm guessing he won't now.) No one that lives on the compound was hurt or robbed, but it shocked us all. My kids play out front on the driveway, and they could have been hurt. The thought makes me feel ill and my skin crawl.
So, while it was a good day (finished with LEL and I watching Caddyshack! which she hated) it did serve as a reminder of the place we live in. While it is a beautiful country, and the people are very nice, it can turn violent very quickly. Not exactly the birthday wish I was looking for, but it was good to be reminded that we need to watch out more carefully. Hopefully that'll be the last time we have something like that happen here, but I'll be planning to protect my family if it does happen again.
Funny, I don't feel like I'm 36. I mean, I still rock the Batman shoes. I still feel like I'm 26, not 36. Still, the birthday was a good one here in South Africa. Lovely English Lass and I got to go to dinner with some friends to celebrate the night before, and even though Lovely Little Girl was a handful for our babysitter she still agreed to come back again. So, success!
For my actual birthday we went to breakfast and then out to a lovely area near the Cradle of Humankind for lunch with a friend of the family. We met his lovely wife and LLG seemed to really like her a lot. The place had Shetland ponies, which Crazy Little Man swore were cows. He wouldn't be dissuaded. In the ends, it was a nice time and CLM asked these new friends if they wanted to come to his birthday at the end of the month. Good times.
Oh, but did I mention the phone call I received during lunch? Yeah, we got a call from our security officer to alert us to the armed robbery that occurred on our compound. The one guarded 24 hours by an armed guard. Where 3 families from the Consulate and Embassy live. Yeah, that one. You see, there is a house here that is for rent. There are 5 houses on the compound, and we rent 3 of them.
It seems the man who was looking to rent the vacant house had withdrawn a large sum of money from a bank, and had been followed by the robbers for 13 miles to our compound where they pulled a gun on our guard and robbed the man looking to rent the place. (I'm guessing he won't now.) No one that lives on the compound was hurt or robbed, but it shocked us all. My kids play out front on the driveway, and they could have been hurt. The thought makes me feel ill and my skin crawl.
So, while it was a good day (finished with LEL and I watching Caddyshack! which she hated) it did serve as a reminder of the place we live in. While it is a beautiful country, and the people are very nice, it can turn violent very quickly. Not exactly the birthday wish I was looking for, but it was good to be reminded that we need to watch out more carefully. Hopefully that'll be the last time we have something like that happen here, but I'll be planning to protect my family if it does happen again.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Do The Evolution - Pearl Jam
I joined the Department of State when I was 23 years old. Boy was I young. Back then, I was amongst the youngest members of the Foreign Service. (Although not the youngest. Some joined at 21, and one of my friends joined right after graduation.) Needless to say I think I probably wasn't ready for the job and what I had to do at that time. Since then I've always considered myself as a newbie. You know, not like the old grey-haired elders of the Department. Sort of still an entry level person that didn't know enough yet and had a lot left to learn.
Then the other day, as I was working, it hit me that I am no longer that young kid that has no idea what he's doing. You'd think that would have come after being in charge of the Management section of an Embassy and a Consulate and also working on issues in Afghanistan. Nope. It came because I immediately started talking about what the regulations say without once having to check them, and on Saturday I turn 36.
Yep, I am on my 13th year of working for the Department. No longer can I claim that I'm a newbie. I actually do know my job, and seem to be doing it decently well. (They keep giving me jobs, right?) Plus, I looked in the mirror and there is a lot more grey hair than I remembered, and my hairstylist made a comment that my hair was getting a little thin in one area and that maybe I should start doing something about it. My son will be 3 at the end of the month, and the boss trusted me enough to leave me in charge while he was out. I guess I have to face it: I'm a grownup.
Yes, a grownup that has Batman shoes, collects comic books and watches "Phineas and Ferb" with his son, but a grownup all the same. Am I the same person I was 10 years ago celebrating my 26th birthday with my Peace Corps friends in Suriname? No, of course not. (Hi guys! I've still got pictures from that party. Be afraid!) But am I a full grownup yet? Maybe. Maybe being a grownup is a state of mind. Maybe I've had to evolve to being a grownup. In some ways (at work) I'm a grownup. But in others I suppose I'll always be a kid. Perhaps that's the secret to life. Be a grownup when you have to be, but stay a child where you can.
Anyways, for my birthday we're going out for lunch with a friend of the family at The Cradle of Humankind and then Lovely English Lass and I will have takeout while we watch a movie at home after putting the kids to sleep. (We're going out the night before for dinner.) It'll be nice. Still, I might make her watch a Batman film or an absolutely ridiculous movie just to keep the kid in me happy. Caddyshack would do just fine, I think.
Then the other day, as I was working, it hit me that I am no longer that young kid that has no idea what he's doing. You'd think that would have come after being in charge of the Management section of an Embassy and a Consulate and also working on issues in Afghanistan. Nope. It came because I immediately started talking about what the regulations say without once having to check them, and on Saturday I turn 36.
Yep, I am on my 13th year of working for the Department. No longer can I claim that I'm a newbie. I actually do know my job, and seem to be doing it decently well. (They keep giving me jobs, right?) Plus, I looked in the mirror and there is a lot more grey hair than I remembered, and my hairstylist made a comment that my hair was getting a little thin in one area and that maybe I should start doing something about it. My son will be 3 at the end of the month, and the boss trusted me enough to leave me in charge while he was out. I guess I have to face it: I'm a grownup.
Yes, a grownup that has Batman shoes, collects comic books and watches "Phineas and Ferb" with his son, but a grownup all the same. Am I the same person I was 10 years ago celebrating my 26th birthday with my Peace Corps friends in Suriname? No, of course not. (Hi guys! I've still got pictures from that party. Be afraid!) But am I a full grownup yet? Maybe. Maybe being a grownup is a state of mind. Maybe I've had to evolve to being a grownup. In some ways (at work) I'm a grownup. But in others I suppose I'll always be a kid. Perhaps that's the secret to life. Be a grownup when you have to be, but stay a child where you can.
Anyways, for my birthday we're going out for lunch with a friend of the family at The Cradle of Humankind and then Lovely English Lass and I will have takeout while we watch a movie at home after putting the kids to sleep. (We're going out the night before for dinner.) It'll be nice. Still, I might make her watch a Batman film or an absolutely ridiculous movie just to keep the kid in me happy. Caddyshack would do just fine, I think.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Glen Afric
Before my in-laws came to visit last month, they talked about this tv show they watch from the UK called Wild at Heart. It's centered on a vet from the UK that moves to South Africa and opens a game preserve. Well, it turns out they film the show about an hour from our house. Lovely English Lass checked, and they did a Sunday Brunch. Thus did we find ourselves headed out to NorthWest Province to see where this show was filmed.
The lodge was fantastic, and the food was very good as well. The kids actually behaved, and the meal was a pleasant experience. (For those of you with two small children, you understand that if you go through lunch without repeating, "Stop that. Sit down! Don't blow bubbles!" then you've had a good time.) Then, our waitress said we should go down to the wall overlooking a field, as that was the next part of the brunch.
We walked to the wall and looked as Zebra, Warthogs and Wildebeest walked by. Crazy Little Man almost ran into this little boy, and I quickly stopped him and apologized. The little boy looked at me and said in a South African accent, "Are you an American?" I confessed that yes, indeed I was. He then asked, "From America?" His father, looking at him as if he was soft, said: "Most Americans are from America, you know." Feeling sad for the little boy I then said, "Well, Canadians and Costa Ricans are Americans too." The guy grunted at me and walked off. He did have a lovely Mullet though.
Suddenly, everyone quickly turned and faced the field, as two men drove three elephants up to the wall.
A large tub was placed behind us filled with whole carrots. The ranger in charge explained that we should place the carrots in the elephants' trunks so they could eat them. Also, not to sit on the wall because if you don't have carrots the elephants will pull you over.
So everyone raced to get a carrot to feed the mama elephant and her two baby elephants. (Daddy was probably watching soccer or cricket. Not sure, really.) Everyone that is except for my two kids, who were scared. Lovely English Lass took a carrot, gave it to Lovely Little Girl, and showed her how to hand it to the elephant. She was a bit scared, but after petting the trunk, and watching the elephant use the trunk to grab onto the carrot and put it into his mouth, both Crazy Little man and Lovely Little Girl were hooked. They ran back and forth getting carrots for their new 2 ton friend. As LLG gave a carrot to the little elephant, I reached over to give his trunk a pet. I was thanked for this by him sneezing on me. Nice.
Gesundheit!
After about 20 minutes, the carrots were gone, and the two men again drove the babies and mama back to their area on the lodge. Crazy Little Man, who earlier had told me he didn't like elephants because they were scary, talked and talked about how much he loved feeding the elephants. Considering his issues with texture, this is a definite good thing.
All in all, a really great family outing. And to think, it was all because of a show in the UK that stars Hayley Mills. Crazy country we live in.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
A great "Task" for a good school.
My boss, the CG, bought last year two new basketball hoops. One for his residence and one for the Consulate. Problem was, the Consulate already had a hoop. So, in an effort to make lemonade from lemons, he had a contest amongst the local staff. They could nominate a village or a school in Gautang (again, pronounced How-tang), Free State or North West Province to receive the gift of a new basketball goal with basketballs and a pump. A great idea, I thought.
The winner was Task Academy near the Central Business District in Johannesburg. Task Academy is a private school whose students are mainly refugees from Somalia that can't get into the normal state schools. The kids must be well behaved, they must learn English and at least one other language from South Africa, and they are required to maintain good grades. Sounded like a perfect place.
Yesterday was the day that we went to the school to deliver the basketball goal. But first, before presentation, we had to construct the actual stand and goal. Here's some things I learned:
1) When dealing with black metal equipment during the summer in Africa, it's probably best to assemble it in the shade. After 30 minutes in the sun it will feel like molten lava and you won't be able to touch it without leaving part of your hand on the metal. You'd think that 5 grown men would have been able to figure that out before assembly, but no.
2) If you have more than one man assembling something, you will have massive confusion and it will take longer than it should. The time on the instructions said 45 minutes. It took us almost 2 hours.
3) Schools in South Africa don't use bells to move from one class to another. They use what sounds like an air-raid siren. Numerous times during the installation our nerves were shattered by this loud siren going off right over our heads. I kept looking for dive bombers.
After we finished putting it all together, the head teacher called for some of the kids to come and stand around the CG as he and his son, who had donated the balls, made the presentation. Then, two children, one boy and one girl, were given balls to take the first shot. The girl had been getting ribbed by the boys in the crowd about playing basketball. She steadied herself, and made the basket on the first try. The boy on the other hand, took 4 tries to get it in. I wish I had taken a photo of her smirk as he kept missing, as it was priceless.
After the presentation, the school choir sang two songs, and everyone had a great time. It was a good feeling to help a school that had almost nothing. Their buildings are falling apart, and there appeared to be many more of them than should fit in the space. But there was something that felt welcoming about the school.
It was funny though watching the boys try their best to impress the girls with their basketball skills. It was also funny, and somewhat familiar, watching the girls jump into the pictures we took and posing behind everyone else trying to look grown-up and like a fashion model. I guess teenagers act the same all over the world, right?
The winner was Task Academy near the Central Business District in Johannesburg. Task Academy is a private school whose students are mainly refugees from Somalia that can't get into the normal state schools. The kids must be well behaved, they must learn English and at least one other language from South Africa, and they are required to maintain good grades. Sounded like a perfect place.
Yesterday was the day that we went to the school to deliver the basketball goal. But first, before presentation, we had to construct the actual stand and goal. Here's some things I learned:
1) When dealing with black metal equipment during the summer in Africa, it's probably best to assemble it in the shade. After 30 minutes in the sun it will feel like molten lava and you won't be able to touch it without leaving part of your hand on the metal. You'd think that 5 grown men would have been able to figure that out before assembly, but no.
2) If you have more than one man assembling something, you will have massive confusion and it will take longer than it should. The time on the instructions said 45 minutes. It took us almost 2 hours.
3) Schools in South Africa don't use bells to move from one class to another. They use what sounds like an air-raid siren. Numerous times during the installation our nerves were shattered by this loud siren going off right over our heads. I kept looking for dive bombers.
After we finished putting it all together, the head teacher called for some of the kids to come and stand around the CG as he and his son, who had donated the balls, made the presentation. Then, two children, one boy and one girl, were given balls to take the first shot. The girl had been getting ribbed by the boys in the crowd about playing basketball. She steadied herself, and made the basket on the first try. The boy on the other hand, took 4 tries to get it in. I wish I had taken a photo of her smirk as he kept missing, as it was priceless.
After the presentation, the school choir sang two songs, and everyone had a great time. It was a good feeling to help a school that had almost nothing. Their buildings are falling apart, and there appeared to be many more of them than should fit in the space. But there was something that felt welcoming about the school.
It was funny though watching the boys try their best to impress the girls with their basketball skills. It was also funny, and somewhat familiar, watching the girls jump into the pictures we took and posing behind everyone else trying to look grown-up and like a fashion model. I guess teenagers act the same all over the world, right?
Friday, February 10, 2012
KZN Photos
So here we go with photos from our recent trip to the Drakensberg Mountains in Kwa-Zulu Natal. Hope you enjoy them. (Photos from Lovely English Lass.)
The Sacred Ibis that came by for dinner
This is a Bishop. (This is what I thought of when I saw this bird.)
This is a Weaver Bird's nest.
One of the Monkeys that came by the apartment.
Monday, February 6, 2012
"I Bless The Rains Down in Africa" (I always thought it was "felt the rains")
Here's something I found quite surprising in South Africa. "Africa" from Toto is HUGE here! I would have thought they would have found it a little pretentious or "White-man's burden". (Let's be honest, there are fewer Whiter bands than Toto. Maybe Air Supply or Loverboy.) However, they use it in commercials, beginnings of shows and even as the hold music for the Protea Brands of Hotels. It's insane. In fact, once you mention the song, and maybe sing some of the words, it becomes one of the longest lasting earworms ever. Ranks up there with The Proclaimers "500 Miles" or "Hey Mickey". I like the song, but it does get a bit wearisome to keep hearing it. Especially when they try to cram 20 syllables into a single song phrase. ("As sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus from the Serengeti.") The reason I started off on this song is, this is what runs through your head when you travel by road in South Africa. I'm not the only one to say this. Many others I've spoken to here have said the same thing.
Last week we drove to a resort at the base of the Drakensberg Mountains. The drive took us from Gautang Province (pronounced How-tang), through Free State and into Kwa-Zulu Natal. This route takes you past very high hills, grasslands, farms and into a lovely area near Cathedral Peak. (The entire time, "I bless the rains down in Africa.") The area we stayed in was the battleground for two separate wars in South Africa. The Zulu War and the Boer War. The battle that was the basis for the movie "Zulu" was not far from our hotel. Winston Churchill was captured about 30 minutes away during the Boer War. As a history buff, this was awesome. ("Hurry boy she's waiting there for you....")
Anyways, the kids seemed to have fun, and Lovely Little Girl was on her best behavior. The mountain air seemed to do her some good. Crazy Little Man, on the other hand, was Crazy. He yelled, told me I was naughty, hit his sister and his father, and generally acted like he constantly needed a nap. Not always, but enough to make me think that the baboons that lived across the way might do a better job of raising him. The area we were in had monkeys, the aforementioned baboons, birds of all colors and shapes, a stoat and a porcupine that crossed the road in front of us one night. (When I told Crazy Little Man about the porcupine, he asked, "A very deserving porcupine?" Yes, yes it was.*) One of the houses next to us left their door open and 4 monkeys got in and stole bananas. A bit stereotypical, but still funny. The Sacred Ibis came up to our dinner table and looked at us quizzically. Very cool though. The morning we left, I packed the cars up to the sounds of baboons growling at me.
I got to play golf, which was lovely. Even made par on one of the holes. (Ok, it was a par 3, but it was the 4th hardest hole on the course, and it was difficult, so leave me alone.) I was a little worried when there were signs warning of puff adders in the fairway, but never saw any.
We found lovely restaurants to eat in, and a bakery that served fantastic scones and had a playground for the kids. I also found that while Johannesburg loves the music of the 1990s, KZN is still firmly entrenched in the 1980s. The Toto song of course, but also Air Supply, "She Blinded me with Science", and even "Come on Eileen." It was awesome. Not all the food was great. Lovely English Lass did eat a Spinach and Feta pie that was horrid, but choked it down because she didn't want to disappoint her parents who were with us. We also ate bacon, or what was labeled as bacon, that probably was from wild game.
Everyone felt a little sick once in a while, and the entire area seemed to roll up the sidewalks after dark. The only musical entertainment in the area seemed to be The Drakensberg Boys Choir. So, it was a little boring in the evenings, which meant everyone went to bed early. Which was good because Lovely Little Girl was usually up at 5 or 530, talking and singing at the top of her lungs.
We did some cool stuff, though. We went to Spioen Kop Nature Reserve which cost R20 per person (roughly 3 bucks a pop). Inside a giraffe walked along followed by it's baby. About 5 zebras crowded the road and looked at us strangely while we photographed them. (Is it a herd of zebra?) We saw Impala and Spring Boks and Black Wildebeests. (I do a great Wildebeest. Ask my friend Gee. Always makes her laugh.) We had gorgeous views (and photos will follow, I promise) and saw just how beautiful this place really is. (Again, "I bless the rains down in Africa." Seriously, the entire 3 hours we were in there that song was on a loop.)
We also saw some funny stuff as well. Every time we went into this little shopping area, which was a lot due to the grocery store being there, a group of little boys would line up in two straight lines and start doing a stomp routine. It was pretty funny, but also pretty cool. We gave them some money for their enthusiasm.
Our return trip was back through the gorgeous areas of KZN and Free State. I knew I was back in Johannesburg when I got cut off by and Audi and was almost hit by a Honda Civic with two toddlers in the back seat with no seat belts. It was good to be back home, but it was also nice to see new areas. Maybe one day soon we'll go back. And yes I'll be singing Toto in my head the entire time. "Hurry Boy it's waiting there for you...."
*It's from Harold and the Purple Crayon.
Last week we drove to a resort at the base of the Drakensberg Mountains. The drive took us from Gautang Province (pronounced How-tang), through Free State and into Kwa-Zulu Natal. This route takes you past very high hills, grasslands, farms and into a lovely area near Cathedral Peak. (The entire time, "I bless the rains down in Africa.") The area we stayed in was the battleground for two separate wars in South Africa. The Zulu War and the Boer War. The battle that was the basis for the movie "Zulu" was not far from our hotel. Winston Churchill was captured about 30 minutes away during the Boer War. As a history buff, this was awesome. ("Hurry boy she's waiting there for you....")
Anyways, the kids seemed to have fun, and Lovely Little Girl was on her best behavior. The mountain air seemed to do her some good. Crazy Little Man, on the other hand, was Crazy. He yelled, told me I was naughty, hit his sister and his father, and generally acted like he constantly needed a nap. Not always, but enough to make me think that the baboons that lived across the way might do a better job of raising him. The area we were in had monkeys, the aforementioned baboons, birds of all colors and shapes, a stoat and a porcupine that crossed the road in front of us one night. (When I told Crazy Little Man about the porcupine, he asked, "A very deserving porcupine?" Yes, yes it was.*) One of the houses next to us left their door open and 4 monkeys got in and stole bananas. A bit stereotypical, but still funny. The Sacred Ibis came up to our dinner table and looked at us quizzically. Very cool though. The morning we left, I packed the cars up to the sounds of baboons growling at me.
I got to play golf, which was lovely. Even made par on one of the holes. (Ok, it was a par 3, but it was the 4th hardest hole on the course, and it was difficult, so leave me alone.) I was a little worried when there were signs warning of puff adders in the fairway, but never saw any.
We found lovely restaurants to eat in, and a bakery that served fantastic scones and had a playground for the kids. I also found that while Johannesburg loves the music of the 1990s, KZN is still firmly entrenched in the 1980s. The Toto song of course, but also Air Supply, "She Blinded me with Science", and even "Come on Eileen." It was awesome. Not all the food was great. Lovely English Lass did eat a Spinach and Feta pie that was horrid, but choked it down because she didn't want to disappoint her parents who were with us. We also ate bacon, or what was labeled as bacon, that probably was from wild game.
Everyone felt a little sick once in a while, and the entire area seemed to roll up the sidewalks after dark. The only musical entertainment in the area seemed to be The Drakensberg Boys Choir. So, it was a little boring in the evenings, which meant everyone went to bed early. Which was good because Lovely Little Girl was usually up at 5 or 530, talking and singing at the top of her lungs.
We did some cool stuff, though. We went to Spioen Kop Nature Reserve which cost R20 per person (roughly 3 bucks a pop). Inside a giraffe walked along followed by it's baby. About 5 zebras crowded the road and looked at us strangely while we photographed them. (Is it a herd of zebra?) We saw Impala and Spring Boks and Black Wildebeests. (I do a great Wildebeest. Ask my friend Gee. Always makes her laugh.) We had gorgeous views (and photos will follow, I promise) and saw just how beautiful this place really is. (Again, "I bless the rains down in Africa." Seriously, the entire 3 hours we were in there that song was on a loop.)
We also saw some funny stuff as well. Every time we went into this little shopping area, which was a lot due to the grocery store being there, a group of little boys would line up in two straight lines and start doing a stomp routine. It was pretty funny, but also pretty cool. We gave them some money for their enthusiasm.
Our return trip was back through the gorgeous areas of KZN and Free State. I knew I was back in Johannesburg when I got cut off by and Audi and was almost hit by a Honda Civic with two toddlers in the back seat with no seat belts. It was good to be back home, but it was also nice to see new areas. Maybe one day soon we'll go back. And yes I'll be singing Toto in my head the entire time. "Hurry Boy it's waiting there for you...."
*It's from Harold and the Purple Crayon.
Monday, January 23, 2012
My Week in Workshop
One of the cool things about being a Management Officer here in Johannesburg is that we get a lot of visitors. We are also a training hub for the Department of State, so we're very busy usually. Last week, as some of you may know, Consulate General Johannesburg had the opportunity to host the Africa Bureau's Management Officers Workshop. That meant that every Management officer from every Embassy in Africa (minus the Arabic ones up north, different bureau) came to Johannesburg. Even some USAID people came too. Talk about pressure. I mean, you screw up and everyone is thinking: "Well that's not the way I would have done it at my post. How did he end up here while I'm in Bujumbura?" To add a little more to the mix, most of the high ranking Management officers from the Department were here too. Nothing like a little pressure to help my sleep habits. (Or lack of, as I kept waking up every 3 hours due to hyperactivity.)
Well, I was a walking ball of anxiety the entire week. My boss kept saying that it would be ok, and that any workshop is a success when all participants leave upright and above room temperature. I agreed, but secretly I was afraid I'd screw this up somehow. I mean, I'm the guy that lost an Ambassador in the halls at Main State! And with every Management officer in town, the microscope I was under was large enough to be seen in DC. Also, the highest ranking Management Officer in the Department was coming. Now imagine you're working at a plant for a decent sized Multi-national. Now imagine during a training session, the COO comes in. He knows you, calls you by name, and talks about how excited he is to see what you've got planned for him. Yeah, that was exactly what happened with me. The guy that everyone in the Department knows, who can recall minor details about a post from memory, and can discuss, without notes, Afghanistan reconstruction, knew my name and where we'd met. Sweat? Meet flop. Add in that I still had work to do via blackberry back at the Consulate, and I was stretched.
The workshop went off better than I expected. With the exception of the teleconference with DC not working (and no one blamed us for that because, come on, it's Africa) we got rave reviews. My staff is awesome, and deserve all of the praise. Me? I was just happy not to have choked on my own tongue. As I sat there in the ballroom of the hotel after the workshop, and people kept coming to me and telling me how well everything went, and how good the Consulate looked when they came to visit, I couldn't help but be proud of myself. It's nice to get a few plaudits now and then, right? At least I can feel good about myself for a bit while I get around to answering the 1075 emails waiting on me in my inbox.
Well, I was a walking ball of anxiety the entire week. My boss kept saying that it would be ok, and that any workshop is a success when all participants leave upright and above room temperature. I agreed, but secretly I was afraid I'd screw this up somehow. I mean, I'm the guy that lost an Ambassador in the halls at Main State! And with every Management officer in town, the microscope I was under was large enough to be seen in DC. Also, the highest ranking Management Officer in the Department was coming. Now imagine you're working at a plant for a decent sized Multi-national. Now imagine during a training session, the COO comes in. He knows you, calls you by name, and talks about how excited he is to see what you've got planned for him. Yeah, that was exactly what happened with me. The guy that everyone in the Department knows, who can recall minor details about a post from memory, and can discuss, without notes, Afghanistan reconstruction, knew my name and where we'd met. Sweat? Meet flop. Add in that I still had work to do via blackberry back at the Consulate, and I was stretched.
The workshop went off better than I expected. With the exception of the teleconference with DC not working (and no one blamed us for that because, come on, it's Africa) we got rave reviews. My staff is awesome, and deserve all of the praise. Me? I was just happy not to have choked on my own tongue. As I sat there in the ballroom of the hotel after the workshop, and people kept coming to me and telling me how well everything went, and how good the Consulate looked when they came to visit, I couldn't help but be proud of myself. It's nice to get a few plaudits now and then, right? At least I can feel good about myself for a bit while I get around to answering the 1075 emails waiting on me in my inbox.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
The Return of Joburgers
A very strange phenomenon occurs in South Africa around December 15. Everyone in Johannesburg and Pretoria disappear. You can cross the street without fear of being run over by a ridiculously overloaded bus, or drive and not be run off the road by a ridiculously expensive Ferrari. Actually, except for the extreme thunderstorms that hit every afternoon and sound as if Odin himself is bowling, it's quite pleasant. There are seats in the mall, the air is a bit cleaner, and Jozi, as the people here call Johannesburg, is a lovely place. A trip to Soweto, which usually takes at least an hour in traffice, only took me 30 minutes a few days after Christmas.
There are some trade-offs on this of course. We called into an Indian restaurant that was getting rave reviews and found they were closed for two weeks. This isn't something new for us, though. Recall that we lived in Luxembourg for three years, and in August there isn't ANYTHING you can do there. When we arrived in Luxembourg in 2006, we couldn't even go to the little restaurant down the street because it was closed for the month. (We never did eat there.) Another trade off is that the tradesmen (plumbers, electricians, builders) also take off a month. So any work needed to be done should be finished by the beginning of December, or else you're SOL until Mid-January.
This is something that is a problem that I have to deal with as the Management Officer. If there is something that breaks during the month of December or the first part of January, I either have to do without or I pay an exhorbitant amount of money to get it done. And since I'm still trying to manage the expectations of my fellow officers here at post, usually it means paying the money.
Well, yesterday was the return of the Joburgers. My two children started school again, and the roads were full of crazy. Trying to cross the street to get to the bank and pay a bill I had a Masserati aim at and barely miss me. Oh, and to make life even better, the national energy group, ESKOM, announced they didn't have enough energy for everyone, and load shedding would be in effect for pretty much the rest of the year. (It's January.) Add in the crazy thunderstorms and I'd say everything is headed back to normal.
While it was nice to have some time to ourselves, it wouldn't be Joburg without all of the commotion. Crazy Little Man starts soccer again on Saturday, and I have a huge workshop we're hosting next week so I'll be very busy. Lovely Little Girl is swimming like a fish, and Lovely English Lass is getting ready for her parents to visit. I don't think we'd be able to function if it wasn't so crazy. However, I know I'd like to give it a try once in a while.
There are some trade-offs on this of course. We called into an Indian restaurant that was getting rave reviews and found they were closed for two weeks. This isn't something new for us, though. Recall that we lived in Luxembourg for three years, and in August there isn't ANYTHING you can do there. When we arrived in Luxembourg in 2006, we couldn't even go to the little restaurant down the street because it was closed for the month. (We never did eat there.) Another trade off is that the tradesmen (plumbers, electricians, builders) also take off a month. So any work needed to be done should be finished by the beginning of December, or else you're SOL until Mid-January.
This is something that is a problem that I have to deal with as the Management Officer. If there is something that breaks during the month of December or the first part of January, I either have to do without or I pay an exhorbitant amount of money to get it done. And since I'm still trying to manage the expectations of my fellow officers here at post, usually it means paying the money.
Well, yesterday was the return of the Joburgers. My two children started school again, and the roads were full of crazy. Trying to cross the street to get to the bank and pay a bill I had a Masserati aim at and barely miss me. Oh, and to make life even better, the national energy group, ESKOM, announced they didn't have enough energy for everyone, and load shedding would be in effect for pretty much the rest of the year. (It's January.) Add in the crazy thunderstorms and I'd say everything is headed back to normal.
While it was nice to have some time to ourselves, it wouldn't be Joburg without all of the commotion. Crazy Little Man starts soccer again on Saturday, and I have a huge workshop we're hosting next week so I'll be very busy. Lovely Little Girl is swimming like a fish, and Lovely English Lass is getting ready for her parents to visit. I don't think we'd be able to function if it wasn't so crazy. However, I know I'd like to give it a try once in a while.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Strange Days indeed
This morning, I woke with an American Girl doll under my arm, and my daughter standing next to the bed smiling at me and trying to wake me. Probably one of the more interesting sights I've awakened to in the past 5 years.
I should explain...
Lovely Little Girl doesn't sleep the entire night in her bed. She has anxiety issues and for some reason feels better sleeping in Mummy and Daddy's bed. Sadly, I was too cheap to spring for the California King bed, and our Queen size bed isn't exactly big enough for Lovely English Lass, Lovely Little Girl and myself. So, I end up going and sleeping in her and Crazy Little Man's room. The only problem with her not sleeping totally in her own bed is that she wakes up at 430-500 all the time. Lovely Little Girl is very peppy in the morning, running around and talking loudly. Lovely English Lass isn't. You see the problem. Thus, there are times when Lovely Little Girl is sent out of the room, which means she comes back to her room and wakes up whomever is asleep at the time. This morning she decided that Daddy apparently looked lonely asleep, and put Kelly doll next to him to keep him company. Sweet, but I would have preferred an extra hour of sleep to be honest.
This is how I began my day. I woke, made coffee, and tried to feed the children, which can be an adventure in and of itself. Crazy Little Man wanted croissant and Lovely Little Girl wanted toast. This lead to a shouting match over whether LLG wanted butter or jam on her toast. I contemplated throwing the leftover steak from last night on the table, giving them wiffle ball bats and letting them fight it out for breakfast. But, knowing that if I did this my mother would sit bolt upright in bed in Florida and immediately call me on Skype to tell me I was being a horrible role model, I decided to just roll with it. After making coffee, and tea for LEL, and having my own breakfast, I got ready to go to work.
While walking to work in 80 degree heat in January, which still feels strange, listening to Bell Biv Devoe, I realize this is going to be a big year, but a strange one too. I've got a major conference coming up that we're hosting which will have several very high ranked State Department officials in attendance. We've got some rumored events coming up that are going to be big. The ANC is celebrating its 100th anniversary, so there will be some HUGE parties going on here. The Presidential elections will be wild, and we go to England in September for the first time in 3 years. We're trying to get LLG into a good school. These are the strange days. If you'd have asked me in 1990, when Bell Biv Devoe's album came out, what I'd be doing in 2012, I can guarantee you that living in South Africa, being the Management Officer at the Consulate in Johannesburg and waking up with an American Girl doll under my arm would have been last. But I wouldn't have it any other way. (Except maybe my daughter sleeping all night in her bed.)
I should explain...
Lovely Little Girl doesn't sleep the entire night in her bed. She has anxiety issues and for some reason feels better sleeping in Mummy and Daddy's bed. Sadly, I was too cheap to spring for the California King bed, and our Queen size bed isn't exactly big enough for Lovely English Lass, Lovely Little Girl and myself. So, I end up going and sleeping in her and Crazy Little Man's room. The only problem with her not sleeping totally in her own bed is that she wakes up at 430-500 all the time. Lovely Little Girl is very peppy in the morning, running around and talking loudly. Lovely English Lass isn't. You see the problem. Thus, there are times when Lovely Little Girl is sent out of the room, which means she comes back to her room and wakes up whomever is asleep at the time. This morning she decided that Daddy apparently looked lonely asleep, and put Kelly doll next to him to keep him company. Sweet, but I would have preferred an extra hour of sleep to be honest.
This is how I began my day. I woke, made coffee, and tried to feed the children, which can be an adventure in and of itself. Crazy Little Man wanted croissant and Lovely Little Girl wanted toast. This lead to a shouting match over whether LLG wanted butter or jam on her toast. I contemplated throwing the leftover steak from last night on the table, giving them wiffle ball bats and letting them fight it out for breakfast. But, knowing that if I did this my mother would sit bolt upright in bed in Florida and immediately call me on Skype to tell me I was being a horrible role model, I decided to just roll with it. After making coffee, and tea for LEL, and having my own breakfast, I got ready to go to work.
While walking to work in 80 degree heat in January, which still feels strange, listening to Bell Biv Devoe, I realize this is going to be a big year, but a strange one too. I've got a major conference coming up that we're hosting which will have several very high ranked State Department officials in attendance. We've got some rumored events coming up that are going to be big. The ANC is celebrating its 100th anniversary, so there will be some HUGE parties going on here. The Presidential elections will be wild, and we go to England in September for the first time in 3 years. We're trying to get LLG into a good school. These are the strange days. If you'd have asked me in 1990, when Bell Biv Devoe's album came out, what I'd be doing in 2012, I can guarantee you that living in South Africa, being the Management Officer at the Consulate in Johannesburg and waking up with an American Girl doll under my arm would have been last. But I wouldn't have it any other way. (Except maybe my daughter sleeping all night in her bed.)
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