Away we go

The sun is shining in preparation for our weekend away. We’re all going – my mother and father, sister and the delicious now 2-year old nephews and G. Unfortunately N, my sister’s partner has to go to Ghana for work which is crap, so she’s not coming. We’re going off into the countryside, in the mountains where we’ll celebrate my father’s upcoming 70th and the babies 2nd birthdays last week.

It’s shining now, but the forecast is rain for much of the weekend. It doesn’t matter though, we’re going to a house up in the mountains where the air is fresh and there are donkeys. The baby boys have galoshes which they love to the point of wanting to wear them instead of slippers in the morning and after their bath, to bed.

The baby boys are bliss-inducing. They turned two last week, can you believe? It seems like yesterday that my sister was on the verge of popping. They’re intelligent, engaging, funny, highly verbal and interested in everything. Delicious. Such fun having them to stay all week. It’s been a whirl of animal noises, fish fingers, giggles and running around after The Siamese Princess who is, I fear, not as impressed as I.

And then, away we go tomorrow. Into those faraway hills. Yipeee!

Just to show you how big they are - a picture of them at the aquarium, above, which they loved.

A visit with the baby nephews

I've just returned from visiting my sister and her twin sons, aged 20 months. Despite my being ill with some wierd fever-inducing, yukky-feeling lurgy for the first two days and the one baby having a nasty tummy bug, then the other, then my sister, it was fabulous. My poor sister has lost 3kg in as many days and was looking positively green. The boys, however, are delicious and delightful and interested in everything and trying very hard to speak.

I have never before been so intimately involved with babies and small children and observed how they grow. It is incredible and enlightening to watch how something as small as a little flying insect can inspire such wonder. They honestly are at such a fun age and to see my parents soak up grandparenthood is such a treat.

And to feel the love for those little boys as they grow up too fast is inspiring too. I was discussing it with my sister - the temptation to wrap them in cotton wool and keep them safely in a cupboard, to protect them from any harm, to shield them from The Big Bad World is almost overpowering.

Lucky for them, though, they are WAY too fast on those little feet and WAY too curious to be wrapped in cotton wool and, I suppose, they will have to get hurt, see things we don't want them to see, learn things the hard way. Sometimes. Then, hopefully, they can wrap themselves in the love of their family, and still be okay.

There is honestly nothing like seeing those four dark little eyes look around the door in the early morning light (now that they've learnt how to climb out of their cots) and see their little smiles break through when they see you're awake. Delicious. Delicious. Delicious.

The 40th surprise

I had to shush, it's not like I had a choice. I was keeping a secret and I knew that if I wrote a blog post I would (inadvertently, mind) let something slip out and then it wouldn't be a secret anymore and the surprise would be spoilt and I'd feel horrible and bad and possibly even give myself a stomach ulcer. I'll stop, I'm taking it too far, aren't I?

It was my lovely sister's 40th birthday and her fabulous wife, N, organised a surprise party to celebrate, up there in The Big Smoke, and I went up, also as a surprise. I love surprises very much. I struggle to keep secrets because I get oh-so-excited about it all and want to talk about it, but I was good this time.

I speak to my sister daily, sometimes twice a day, but usually daily. On Saturday, the day I flew up, she called me four times, I kid you not. Firstly, at 5am, I got a picture sent to me. They were going in a hot air balloon. Admittedly, a very exciting thing, but, in her mind (not knowing I was getting ready to head to the airport) I had no reason to be awake at that time on a Saturday. I called her to exclaim my wonderment, and my (fake) horror at her early communications.

Then, as I was getting on the plane. To discuss the excitement of the hot air balloon (fair enough.) I lied. I hate lying, but it was necessary. I said it was a scorcher of a day and we were in the queue for the 9am movie, I'd phone her later. Phone off, 2 hour flight. Very pleasurable Gautrain experience then met by an old varsity friend, T, with whom we were staying. I phoned my sister back in the car, thinking that'd be it for the day.

Back to T's house where her husband and very boisterous 4-year old son live too. Another call from my sister, mid-afternoon, necessitating gagging both husband and 4-year old, in case of voice recognition. And, boy, was she in a chatty mood. Poor husband and son were positively blue in the face.

And that wasn't it. One more, just before we were to leave to the party, of course. She informed me they were going out for dinner, I told her she should really stay home and watch the cricket, which she suggested to N, just to mess with poor N's mind. I am a mean sister-in-law.

It was fabulous, she was completely surprised and it was a lovely, Argentinian party with yummy food and yummier people and I was very glad that I'd managed to keep my mouth shut. And I got to see the delicious babies on Sunday.

This is what the babies look like now, Griffin in green, Liam in red with his pyjama pants on his head (I am a cruel aunt too). Okay, they're the ones up there, at the top. I can't figure out how to put them down here, even though I tried my darndest.

You see? Good excuse for silence. It's a bullshit one really, I just haven't felt like writing, I could've written about all manner of things but, as I found out on Saturday, through four sisterly phonecalls, I'm quite a proficient liar.

Edit: I wrote this last week Wednesday and was then struck down by a dreaded lurgy that has made me cough and splutter and take to my bed. It is retreating now, I fought it bravely, in my suit of armour, fighting hand-to-hand, using every inch of my strength. It's pretty obvious I'm feeling better isn't it? It was, seriously, just a cold. That made me feel yukky.

I. Can. Not. Wait.

Wowee, time flies this time of the year. It is my last day of Real Work today, thank goodness, and as we speak, my sister, N, and the two baby nephews are winging their way towards The City Beneath the Mountain. I. Can. Not. Wait.

I have been desperately baby-proofing The House in the Middle of the Street. This is far from an easy feat as I am, to put it politely, a hoarder. Luckily, though, I am not a hoarder of extremely valuable or extremely breakable goods. My taste lies in the cheap and shiny section. Therefore, my house is Child Heaven and Parent Hell, despite my constant reassurances that little hands are welcome to touch/play/move all treasures found. This applies to friend’s children. My sister, on the other hand, knows that I am not just saying it, so my nephews’ four little hands will be everywhere. I. Can. Not. Wait.

The tree is up, there’s tinsel scattered about the place, two stockings hang from the mantelpiece. They’re ancient family heirlooms at this point, having existed since my sister and I were tiny tots. The boys are still a bit small for Father Christmas but they’re there, waiting. Did I tell you, they’ll be there, in The House in the Middle of The Street, today when I get home from Real Work? I. Can. Not. Wait.

In other news, I received a parcel in the post yesterday from a country way over the seas that is covered in snow. It was just a plain, brown, envelope but as I ripped it open I smelt the sweet scent of chocolate. I tipped it on the kitchen table – three slabs of chocolate, deliciously wrapped in wrappers with a foreign language (how exotic), a little bag of Christmas chocolates, and a decoration for the tree. What a wonderful treat, sent from Angela, over at Letters from Usedom. Thank you! This blog world is so wonderful, isn’t it?

Oh, did I tell you that I. Can. Not. Wait?

TDoT(18): Your views on gay marriage

Ooo, I like this one. My views on gay marriage... Let's see. I am completely pro. Luckily, because my sister is married to a woman, so it would've been very hard had I not been. They are one of the most stable, loving, couples I know. This is not an easy feat with 18-month old twin boys, but they're doing it, and I admire them for it. We'd all be so lucky to find love like that. Would I still be pro Gay marriage if my sister wasn't gay? Hell, yes.

People who love each other and wish to commit to each other, in whatever way or form they so wish, should be allowed to. It makes me seethe when I hear that politician's and religious leaders get to choose who is allowed to love who. Who the fuck do they think they are?

Surely we should be over the moon about anybody who loves somebody enough to want to make a public commitment to another? It is love that'll allow this world to continue, and only love. The moment we start trying to kill that off, we're doomed.

Funnily enough, I'm not that concerned about the actual institution of marriage. I don't see it as a necessity in a relationship at all. Commitment? Yes. Faithfulness? Absolutely and totally. The papers and legality of marriage? Not so much. But, for anyone, be they boy and boy, girl and girl, boy and girl, who wishes to partake in the ceremony of it, they should be allowed to, freely and safely.

We are lucky to live in a country with one of the most progressive and open constitutions in the world but, make no mistake, there is still incredible prejudice amongst it's people. Horrible, dangerous, violently scary prejudice. It is that that we need to fight against, tooth and nail.

So, my views on gay marriage? Happy, lovely, wonderful. Let's clink champagne glasses to happy, loving, couples. All of them.

Middle ages approach

I am turning 35. Tomorrow. Which makes the name of my blog even sillier than before. I knew that'd happen when I started it. I think I even wrote a post about how silly it was. Naturally, though, as I am wanton to do, I ignored my sensical side and went with the nonsensical side. Even though I'm turning 35, as I just said, nonsensical Shiny seems to win most arguments still. I am beginning to accept that I may never grow up and become sensical.

So, in this vain, I had a little birthday party on Friday, in the garage, with music, and a mirror ball. There was champagne and lovely friends and fairy lights in the trees and I got spoilt with beautiful presents and the only difference between my youthful garage birthday parties and this new era of middle-aged garage birthday parties (because the garage parties are traditional at this point... I get complaints when I miss a year) was that everyone left by 12. Like in Cinderella.

Tonight I will dine out (look, I'm using phrases like 'dine out' now that I'm almost middle-aged) with my parents and their best friends who have known me, well, since I was 0, and my love, and then tomorrow night I shall go out with a little group of friends, to the same place I celebrated my birthday last year because it was just so fabulous. In that post I couldn't say what the newses were, but the first was that K was pregnant, with my now-Goddaughter, the beautiful Ava, and the second was that my sister was having not one, but two babies. Who now look like this (Allie, especially for you):

I may be an over-zealous, biased Aunt, but aren't they just too sweet?

Grumpiness and gratefulness

You know how people talk about Glass-Half-Full people and Glass-Half-Empty people? I work with a The-Glass-Has-Been-Empty-For-Years-And-Is-Growing-Mould person. Like in, seriously, this guy is grumpy. He could find the bad side of a triple chocolate cake. It's like having a large black cloud walk into the office when he arrives each morning.

Don't get me wrong, he and I are very good friends and my intrinsically sunny disposition (thank god for it, if I may say so myself), normally manages to push the cloud away from my side, and back to his. I've given up (after 12 years) trying to make his go away. I tried and tried. And tried some more. But, alas, the task was too huge. We do get along though mainly. Like a house on fire really. I love that saying... like a house on fire.

The result is that, most of the time, I hum a happy tune in my head and make it louder than his grumpiness. Sometimes, though, it's hard to hum loud enough. I think I may be a bit PMS-ey too, and am going through one of those unsatisfied-with-my-job phases, so that may be adding to it. I do just, every now and again, want to hit him (possibly quite hard) and tell him to look around and realise how much he's got to be grateful for.

Good grief, listen to me (and my sunny disposition I was just bragging about) whinging like, well, a grumpy old man. I'll stop now, shall I?

I have a wonderful dinner to look forward to, with two old varsity friends, one of them being K, mother of my beautiful godchild, who is going back to Sydney on Thursday (sob!) And then home, to where my love will be. See, I have SO much to be grateful for, and that's just scratching the surface.

I am a lucky girl, aren't I?

Silken sheets

From an e-mail I wrote this morning:

I find myself this morning feeling sensitive, but in a good way. You know that feeling when sometimes it feels like your heart is bigger, and it may also be exposed? Like emotions seem more electrical and fiercer and almost tangible? When your lungs feel tight as if they're wrapped in silken sheets of raw emotion. It's a good tightness. That's how I'm feeling today.

That feeling makes me want to write stuff down. And then I feel like I should send it to you because I want you to know where I am.

And then Real Work stepped in and whisked my mind away, and I remembered it's Christmas tree decorating tonight, and I got an invitation to a long ago dear, dear friend's wedding in London next year, completely unexpectedly. And my best Friend K and her new daughter Ava are here from Sydney, and then I got a comment on the last post that made me feel so very good (a bit like a Sub A kid who got a gold star) and I realised how lucky I am to have woken up this morning with all my emotions standing to attention!

And, while I fear my gushy writing is, well, just gushy, I felt the need to gush a bit. I apologise.

Those silken sheets of raw emotion... rubbing me up the right way... Who could ask for more?

A welcome and a renewal of Human Spiritedness

Welcome to the world little Ava, who arrived this morning at 1:30am (much more reasonably 9:30am her time). A healthy 3.45kgs. As I said to K when I spoke to her delighted self this morning, lucky she was a caesar (she was breach), you would'nt want to squeeze that out of your nether regions! Apparently she is absolutely beautiful and everything went off just fine. I wish little Ava a good trip through this world, filled with oceans of happiness and love and wonderful people and places.

I have been adminny this morning. It's Friday so my day at home for my Other Job. I got off a 10am deadline piece and then went to collect my new credit card at the bank and sell a vacuum cleaner (no, my Other Job is not Vacuum Cleaner Saleswoman, it's an old one - I'm spring-cleaning the garage). I sat in the car outside the shop we were selling it to, watching the passing stream of humanity (it's in a road that leads to the station) and was filled with an overwhelming sense of, well, humankindness. I always try to keep my faith in humankind, but sometimes lose it. Today, though, it was renewed.

You see, its not the most salubrious area (being near the station never is, is it?) and there were all sorts of people that your average "Upper Class Suburban South African" would probably be nervous to hang about. Sitting in my patch of sun in the car though, I smiled at everyone who walked past and happened to catch my eye, and they all smiled back.

It's a really good place to be, right here, right now, isn't it?

Shimmering gold welcomes

The City Beneath the Mountain has dressed herself up this morning in her Sunday Best. I know, it's Thursday, but I'm with her in that I don't think one's Sunday Best should be kept purely for Sundays. She has bathed herself in gold and is shimmering and gorgeous.

My best friend, K, who lives too far away, down under in Sydney is having her baby tomorrow. Well tomorrow morning in their time, but in the very early hours of the morning, also tomorrow, our time. How confusing this time zone thing is. I try not to think too hard about it because it makes my brain fizzle, jam and get stuck. We share the same sun and moon but not the same hours and it's all too complicated...

Anyway, she's having her baby. I spoke to her husband, H, this morning and am always struck by the feeling of speaking to somebody just before a life-changing event. It just feels wierd to think that the next time I speak to them, the baby'll be here. Mostly I'm sending vast quantities of love over the ocean to them. And I'm assuming that this is why The City Beneath the Mountain has pulled out her finery today - in anticipation of welcoming this precious little being into the world.

Why didn't I put on my Sunday Best? I shall tomorrow.