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.

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.