Showing posts with label Mark his words. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mark his words. Show all posts
White Langa
My nine year old commenting on the protests as we drove through Rondebosch today:
I've never seen so many white people walking around, out of their houses, talking to strangers. It looks like a white Langa.
[7 April 2017, Protests in Cape Town after Zuma did a midnight cabinet shuffle]
Maths trickery
Conversations while walking home from school
Me: and school? What was interesting today at school?
7year old M: Oh Mom! I tricked Mrs Paul (teacher) big time! She said if we were naughty we'd have to do extra maths so I was really naughty because I LOVE maths.
Me: and school? What was interesting today at school?
7year old M: Oh Mom! I tricked Mrs Paul (teacher) big time! She said if we were naughty we'd have to do extra maths so I was really naughty because I LOVE maths.
Goldilocks
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| Lentil and Goldilocks |
Me: He wanted to try it out & then fell asleep.
7year old M: He's JUST like Goldilocks and the 3 bears.
Being quiet
Conversations with my 7year old while walking in Newlands Forest after over an hour of non-stop chatter:
Me: How about we just listen to nature for a bit...
7year old: Listen to nature?
Me: Let's see how many different sounds we can hear.
7year old: But I love talking! I don't want to miss out on any talking time and besides I have to be quiet at school and it's not a school day.
Me: You love talking and you have been talking for most of the walk. How about a bit of what I'd like now, which is some peace. Walking in the forest & listening is very special for me.
7year old: Ok, yes, let's be quiet. We won't talk. We can stop chatting. I will listen and not talk. No chatting for a bit. Just listening. Yes, no talking for a bit. Mom, I'm busy listening to trees blowing and the river and our footsteps and a bird and some insects and...
Me: Ssssh
7year old: That was me being quiet.
Me: How about we just listen to nature for a bit...
7year old: Listen to nature?
Me: Let's see how many different sounds we can hear.
7year old: But I love talking! I don't want to miss out on any talking time and besides I have to be quiet at school and it's not a school day.
Me: You love talking and you have been talking for most of the walk. How about a bit of what I'd like now, which is some peace. Walking in the forest & listening is very special for me.
7year old: Ok, yes, let's be quiet. We won't talk. We can stop chatting. I will listen and not talk. No chatting for a bit. Just listening. Yes, no talking for a bit. Mom, I'm busy listening to trees blowing and the river and our footsteps and a bird and some insects and...
Me: Ssssh
7year old: That was me being quiet.
Without balls, there's no puppies.
Eavesdropping 7 year old boy conversations...
Friend: So will your dogs make puppies?
My son: No, you see, they can't.
Friend: How come? There's a boy and a girl dog.
My son (full of authority): Yes, but you see Monty had these really lovely big balls (gesturing tennis ball size for a dog who is not very big) but his owner before us decided to cut them off.
Friend: (horrified) No ways! Why?
My son: Who knows. Grown ups can be strange sometimes. So without balls, there's no puppies.
Friend: So will your dogs make puppies?
My son: No, you see, they can't.
Friend: How come? There's a boy and a girl dog.
My son (full of authority): Yes, but you see Monty had these really lovely big balls (gesturing tennis ball size for a dog who is not very big) but his owner before us decided to cut them off.
Friend: (horrified) No ways! Why?
My son: Who knows. Grown ups can be strange sometimes. So without balls, there's no puppies.
Chicken vloek
My 7 year old: whoever came up with the word "cluck" was just pretending. Chickens don't say cluck, they actually swear in Afrikaans.
what I can't get out my mind
It emerged quite unexpectedly, like a bear after a long hibernation, in one of our conversations over peeling carrots and chopping mushrooms.
My son said, "Mom, do you know what I just can't get out of my mind?"
I replied, "Tell me, my boy."
My son went on with a voice that spoke of haunted dreams, "SPIDERS!"
"Spiders?" I asked, intrigued.
"Spiders, and when I had to run away from that guy with the stick in Botterdorp"
Last Spring, my son and Julie, a 17 year old friend from Germany staying with us, went for a walk in the oh so quiet village where my parents live. In Botterdorp, no one locks their doors. The village is far from hustle and haibo of crime ridden city life, and let's just say the biggest danger facing the village policeman (singular) is that he might fall asleep on duty.
My son and Julie went walking often in the beautiful fynbos-clothed hills surrounding Botterdorp. On this walk, Julie and my son were surprised by an aggressive young man carrying a stick who attacked Julie and pushed her to the ground. He was after her phone. Once he had it he stalked off, leaving Julie shaken up but thankful not to have been harmed physically. The instant my son saw danger, he sprinted 2km to my parent's home where we were having leisurely cups of tea, completely oblivious to what had just happened. He told us what had happened in high definition animation, and I immediately jumped in the car with him and drove off to find Julie. We were relieved to find her walking home. We all went to the police station and described what they'd just encountered. Julie spoke about it, but my son said he didn't want to talk about it because it made it happen over and over again in his mind. That was 9 months ago.
In the weeks following, my son had 4 or 5 nights interrupted by nightmares, and we gave him things to make him feel safe, like Superman pyjamas, a torch and big stick. Under his blankets I would find a whole artillery of bows and arrows, water pistols and sticks that he would take to bed with him. And still he refused to talk about what happened. Whenever we visited Botterdorp he was happy, until asked if he would like to take a walk, which is what his grandfather does most afternoons with his dogs. He point-blank refused to go for walks there. We stopped asking him about it, and over the next few months he gradually took fewer and fewer weapons to bed with him, so we assumed he had begun processing the trauma he experienced.
And then suddenly, while preparing supper together, he let me in on his fears.
I affirmed him again, as we'd done many times, for running home - saying that getting away from danger and coming to call some adults to help was the best way to handle it. He usual response to this is silence, which is an unusual response from my son in any circumstance.
To my adult/parent brain, the fact that my child ran to safety is a relief. Yet the fact that he can't get this incident out of his 7 year old mind, and his silence, suggest that he has not yet got back his sense of power which was taken from him that day.
Since this little peak into his psyche we have watched the (original 1980's) "Karate Kid" movie several times and have played many games where our son defends himself using karate, and sticks, and all manner of weapons. His before-bed prayers are all about thanking God for keeping us safe. Hopefully, through playing and drawing and talking he will work through his experience a little more each day. He will never return to that state of feeling invincible, but I'd settle for my son feeling brave enough to go walking again in the fynbos with his grandfather.
Song Link: Little Brother (B Steady)
My son said, "Mom, do you know what I just can't get out of my mind?"
I replied, "Tell me, my boy."
My son went on with a voice that spoke of haunted dreams, "SPIDERS!"
"Spiders?" I asked, intrigued.
"Spiders, and when I had to run away from that guy with the stick in Botterdorp"
Last Spring, my son and Julie, a 17 year old friend from Germany staying with us, went for a walk in the oh so quiet village where my parents live. In Botterdorp, no one locks their doors. The village is far from hustle and haibo of crime ridden city life, and let's just say the biggest danger facing the village policeman (singular) is that he might fall asleep on duty.
My son and Julie went walking often in the beautiful fynbos-clothed hills surrounding Botterdorp. On this walk, Julie and my son were surprised by an aggressive young man carrying a stick who attacked Julie and pushed her to the ground. He was after her phone. Once he had it he stalked off, leaving Julie shaken up but thankful not to have been harmed physically. The instant my son saw danger, he sprinted 2km to my parent's home where we were having leisurely cups of tea, completely oblivious to what had just happened. He told us what had happened in high definition animation, and I immediately jumped in the car with him and drove off to find Julie. We were relieved to find her walking home. We all went to the police station and described what they'd just encountered. Julie spoke about it, but my son said he didn't want to talk about it because it made it happen over and over again in his mind. That was 9 months ago.
In the weeks following, my son had 4 or 5 nights interrupted by nightmares, and we gave him things to make him feel safe, like Superman pyjamas, a torch and big stick. Under his blankets I would find a whole artillery of bows and arrows, water pistols and sticks that he would take to bed with him. And still he refused to talk about what happened. Whenever we visited Botterdorp he was happy, until asked if he would like to take a walk, which is what his grandfather does most afternoons with his dogs. He point-blank refused to go for walks there. We stopped asking him about it, and over the next few months he gradually took fewer and fewer weapons to bed with him, so we assumed he had begun processing the trauma he experienced.
And then suddenly, while preparing supper together, he let me in on his fears.
I affirmed him again, as we'd done many times, for running home - saying that getting away from danger and coming to call some adults to help was the best way to handle it. He usual response to this is silence, which is an unusual response from my son in any circumstance.
To my adult/parent brain, the fact that my child ran to safety is a relief. Yet the fact that he can't get this incident out of his 7 year old mind, and his silence, suggest that he has not yet got back his sense of power which was taken from him that day.Since this little peak into his psyche we have watched the (original 1980's) "Karate Kid" movie several times and have played many games where our son defends himself using karate, and sticks, and all manner of weapons. His before-bed prayers are all about thanking God for keeping us safe. Hopefully, through playing and drawing and talking he will work through his experience a little more each day. He will never return to that state of feeling invincible, but I'd settle for my son feeling brave enough to go walking again in the fynbos with his grandfather.
Song Link: Little Brother (B Steady)
"How do you know that?"
In search of evidence - 5 year old back seat conversations
My son: Father Christmas is real - my mom just doesn't know because she hasn't been to the North Pole yet.
Ballerina: no, I don't think so. Presents just come from the shops.
Son: But Likhona said he SAW him.
Ballerina: He is NOT real.
But the tooth fairy definitely IS real. I mean how can you go to sleep with a tooth under your pillow and then suddenly there's some money instead? How can that be? (big hand gestures)
My son's constant stream of "why?" questions have been upgraded to "How do you know that?"
I'm finding it so interesting watching him analysing the information that comes his way, trying to figure out how it all fits together. Sometimes when I'm completely worn out of reasonable answers to his questions I think back to my own childhood. This is probably round about the age my Dad started telling me that nothing is really real and maybe we're all just a figment of someone else's imagination... now I understand why my Dad would go there.
As my son's professional philosopher uncle says, "Ah, the well-worn route from metaphysics to epistemology"
rainbows from every orifice
Today I walked in on Lentil's friend feeding our puppy crayons (and puppy devouring them delightedly). When I asked what was going on Lentil's friend replied that puppy told her she is tired of doing boring poohs and wants to try out doing rainbow poohs.
It took all my strength to keep a straight face and ask her to pack away the crayons.
It took all my strength to keep a straight face and ask her to pack away the crayons.
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| Puppy motivating her desire for creative expression (or expulsion), followed by crayon carnage and then puppy sulking in the vegetable rack |
Lentil on beatitudes
I read my Lentil that bit where Jesus said to the crowd, “If any of you wants to be my follower, you must turn from your selfish ways, take up your cross daily, and follow me."And asked Lentil what he thought Jesus was saying, and he replied:
Jesus wants us to be his friend, and also, "sharing is caring" (Go Barney!)
From the mouths of babes...
I loved Lentil's focus on being unselfish rather than getting caught up in the hard debate of dying daily to our flesh, and surrendering all. Yes, that is necessary, but how we think about that can tie one up in guilt ropes. Do we ever really manage that?
However, focusing on being less selfish - that I can apply my heart and mind to. Kindness I can do. Its a way of living, of being, of engaging with others. Kindness is the ultimate religion.
I found beautiful synchronicity with the above passage and this morning's meditation on kindness, which links to my beloved beatitudes...
Matthew 5 v 7
Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
So often kindness is what was requested by weary travelers throughout the long hard journey of the Old Testament. God's people were commended for kindness, and kindness as a quality was esteemed. Women who were known for kindness were sought out as suitable wives. That's something for me to chew on.
May it be that when I say to a young woman, “Please let down your jar that I may have a drink,” and she says, “Drink, and I’ll water your camels too”– let her be the one you have chosen for your servant Isaac. By this I will know that you have shown kindness to my master.’ (Genesis 24 v 14)
Kindness is going the extra mile.
Giving more than just what is necessary.
If kindness can be my trademark, I'm sure people will experience God's love through me.
NOTE TO SELF: practise random acts of kindness
Sandy hot water bottle
"Sandy (our puppy) is just like one of those teddies with hot water bottles inside, just more bitey."
Photo of Lentil and Sandy curled up fast asleep in front of the fire, one wintery evening during school holidays.
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