Do you know how bloggers often start off their blog posts by apologising for neglecting their blogs for days/weeks and then offering an excuse which usually includes work, ill health or family obligations. So here goes ...
It's been 4 years since my last blog post, but I've been so busy watching and re-watching Downton Abbey that I just couldn't find a moment.

Truthfully though, I haven't really felt the inclination to write - at first, because I had been going through a tough time when I last posted and I really didn't feel like recording that period of my life.

Blogging had always served a purpose - it helped me process my feelings and thoughts. Often, I'd start a post in a state of emotional turmoil and then gradually, as I wrote, I'd start to make sense of what I was feeling and even find some sort of resolution - a process which, more often than not, filled me with a feeling of calmness and serenity.

Which is what prompted my return to blogging after a ridiculous 4 year hiatus. This morning I found myself emotionally overwhelmed. I had returned from dropping the kids at school and found myself alone at home with only my sadness for companionship. I paced up and down the house, not knowing how to stem the wave of grief threatening to engulf me. Then, quite by chance, I happened upon my old blogging laptop where I sat down to write my sadness away.

"Today is my boy, Shakeel’s last day in school uniform and I’m sad. Really, really sad. Ridiculously so. My kids know how sentimental I am, so we’ve all been anticipating this day for months already – Shakeel viewing it with nervous dread, as today we also attend the valedictory assembly, which promises to be a rather emotional experience for even the most emotionally healthy parent (a category in which I obviously don’t find myself).

He recently watched in horror as I bawled my eyes out to the episode of Modern Family where Luke graduates from high school. He descended into near-despair as he watched me snot-sobbing to the episode of The Middle where Axel graduates and heads off to college. (Yes, I may have a comedy-series addiction, but that’s a problem for another day.)

But I assured him that I’d keep it together today. I would not embarrass him, I promised. But then my recent behavior hasn’t exactly inspired confidence.  On more than one occasion this week, he has caught me sneakily snapping pictures of him from the car outside his school when I dropped him off or picked him up. Let me tell you, I have new respect for the paparazzi. It’s not easy sneaking pictures of a young boy outside a school without looking like a pervert. And his anger was real – reminding me of Justin Bieber’s violent altercations with the paparazzi back in the day. (What? I may be a middle-aged aunty, but I still know stuff.)

Looking back in angrily when I ordered him to stop for a picture after getting out of the car this morning

Being photographed by a stalker in a car as he walked off to school yesterday morning

All 4 of my babies together in uniform for the last time 😢😢😢

So when he told me this morning that he’d forgotten something at home that I’d have to drop off at the school's front office this morning, I did not yell at him for being irresponsible (as I had done on the 40 previous occasions I’d had to do this for him.) He looked confused as I smiled gratefully, as if he’d given me a gift. I was pleased that I’d get to do this for him for the last time. I’d better not forget to take my camera along to capture the moment."

So it appears that 2013 is not my year - or is it?

We find ourselves in the latter half of 2013 and I've not done anything I'd planned to do this year.

I knew that 2013 was going to be a big year for us. Shakeel (14) was starting high school and Aisha (3) was going to creche for the first time.

I was supposed to use my newfound freedom (from Aisha) to embark upon the journey I'd been fantasising about for some time now by doing a course in magazine journalism. In addition, I'd hoped to be running a small sideline business because, let's face it, at age 40, it's unlikely that I'll ever end up making my millions as a freelance magazine journalist.

But none of this has come to pass. Instead of freeing up my energy and time as my eldest and youngest took these huge steps away from me toward independence, I found them needing me more. Shakeel had a very bumpy start to high school - I only feel comfortable sharing this now, since things have improved considerably since then. He was extremely unhappy and, I'd even go as far as to say - depressed. He was not making new friends easily and his friends from his primary school were moving on happily without looking back (or in his direction). I coaxed and comforted, preached and prayed (both for him and with him). I felt helpless - my child who had been so confident as a senior at his previous school was completely lost and alone while all the other Grade 8s seemed to be adjusting effortlessly. I felt helpless - I wished there was something I could have done to make the adjustment easier.

Everyone said that he'd be fine. "It takes time; he'll be okay. Don't worry so much," I was told. But I did worry. A lot. Because I was watching my darling son relive my entry into high school. All those awful emotions came flooding back to me and I wanted nothing more than to shield him from them. I felt guilty - if I hadn't been such an introvert, if I had taken him among people more often, if he hadn't witnessed my steadily-worsening social phobia, he'd be different. He might have grown up to be as easy going, spontaneous and socially well-adjusted as the other kids his age were.

But, as it turns out, everyone was right. Things got better - although the process was slow and painful. He now has friends and seems to have adjusted to the school. I just wish that the confidence that he feigns, he actually feels. But Alhamdulillah, I am just so grateful for the progress he's made thus far.

My other main focus this year has been Aisha's adjustment to school life. Again, I only feel comfortable writing about this since enough time has passed. Up until the beginning of this year she was extremely attached to me (as I was to her). She had breastfed for months past what would be considered socially acceptable and even when she stopped, she clung to me day and night. I knew that our mutual clinginess was unhealthy, but I so enjoyed being close to her. I pushed the idea of her attending creche to the back of my mind until the day it happened.

On her first morning, she reacted as we'd expected. As did I - I burst into tears in her classroom and then Mo drove me to Sea Point where we sat overlooking the ocean while I sobbed uncontrollably for another 40 minutes. These traumatic (and dramatic) partings continued for the whole of the first term and then, when she finally stopped crying in the mornings, the school holidays began. As expected, once the new term started, we were back at square 1. (Don't worry, by this time, she was the only one crying - it's not as if Mo and the teacher were having to pull crying mother and daughter apart every morning).

And she remained teary in the mornings - up until the beginning of this week when, after giving Mo and me our ritual greeting (three kisses and three hugs each) she smiled and waved goodbye. Alhamdulillah. I pray that this continues and is not just a short-lived respite from our agonising morning drama.

So, as I was saying - I had planned to focus on my own personal development this year. Instead, I spent so much more time focused on my family's needs. The funny thing however, is that I don't feel frustrated by this. For the first time I am actually enjoying doing exactly what I'm doing right now, which is being there for my family while they need me (as they seem to be needing me more this year). I don't expect that this will be the case for too long - as these challenges too shall pass. Last night I sat reflecting upon this year and I realised that I have grown/developed somewhat - I am coming to realise that these day to day challenges are temporary (which brings to mind the verse, " "Verily, with hardship there is relief" (Qur'an 94:6) ) , and I should stop viewing every obstacle as an insurmountable challenge. I'm learning to keep these day-to-day challenges in perspective by looking back at 'problems' we dealt with a few months ago and how these did not signal the end of the world - instead here we are, still facing life's curve balls and still (with the help of the Almighty) knocking them out of the park one by one Alhamdulillah.

Again, I digress. I was talking about the fact that I've not accomplished what I'd set out to do this year. Mo pointed out that I have never been able to achieve inner peace and contentment when it came to 'what I should be doing with my life'. For years I felt that I should be doing my articles because I'd done my law degree. Then when I eventually moved past that, I was never contented in my jobs - I always thought there was something else I should be doing.

But funnily enough, for the first time I have not been feeling that restlessness and discontent for a while now. I think that this is because I realise what a huge difference my role as a stay-at-home mom is making to the kids right now. They really need me this year and Alhamdulillah, by the grace of the Almighty, I am able to be here for them. I know that this will change, as life is ever-changing and won't always be as tumultuous as it has been for the past few months. Maybe then I will focus on the plans I had for myself at the beginning of this year. But for now, I think I am exactly where I should be.

Grade 8 Natural Science project (in case you were wondering)

Advice for my teen (and pre-teen)

For Shakeel and Tharaa, my two smarty pants...

[ I got this from Facebook- have no idea who the original owner is, so don't know whom to credit]

Tired, frustrated and just plain g^tvol

Finally the end of the kids' exams and formal assessments are in sight. Tomorrow afternoon life returns to normal.


I cannot describe how happy I'll be when it is all over. With Shakeel (13) writing his first full-scale exam (as opposed to formal assessments comprising of class tests and projects), my stress levels have been through the ceiling. Combine that with the drama/ trauma of his high school applications and you'll realise why I feel like downing an entire bottle of Rescue Remedy right now.


I have been explaining, drafting questions, studying and memorising alongside them, trying all the while to keep them motivated and prevent them from being distracted. I've screamed, threatened, begged and bribed. I've pinched and punched and threatened to inflict serious bodily harm. I'm exhausted.


It would be easier for me to write all their tests/ exams myself, instead of trying to persuade them to study. Really, it would.


Tharaa (10) has surprised me with her ability to grasp difficult concepts and memorise them. However her playfulness is making me feel like I need to separate myself from her for a bit - before I give her a kick in the arse. Earlier I watched her fake-sobbing while answering the Economic and Management Sciences revision sheet I drafted for her. Before that I caused her to burst into heartbroken tears when I interrupted the game she invented - tipping her chair upside-down and then letting her stationery (pens and erasers) slide down its back one by one. Then, while we read through her notes on " The iron and steel industry in SA" she tensed her body and writhed in frustration because she could not join in the game Nuha (7) and Aisha (2) were playing. I cannot wait for her bedtime.


Shakeel (13) is writing Natural Science and Economic and Management Sciences tomorrow. He is complaining about being bored of studying the same work over and over, since he had finished studying for these subjects a while back. I'm concerned that his over-confidence could result in him making stupid mistakes. But I'm washing my hands of this problem and (perhaps stupidly) trusting in his judgement.


Tharaa still has to complete an entire section of work - and then revise. But she's on her own with that - there is no way I'm missing Isidingo (a popular local soapie) tonight - [what with Calvin being exonerated tonight and Rodney very likely being exposed as being Charlie's rapist. I'm soooo excited!!!] Don't judge - I've been trying to get her to study and revise all day - it's not my fault that she's only waking up to the urgency of her situation now.


Tomorrow this time exams/ formal assessments will be over. The mere thought has me giddy with joy.

[Later edited to add: Isidingo turned out to be a total anti-climax]

Drama around Shakeel's high school applications

I don't know if you've noticed - my posts have been rather light and trivial of late. I think I've been trying to keep my mind off what has really been causing me headaches - Shakeel (13)'s high school application process.

So we submitted his applications to three of the better public high schools in our region. I'm talking - schools with 98 -100% matric pass rate, excellent academic facilities, very impressive extra-mural facilities (including massive swimming pools, sports fields) etc.

I was confident. Academically he does well, so I was not worried about the fact that his report card would be accompanying his application. In fact, I was happy about it - I thought that would guarantee him acceptance into any school.

The school closest to our home was my first choice (let's call it Option 1). Impressive facilities, a happy vibe - and less than five minutes drive away from our home!!!! The problem is that this school's policy is to accept learners from the suburb in which the school is located, and the suburb on its immediate right (both very affluent suburbs). Unfortunately, we live in the suburb on the left of the suburb in which the school is situated, which places us outside that school's catchment area. Nevermind the fact that the school is nearer to the border of our suburb (and our home) than that of the other approved suburb.

My panic started when we received news that Shakeel's friends had received feedback from Option 1. They were receiving dates for interviews. We waited- and waited- and waited. I carried the phone with me everywhere - in the car, to bed, to the toilet. I was desperate to receive that call. But alas, it did not come.

Then we received a call from Option 3. Shakeel had an appointment for Monday (last week). He was ecstatic - that had been his first choice because many of his friends were applying to that school. But I was not keen - despite the fact that the school boasts state of the art facilities (as do all 3 of them) and a most impressive view over the Atlantic - this school was even more out of the way than his current (primary) school is.

But still no call came from either Options 1 or 2. I was grumpy and upset. Shakeel was reduced to tears - it was a major blow to his self-esteem. He started to doubt himself - maybe he was not as academically-strong as we'd thought?

Mo phoned Option 2 - just to find out if they had any news for us. To our immense relief they said that they had been meaning to call to set up an interview. His interview was for Saturday (two days before his appointment at Option 3!!)

So off he and Mo headed on Saturday morning. The school requested the attendance of the child (in school uniform) accompanied by a parent. Since Mo is much more likeable than what I am, there was no question as to who would go with Shakeel.

They returned an hour later - Shakeel was beaming. He had been accepted - there and then - in the interview! The principal had been extremely impressed with him. Upon hearing that Shakeel had not received an interview at Option 1, the principal said that there was absolutely no reason that ANY school should refuse his application. His academic results were excellent, and overall, he was a really impressive candidate, he was told. I was so relieved. But not as relieved as Shakeel himself was - his confidence in himself had been restored.

The pressure was off. So although he was to attend the interview at Option 3, he didn't really feel nervous since he had already been accepted at a high school. Again, his more sociable, popular parent accompanied him, while the socio-phobic hermit    I stayed home with Aisha (2).

He returned from that interview acting all cocky and super-confident. The principal, who had come across as really intimidating on the school's Open Day, had been really taken with my son. Upon hearing that he had been accepted at Option 2, he acknowledged that that was a good school, but jokingly urged Shakeel to choose his school instead. In fact he said that he would love to have Shakeel at their school and accepted him there and then. Woo- hooo!! Shakeel was indeed as excellent a candidate as we'd initially thought. Vindicated, at last!

The principal of Option 3, like his counterpart at Option 2, also stated that there was absolutely no grounds upon which Option 1 could refuse Shakeel's application (despite us falling outside their catchment area), because of our proximity to the school and the fact that Shakeel was an impressive candidate. He too could not understand their decision.

Upon further investigation we have discovered that the sifting process of the 600 or so applicants at Option 1, is not done in a fool-proof infallible manner by a super-efficient panel (as we'd assumed), but by a woman who has been doing it for years - and whose decisions are very often overturned since they often cannot be justified. Should we receive a letter of refusal, we definitely plan to appeal that decision - although, I must admit that this whole business has left behind a bitter taste for Shakeel and myself - and I feel less enthusiastic about sending him to Option 1 now. Mo, however, being the more practical and less emotional one, insists that this school remains the best option for Shakeel and the most practical one for all of us because of its proximity.

It might be evident to you, dear reader, how I have managed to take the issue of my son's high school application - and make it all about me. My feelings of rejection. My hurt. My anger. I hope I didn't mess with his sense of self-worth too much. Which brings me to my next point - this issue has in fact had a major impact on Shakeel's confidence and belief in himself. He insists that it is only because I made it so - he had not doubted himself until he saw me looking all petrified and devastated, which in turn made him feel like a failure.

Let's hope that whatever school he ends up attending, equips him well for an amazing career - necessary to pay for the long-term therapy he will need resulting from having me as a mother this experience.

A self-sacrificing mommy and a disastrous night at Millers Point

This weekend past was spent marking Shakeel's entry into adolescence. Although his thirteenth birthday is still more than two weeks away, he insisted that he wanted to celebrate it during the school holidays.


So after months of him begging and pleading, I agreed to a boys' camp away from home. His dad was secretly ecstatic - he had wanted to go camping for ages, but this had never come to pass, since I was always reluctant to stay in a tent with two-year old Aisha - since not even the brick walls of a building are enough to silence the shrieks this child emits during her hour-long tantrums. I knew that we'd be evicted from any camp site after just one night.

So Mo, while pretending to resign himself to the awful duty of going camping with Shakeel and some of Shakeel's friends, booked a spot at Miller's Point near Simon's Town.
Accompanying them would be Mo's older brother and his son. They would be using a tent which sleeps 8 and two smaller 2- sleepers.

But I didn't care about their sleeping arrangements. Nor did I care about what activities they would be enjoying while away. Nor about their meals. Instead, as the weekend approached, I started to become increasingly apprehensive about them leaving.

I mentioned a while back how much I hate my family being split up when we have available family time (like weekends). I don't even like the kids to spend the night by their grandparents - I can't help feeling as if it is a waste of the time we could have spent together. (Is that selfish?)

When this happens I feel lost and incomplete - as if part of me is missing.

So, in anticipating this past weekend, in addition to me inevitably feeling lost, I also dreaded my time with the three girls who would be remaining behind. I did not look forward to the moans of ''Why does Shakeel have all the fun?'' and ''Now what fun activity can we do'' (since I owed them for allowing Shakeel to have more fun than what they would). Mostly, I dreaded Aisha's tantrums. Although I deal with her tantrums all day while Mo is at work, I am usually comforted by the fact that there is an end in sight, i.e. when Mo get's home at the end of the day. And what would I do if she threw tantrum in the middle of the night (as she so often does these days)? Oh, the horror!!

So on Saturday morning, I walked about the house with an air of sadness, wondering if anyone was appreciative of my laudable unselfishness - putting the desires of my son and his dad above my own needs.  When it was time to leave, I greeted Shakeel with a lump in my throat and a forced smile - secretly impressed with my own stoicism. What a mother I was!

I greeted Mo with a hug and a kiss and, as he turned to walk away, I heaved a sigh of relief at my own triumph - my victory over the urge to mutter in his ear, '' This is all your fault! I hate you for doing this to me!'' Instead, I smiled at him through my clenched jaw and quickly went back inside before I said anything which could dethrone me as the Queen of Self-Sacrifice.

My weekend with the girls was everything I'd expected. Thinking that I'd be alone with them, I'd promised them an afternoon of cupcake making and decorating. But when we unexpectedly received visitors (including their little cousins) I spent the afternoon in the kitchen preparing supper. Every few minutes either Tharaa (10) or Nuha (7) would whisper in my ear that I was breaking my promise to them. Although they were having a blast playing  with their cousins, they also wanted me to ignore the parents and spend the afternoon with them as promised.

I was on egg-shells with Aisha all the time. My attempts at hiding her dad and brother's departure were thwarted when an over-excited Shakeel ran back into the house to throw his arms around my neck and to give each of his sisters a very dramatic goodbye kiss-and-hug. Since she was unable to verbalise her confusion, she spent the day grumpily clinging to me and throwing the odd tantrum.

She ended up going to bed at 1:45 on Sunday morning.

My mum, niece and unmarried brother slept over. The following morning mum-in-law brought breakfast, enabling us to carry on our weekend tradition of breakfast with rolls, spiced beef and mustard.

While we were sitting at the table chatting, Mo and the boys walked in. Despite it being extremely hot in our neck of the woods, the weather at Millers Point had been icy. It had been so windy that they were unable to pitch the tent - in fact the wind had torn the tent and caused one of the poles of the BORROWED tent to bend. Mo spent yesterday trying to establish the cost of repairing the tent and replacing the pole (before returning the tent to its owner).

So the boys had slept in the cars, while Mo and his brother had attempted to sleep in the tiny two-sleeper. Needless to say nobody had gotten much sleep.

The boys arrived back exhausted. In addition, a few of them returned with diarrhoea. (I suspect that one of them had had the virus before embarking upon their adventure, and then kindly shared it with the rest of his buddies). While all the boys lazed about in the lounge (either playing Playstation or PSP), one of them vomited right there on the floor. Needless to say, Mo took him home immediately.

Despite their discomfort and the fact that nothing had gone according to plan, the boys had enjoyed themselves. In fact, owing to their reluctance to leave each other, two of them accompanied us to our Sunday night prayer gathering. At the end of the one and a half hour long prayer meeting, the boys looked as if they were about to collapse.
''My bum hurts!'' one of them complained (since we sit on the floor for the entire one and a half hours).
''My head hurts!'' another groaned.

''One would think you just came from playing a vicious rugby match - instead of having sat through a peaceful prayer meeting, '' I cruelly mocked.
''Try sitting through a long prayer meeting after having had less than four hours sleep the previous night,'' one of them retorted.

I laughed with glee - not at the three zombies walking toward the car with me, but at the fact that my life had returned to normal - or at least to the level of normalcy to which I was accustomed. My family had been restored. Once again, life was good.

The day I realised that my son needs friends

Up until recently I had always been very happy that my kids enjoy playing together- not really needing anyone else with whom to play.

This doesn't mean that I did not notice how Shakeel lights up when he's around boys his own age and turns into a raving lunatic- punching, kicking, roaring and growling. It's as if he is on some kind of demented high.

It is also really annoying to see how he tries to turn his little sisters into little boys. He'd become irritated when they wanted to do anything girly, so most often they end up playing warrior/fighting/ninja games or run-from-the-roaring growling dinosaur/lion/whatever carnivore he feels like being on that day.

Although he had a best friend in Grade 4, he's pretty much been without one since that boy left for another school. Since then he's been bouncing between cliques; never really belonging to any one. I was aware that it was bothering him- he always said that when the class was asked to partner into groups of two, nobody would choose him- not because they didn't like him, but because each had his/her own special buddy.

This bothered me, but not long enough to do something about it, since he'd come home and play with his sisters quite happily. I'd convince myself that he would be okay and that it was better if he just played with his sisters, as it meant fewer negative outside influences from hormonal inquisitive pre-teen boys.

But then I read this article and was overcome with guilt and sadness. My son was being deprived of so much by not having a best friend- it was not merely a nice-to-have (as I had assumed), but a very essential part of his healthy development.

In a nutshell- according to the article research has shown boys to be as relationship-oriented as girls are. Boys too need a special friend with whom to share secrets and discuss personal issues. Close relationships, according to this article, are associated with "better emotional and physical health as well as academic engagement and achievement". In addition, "adolescents without close friendships are at risk for depression, suicide, dropping out of school, early pregnancy, drug use, and gang membership".

Fortunately two of his friends, Caleb and Sipho (who, in turn, are best friends) invited him to spend the day with them soon after I'd acquired this illuminating bit of information. As uncomfortable as it was for me- since I hate my kids spending, what I consider to be family time, away from us- I forced myself to change my mindset. I had always been focused on developing Shakeel academically to the detriment of other areas of his life.

This misguided approach of mine is most likely also the reason he handles stress so badly. His relative isolation means that he does not have anyone with whom to share his concerns, or to provide him with the perspective of a fellow 12-year old. If he'd had that, he would have realised that the world does not end if you do not obtain among the top marks in your class or if you are not chosen as class monitor.

So at this moment my son is playing outside in the plastic pool with Caleb and Sipho, who'd both spent the night last night. Even this sleepover had been the source of so much stress for Shakeel. What if they did not enjoy themselves?he'd wondered. What if they did not enjoy playing in the plastic pool, since they were accustomed to swimming in Caleb's massive 'real' pool?

But he needn't have worried. The excited shrieks and laughter were more than enough evidence of the wonderful time they were having.

The idea had been to pitch a tent and camp out in the yard, but I think none of them had actually had the guts to go through with that plan. So the tent was pitched in the living room, with Sipho choosing to sleep in there;  Shakeel dragged a mattress from the room for himself, while Caleb lay sprawled on a very comfy sofa.

They spent the earlier part of the evening watching stand-up comedian Trevor Noah and then fell asleep in front of the television.

This morning they accompanied my kids to their karate classes, after which they spent the rest of the day hopping in and out of the pool. By early afternoon though they were clearly becoming worried that their time together was running out, so they asked if they could sleep over again tonight.

Despite the fact that we were attending a prayer gathering tonight (and neither of them are Muslim), they still were prepared to sit through the prayer meeting in order to be able to sleep over afterward. Since the gathering was held to mark the death of my father-in-law a year ago, it was held at my mother-in-law's place.

The two boys dutifully and respectfully sat through the prayers after which they stuffed themselves and went to play soccer in the road with my kids' cousins.

They are now done swimming and are lying in bed chatting away happily. Earlier I overheard their plans to sit with some Maths worksheets (which Shakeel is expected to do); and to choreograph a dance. It sounds as if they have a full schedule planned for tomorrow.

I am feeling so contented right now. I love how happy these friends are making my son. I am also really pleased that they seem to be having such a wonderful time and have fitted into the family so comfortably. Both boys went over to give my mother-in-law a kiss and hug before we left which I thought was rather sweet.

I hope that this year Shakeel will forge firm friendships which will provide him with the necessary support he needs- now and in the future. My hope is also that him having carefree (though not careless and irresponsible) friends will assist him to have a balanced approach to his life; and that him having friends with whom he can communicate and share his feelings and thoughts, will help him to manage his stress in a positive healthy way.

Mostly, I just want him to be happy- to create memories upon which he can look fondly in future, with the knowledge and satisfaction that his childhood had been a happy one.

Don't grow up yet- I'm not ready !!!

Last week at the mall I noticed a mother reach out to put her arm around her son (who might have been Shakeel's age). The child's reaction was firstly one of brief panic, as he looked around to see who was looking. He then pulled away from his mother and tried to walk ahead of her. The mother reached to pull him back and this time aggravated his embarrassment by trying to kiss him.


"Stop it Mom. Not here," he groaned. I was quite amused by this interaction, until I saw the mother's face. Her expression was clearly pained and it was evident that she was feeling really hurt by her son's reaction.

Immediately I felt an empathetic bond with this woman. I would be heartbroken if it were Shakeel pushing me away.

Shakeel is 12 years old, but in many ways he is still a little boy. When had a few friends over earlier this year, I was astounded by how child-like Shakeel still was in comparison.

There was Caleb, the cute little boy, who spent most of lunch time on Mxit with his girlfriend. The confident little boy could not understand why I'd have a problem with Shakeel dating, saying it was natural- and he had no problem sharing his opinions with Shakeel's parents.

By lunch time I was reeling with shock at all the information I had gleaned from spending time around these boys. The topic of girls was high on the agenda. Oh my goodness, had I been so out of touch? Is this what my son was talking about at school? Was he interested in some girl about whom I had no knowledge?

From a distance I watched him interact within the group. He and his best friend at the time were comfortable as part of the group, without really engaging in the discussions. Instead they amused themselves with wrestling each other, each trying to shove an insect down the other's back.

Still I needed more information, so I did what any good mother would- okay, whatever any disgustingly shamefully paranoid mother, desperate to access information- would. I sat outside the room door and listened. Topics ranged from Playstation games (which is when Shakeel became very vocal) to teachers' quirks and yes, girls. I held my breath as I waited for Shakeel to add something to the conversation.

I was starting to feel weak (not breathing for extended periods can do that to one), but I needed to know what was happening in the room. Very very slowly I pushed open the door, which had been slightly ajar and peered in.

The boys were sitting on the bed having this very animated discussion. Shakeel and two friends were sitting slightly apart from them playing his beloved Playstation. I slowly retreated unnoticed and after sitting at the door for a while longer, left to report my findings to his horrified father (it turns out that he was not as pleased at my reconnaissance mission as I was).


I am pleased to report that subsequent intelligence-gathering missions undertaken over a period spanning a few months, have yielded similar results.


Shakeel is still physically under-developed compared to many other boys his age. Our family doctor, having examined him recently, estimated that he's only likely to hit puberty in about two years time.


Shakeel has expressed his love for dinosaurs since he could formulate words. Nothing has changed- just now he is in the process of preparing a very impressive Powerpoint presentation about the Age of the Dinosaurs. He is still determined to become a paleontologist. He recently challenged an authority figure who said that a pterodactyl had been a flying dinosaur. He interrupted the discussion (respectfully, he insists) to point out that a pterodactyl had in fact been a flying reptile, though commonly mistaken for a dinosaur. When I asked him if he might be mistaken (since the person had refused to accept my son's wisdom on the matter), he looked at me as if I'd just doubted whether the sun rises in the east.

Just to be certain, I googled it- he had been right. Never again will I doubt my son's knowledge of dinosaur trivia.

He is passionate about Dragonball Z and has been since he was just a little boy. It's probably the main reason he loves karate so much and his passionate and vigorous performance of his kata probably is merely an imitation of Goku as a super-saiyan.

I know I might be coming across as a mother in denial about her son growing up- desperately trying to convince herself of the fact that he is just an innocent little boy. But this is not so (okay, maybe just a bit).

I am in fact merely trying to capture what I can of the last few stages of my first-born's childhood before he hits dreaded puberty. I want to remember forever his first smile, him chasing the birds down the hill at our little place in Bo-Kaap. I want to hold onto our moments watching the Tellytubbies, his first fascination with dinosaurs, his love of animals, him growling like a lion (annoying an elderly lady into reprimanding him) and his loyalty to his little friends. I want to remember the joy he brought my late father and how he got my father to chase him through the waves at Camps Bay wearing jeans and shoes (about a week before my dad's unexpected death). And how he and my dad fed the birds at Hout Bay.

I want to remember him accepting his role as the big brother after Tharaa's birth. His first day of school when I cried more than he did. How he, at not-even-three years old comforted me the day I fell on my coccyx. His love for his granny, which made him cry for her every Saturday when we left her home. I want to remember him proudly sporting his hat, loose fitting shirt covering a tight white T-shirt, above-the-ankle length trousers and, most importantly, one glove; imitating his mommy's 'hero' Michael Jackson after MJ's death.

In recent years he has become so responsible- when I issue an instruction to all of them, he is usually the first to respond.

I don't want to lose our current relationship- how he still comes to me unexpectedly to plant a kiss on my cheek; how, for no reason at all, he throws his arms around me, giving me the biggest hugs, when walking past me at home.

His intelligence, his kindness, his morality, his sensitivity, his humour, his wit- I can go on and on about all his qualities which I so deeply admire about him, but I will never be able to capture in words how blessed I feel to be his mother.

And now I'm bawling.


My fear about him hitting puberty is that we will lose the bond we share. I am afraid that we won't communicate the way we do now- and that I won't be able to get through to him any longer. I fear losing my influence over him (even though that has already started happening) and him becoming unwilling/ unable to see reason (as is so common with teens). I dread the day the opinions of his peers become more appealing and influential to him than those of his parents.


Mostly, I dread the day I am replaced by some girl as the most important woman in his life.

I hope that once he reaches that stage of his life, he retains all those characteristics which I so deeply admire about him. I pray that he is guided by the values according to which he is being raised, especially when facing difficult choices and potentially harmful situations. I pray that despite the emotional turbulence he is likely to face as an adolescent, he is guided by common sense and rationality.

I hope that he does not shut me out of his life and includes me in this journey by being open about the changes he experiences. (Well, maybe not ALL the changes [shudder]).

But in the meantime, I shall be savouring every second I have with my kids before they are affected by the madness which comes with adolescence. Who knows- perhaps they will be more willing to share these experiences with me if I embrace the process instead of viewing it as impending doom. Thankfully, I still have some time to work on that.

Who's the man!!!

A few months ago hubby was rushed off to hospital with kidney stones, selfishly leaving my kids and me to cope by ourselves for three days. Shakeel (12) automatically assumed the role of Man of the House, barking orders, beating his chest and pretty much milking his self-appointed new position for all it was worth.

I tried to be brave, putting the children at ease while investigating unexplained noises, taking terrified Nuha (6) to the dark corners of the house to prove to her that there was no boogey-man (while trying desperately not to wet myself in the process) and basically just reassuring them of their safety (of which I myself was not too certain). It was like living the movie Scream, as I anxiously awaited the masked knife-wielding maniac to make his appearance in the horror that was playing in my head. I prayed that once the intruder eventually showed up, my maternal instinct would be strong enough to ensure that I would not head for the hills, leaving my poor children to protect themselves.

Toward the end of the second day, my fake bravado was taking its toll on me. But duty called and I proceeded to check windows and doors ensuring that they were properly secured. I was doing my third check on my living room window when I saw a movement against the curtain. I started, but whatever it was, disappeared behind the folds of the curtain. I proceeded toward the window cautiously; unsuccessfully trying to convince myself that it had just been a shadow, when suddenly it reappeared. Moving toward me was the biggest and most terrifying spider I'd ever seen. I felt my legs and arms weaken and for a few seconds remained paralysed with fear. Then followed my bloodcurdling scream which would have scared away lesser spiders, but this one moved toward me menacingly, ignoring the hysterical shrieks of my kids who had now joined me.

General panic ensued, with Shakeel shouting, "OMG, that thing is as big as my hand!" He was not exaggerating- the enormous thick legged brown speckled spider was bigger than my whole freakin' hand. What made the monster even more terrifying was the fact that it kept moving toward us- strangely, not at all intimidated the five hysterical shrieking humans.

After the hysteria had reached fever pitch, it dawned on me that no one was stepping up and taking charge of the situation. Then, terrifyingly, it dawned on me that that hero would have to be me. Damn that kidney stone!

I had a difficult decision to make. I hated the thought of killing it (or anything for that matter). But I didn't know if it was dangerous and I had to put our safety first. "Someone get the Doom" I ordered, just as the monster charged toward us again (I'm not kidding!).

Shakeel leapt into action and sprinted down the passage to the kitchen where the insecticides are kept. The girls and I  kept an eye on the menace, while waiting for our hero's return. We waited..and waited..and waited, and then I guessed that someone (probably me) had irritatingly placed empty Doom and Target cans back into the cupboard and our hero was most probably racing against time to find a can that had some insecticide left. So I ran to the kitchen to help him. Strangely I found the cupboard still closed and Shakeel nowhere in sight. Until I turned around- and there was our saviour, crouching on the kitchen table (with shoes and all), hugging his knees, his eyes wide with panic.

"Did you catch it Mommy? Did you catch the spider?" The poor child had had no intention of playing the hero- he had merely instinctively been saving his butt by getting away first.

I smiled, relieved that my son still felt he needed his mommy's protection. He was not yet ready to be the man of the house. He wanted to be- and still is- his mommy's baby. Despite the monstrous arachnid I had lurking in my living room, I was happy.