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Ek is mos van Januarie af sonder DSTV. My keuse gewees. Ek kyk nou die minimum TV ooit. Dink nog daaraan om DVD’s te gaan uitneem maar tans geniet ek dit om meer te lees en musiek te luister.
Mica kom haal my sommer al vroeg saans. Soms hier by half 7, sodat ons kan bed toe gaan. Nie dat ek altyd vroeg slaap nie. Ek lees gewoonlik tot laat.
Ek mis TV regtig nie. Dit was een van my tydmors aksies. Elke aand voor die TV.
So sit ek die Sondagmiddag met my 1ste glas wyn, ons tel elke klein bietjie tot dit 1 glas sou maak, en ek onthou wie ek is. Mededeelsaam. Soos ‘n sagte toffie. Taai buite met ‘n sagte binnekant. Wat niemand volgens my raaksien nie.
Ek bekyk my plek en ek hou van my meubels. Ek hou van my boeke. Ek hou van my glase waarin my wyn is. Ek het eens op ‘n tyd my liefde 100% gegee en ek weet ek kan dit doen.
Ek drink die glas wyn op my.
En so is dit nog ‘n jaar by. Ek het die mooiste blomme gekry. En van my baas en sy vrou ‘n notaboek (vir al my geskribbels), koekies en ‘n geskenkbewys van Placecol. En ek weet klaar wat ek gaan doen. Die parafien vir my voete.
Buiten dit het my seun ‘n video gestuur so ek kon sy gesig sien. Ma se hart.
Vandag is dit Royal Tea by The Silo met Sus en Em. My boet-hulle het geldjie in my rekening gesit so ek kan myself verder bederf met of Nataniël op 30 April of The road to Mecca. Lekker!
Ouer word is deel van die lewe. Ons breine mag dalk soms terugbeweeg na die jonger dae toe, maar ons liggame verskrompel.
O ja en ek kan 2 groottes kleiner klere aantrek 😀😀😀😀😀.
Gister was dit weer spanbou. Nie dat ons WOU gaan nie, meeste van die personeel wou jaarafsluiting doen. Maar ons het mor-mor gegaan. Gewoonlik is daar iets fisies wat gedoen moet word. Oefeninge, spansport ens. Gister was ons by Hillcrest Quarry. Heerlike area en uitstekend vir sulke tipe goed (ek probeer nou die afrikaans vir event kry maar dit ontglip my heeltemal).
Ewenwel. Die oggend was opgeneem deur eerstens ‘n lewensafrigter wat nogal ‘n waar paar punte aangeraak het.
Wie is ek?
Waarheen wil ek gaan?
Terwyl ek by die werk is, is dit waar ek wil wees?
Doen ek wat ek wil doen?
Wat is my toekomsplanne? Want jy kan ander toekomsplanne hê, maak nie saak wat jou ouderdom is nie.
Wat gaan ek daaraan doen?
Wat is my PASSIE?
Daar was, soos gewoonlik, mense wat nie daarvan gehou het nie. Wat geensins enige impak gevoel het nie. Net stukkies daarvan geneem het maar oor die algemeen dit te eenvoudig en 100% ‘boring’ gevind het.
Dit het my egter in ‘n ander rat gesit.
Toe kom die span aktiwiteit. Die keer was dit verf. En ek het dit geniet. 100000000% meer as enigiets anders. Kunsklasse. Dit is wat ek die jaar gaan doen.
My passie is woorde. Woorde en skets. En ek wil iets daarmee doen. Vir myself.
Die eindproduk van 7 spanne en 14 stukke.
Die ou hasie het nie lank gehou nie. Buiten 3 marshmallow eiertjies was die nou die somtotaal van my soet eet vir die paastyd.
Ek het wel kerrievis ge-eet wat vriend Mynhardt gemaak het. Dit was heerlik, agter die oor. My laat dink ek moet dalk kerrievis probeer maak. Soos my kerriebone mag dit dalk net lekker wees.
Donderdagaand se Paas ete. En ek moet dankie sê vir my maters Ian en Mynhardt. Want ek sou maklik net mooi niks spesiaal gemaak het vir die Paasnaweek nie.
Wat lees jy? Ek? Ek lees romanse. Vry onder die appelboom boeke.
Hoekom?
Want iewers wil ek graag sien dat ‘n man ‘n vrou op die hande dra. Bemin. Nie sonder haar kan leef nie. Haar aantreklik vind.
Elke keer wanneer ek so ‘n gewaarwording kry, dan begin ek my lewe analiseer en die uiteinde is gewoonlik omdat ek dit nie self ervaar het nie.
Vreeslik om altyd so na verduidelikings te soek hoor. Maak mens skoon moeg.
Ek het hierdie op bakkiesboek gedeel.
“It’s not a death. And it’s not a tragedy. But it’s not nothing, either…”💔 I feel like this little boy walked out the door today, not the fine young man we’ve raised. Today is hard. Very hard.
“I wasn’t wrong about their leaving. My husband kept telling me I was. That it wasn’t the end of the world when first one child, then another , and then the last packed their bags and left for college.
But it was the end of something. “Can you pick me up, Mom?” “What’s for dinner?” “What do you think?”
I was the sun and they were the planets. And there was life on those planets, whirling, non stop plans and parties and friends coming and going, and ideas and dreams and the phone ringing and doors slamming.
And I got to beam down on them. To watch. To glow.
And then they were gone, one after the other.
“They’ll be back,” my husband said. And he was right. They came back. But he was wrong, too, because they came back for intervals — not for always, not planets anymore, making their predictable orbits, but unpredictable, like shooting stars.
Always is what you miss. Always knowing where they are. At school. At play practice. At a ballgame. At a friend’s. Always looking at the clock mid day and anticipating the door opening, the sigh, the smile, the laugh, the shrug. “How was school?” answered for years in too much detail. “And then he said . . . and then I said to him. . . .” Then hardly answered at all.
Always, knowing his friends.
Her favorite show.
What he had for breakfast.
What she wore to school.
What he thinks.
How she feels.
My friend Beth’s twin girls left for Roger Williams yesterday. They are her fourth and fifth children. She’s been down this road three times before. You’d think it would get easier.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do without them,” she has said every day for months.
And I have said nothing, because, really, what is there to say?
A chapter ends. Another chapter begins. One door closes and another door opens. The best thing a parent can give their child is wings. I read all these things when my children left home and thought then what I think now: What do these words mean?
Eighteen years isn’t a chapter in anyone’s life. It’s a whole book, and that book is ending and what comes next is connected to, but different from, everything that has gone before.
Before was an infant, a toddler, a child, a teenager. Before was feeding and changing and teaching and comforting and guiding and disciplining, everything hands -on. Now?
Now the kids are young adults and on their own and the parents are on the periphery, and it’s not just a chapter change. It’s a sea change.
As for a door closing? Would that you could close a door and forget for even a minute your children and your love for them and your fear for them, too. And would that they occupied just a single room in your head. But they’re in every room in your head and in your heart.
As for the wings analogy? It’s sweet. But children are not birds. Parents don’t let them go and build another nest and have all new offspring next year.
Saying goodbye to your children and their childhood is much harder than all the pithy sayings make it seem. Because that’s what going to college is. It’s goodbye.
It’s not a death. And it’s not a tragedy.
But it’s not nothing, either.
To grow a child, a body changes. It needs more sleep. It rejects food it used to like. It expands and it adapts.
To let go of a child, a body changes, too. It sighs and it cries and it feels weightless and heavy at the same time.
The drive home alone without them is the worst. And the first few days. But then it gets better. The kids call, come home, bring their friends, fill the house with their energy again.
Life does go on.
“Can you give me a ride to the mall?” “Mom, make him stop!” I don’t miss this part of parenting, playing chauffeur and referee. But I miss them, still, all these years later, the children they were, at the dinner table, beside me on the couch, talking on the phone, sleeping in their rooms, safe, home, mine….”
– Beverly Beckham
Net so. Ek is ‘n mens en ek het regte.
Die reg om laat te lê.
Die reg om te kies.
Die reg om te wees.
Die reg om te ervaar.
Die reg. Die reg. Die reg.
Menseregtedag. Dit gaan op hierdie dag oor alles behalwe my emosionele regte. Dit is ‘n politiese dag.
Maar ek maak dit oor MY regte. My emosionele regte.
mevrou 