Seventeen Months

My baby is growing into a toddler and his personality is developing rapidly. The re-introduction to school at the beginning of the school year was much easier, but I hope his health will not suffer much this time around. Today I had a scare when the school supervisor called me to fetch Robert because he was not feeling well and had a fever. As I walked to the school I was so despondent and unhappy and started seriously thinking again quitting work. It is really not worth it to make my little one suffer in this way.

Robert’s father is now working full time and I cannot rely on him too much for looking after Robert and even the situation with my nanny Lucy seems a little tenuous as her employer(s) do not like her to come and help me out even in her off time, so I really did not know what to do. When I arrived at school my spirit was somewhat lifted when I saw that Robert was fine and I did not feel that he was feverish. His teacher told me that he perked up as soon as he heard that I was coming to get him. I don’t know what could have been wrong this time, the adverse effects of teething should be gone because his fourth molar cut already last week. He has a little bit of a runny nose but I am hoping that this time his body will fight it out, we will wait and see.

His teachers at school say he is always busy in class especially pushing the little chairs around. This is his favourite activity at home as well and it is quite unpleasant for me and my next door neighbor when he starts at it first thing in the morning. Also I am noting his increased independence; the daycare encourages that, for example at snack or meal time the children sit in on little tables and chairs and start feeding themselves. Robert is starting to get good at eating by himself, but I can still tell what he had for lunch by examining the stains on his shirt. He also insists on “brushing” his teeth on his own. I usually start out the proper brushing then I leave him to bite and suck the toothbrush for a few minutes.

Robert’s verbal skills and his diction continue to improve. Instead of Naah for no he now says noo, it sounds quite cute like a little kitten miau. I still speak to him primarily in English but I encourage German vocabulary sometimes whenever I feel he is receptive.
The most obvious advantage to his growing verbal skill is his ability to tell me what he wants. He names the books he wants me to read “oppodi” (Opposites) and tells me that he wants “gam” (jam) or egg.

It is interesting to note also the way he perceives things and people. His father told me that he exclaimed “dada” when he spotted a picture of George W. Bush in a magazine. I am surprised that my ex even mentioned the story to me because I am sure he was not impressed. I cannot ask Robert why he made this comment but maybe he sees his father as an older person who is not too bright.
One morning he watched me write his name with a marker on his milk bottle and sippy cup as I was preparing his school bag. I pointed to the writing and said Robert, and the next thing I know he surprised his father by pointing to the writing and saying : “bobbet”.

Another area of marked improvements from previous months, is Robert’s appetite. He eats regular meals and does not snub his food after the first bite. The experience of feeding him is still quite messy, because he loves to try feeding himself, and explore the texture and substance of food with his fingers, but most of the food ends up in his stomach rather than on the floor and the furniture.

One thing that I am still procrastinating at seventeen months, and this might come as shocker to my family, is complete weaning. Robert still has a nightly breast milk dose and sometimes he wakes up twice for a little sup.  I believe that it is time for him to move on, but I do not have the heart to go through with it. For one I still enjoy the special loving connection of breastfeeding and secondly I find it easier just to give in to his demand at night, rather than tolerate his prolonged crying. I think I should get some backbone and be firm about it, I do not want to break any records on extended breastfeeding.

Yes We Can

The Web of Language dealt extensively with the Obama inauguration from a linguistic perspective,  citing in detail the incident of the flubbed Presidential Oath.

In addition to the discussion around language and the hyper-correction instinct of the Chief Justice, which probably led to the hiccups of the Oath. There were a few facts that I found quite interesting:

The Presidential Oath was administered again, correctly this time, to satisfy constitutional requirements, and for this repeat performance President Obama did not use a bible.  A bible is not required in the US constitution, but the gesture can be also understood as another nod to nonbelievers after they were mentioned in his speech alongside all other religions.

President Obama is a lefty. Wink to ex husband : No more talk about some deficiency in the brain that leads to being lefty. We are among the smartest and the best, and now we have a president ! Yes We Can !

Note about left-handedness: The writer on the Web of Language said that Obama was writing using the lefty hook. Apparently teachers in the western world taught students to hook their left hand towards them so they can better imitate right-handed writing.  Most lefties I know here in South
Africa use this method of writing, which strikes me as completely unnatural. I grew up in the Middle East, and therefore my teacher tried to suppress my left-handedness and direct me to use the “right” (correct) hand. When it was established, however, that my handedness was a fixed matter, I was abandoned to my fate, and to figure out how to hold the paper and pen. I do not hook my hand, I just tilt the paper to suit my dominant hand. Now if for some reason the writing surface cannot be tilted, I would have a problem.

South African Cynicism

Our own Cape Times came out today with a full transcript of President Obama’s Inaugural Address, so now I have a record for it. Later I found a blog with embedded segments of the speech and its transcript, so I got to watch it, long after the excitement about the whole thing subsided, but I cannot complain since my time is not my own.

The Cape Times opened with the headline : The Age of Obama Begins, and the picture was of him taking the Oath of office. The thing that gave me a chuckle, however, was a tiny cartoon near the bottom of the first page.

Here it is :

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For more hilarity visit the Cape Times website.

When I Missed the Man who Made History

I walked past a coffee shop in Sea Point in the late afternoon and they had their televisions on CNN broadcasting the inauguration of the first US President of African descent. I am one of the few people who are missing out on this historical occasion, because when I moved with my son to our own place, buying a television was not among our priorities.

Since his election Barack Obama featured prolifically in South African news and media. And while South African media rarely pays attention to foreign political events, Obama features strongly, perhaps even more strongly than our caretaker president Kgalema Motlanthe. Mr. Obama has us riveted because of his African descent and his powerful message to the world.

For me Obama is a little bit of hope in a hopeless world. Perhaps his policies will not differ much from other Democrat presidents, perhaps he won’t be able to do a lot for the Middle East, and he certainly will not be able to save the world as we all would like him to do. But we will always remember that he delivered us from the insanity of George W. Bush.

On a more personal level, he is the “the voice”. I love listening to him speak. That is why, again, it was a shame that I missed his inaugural speech. I will have to settle for its highlights on the internet.

Hard to Catch up with Time Speeding By

The first month of they year is more than half gone and “compliments of the season” is getting really old and ratty. I think it is time to can the phrase until next year.

I took Robert to daycare for his first almost full day today. He had the usual crying episode when I left him with the class assistant but he was quite cheerful when I came to fetch him at three. The teachers and assistant love him and keep reassuring me that he is very good during the day and never cries after the initial morning distress, which does not usually last very long.

When I arrived  he was at the gate of the school with Sharon, one of the other nursery teachers. He was making her open and close the gate, his favourite game,  of course. But it was such a pleasure to see his little face light up when I came. As I carried him to the taxi he kept pointing at me and saying : Mummy.. Mummy, and giving me hugs, it was so sweet.

No matter how cute and sweet, the road home is a long one in the heat, and especially carrying an unwilling baby who -praise be to god- is starting to feel a bit weighty, so we both arrived sweaty and tired, and I had no energy to take him out again.  Robert must have been tired as well because he was asleep by seven thirty which is very early for him.

Sunday’s Fun and Follies

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We treated ourselves to a predominantly lazy day today.  Mom, baby and cat played at home for the whole morning.

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I consciously try teaching Robert the ability to laugh at his own mishaps. Here he is  acting out a funny incident that happened a few weeks ago, while we were playing with soap bubbles (the non toxic, kid friendly variety; I always make sure to buy those).  Normally I do not let Robert take the bottle of soap from me, but I relented on that day because there was very little soap left. It was a mistake of course, as toddlers are very apt at doing exactly what they shouldn’t and within a split second. I think Robert was looking inside the bottle when he tipped it bottoms up right onto his face and mouth. I just heard a loud gulp, and then he started crying and denouncing it as : ka-ka. Initially it was funny but then I remembered the horrible pain that one gets at the back of the throat when salt water goes up the nose. Robert must have felt the same. The liquid, which I tried when the crying did not want to stop, tasted so bitter that it numbed my tongue. This explained why Robert refused to drink or eat anything right after he gulped it. Thirty minutes later he settled to sleep exhausted and I thought this was the best thing for him to forget that awful bitter taste.

A day later I started acting out the incident, with sound effects and exaggerated facial expressions. Robert picked the whole act, and now does it by himself.

I thought today would be free of such misadventures, because we kept it such low key. In the afternoon we headed to the park and enjoyed the peace until a family arrived with their picnic supper. Robert of course went right in there trying to look inside cooler bags and generally being the inquisitive little toddler he is. Mom kept close trying to prevent him from making a nuisance of himself, but at the same time not wanting to curb his natural curiosity, especially that the family seemed friendly enough.  Soon he started to become part of the picnic and took a fancy to the juice they offered him in tall plastic cup. He kept coming back to the dad and asking for “mo” (more). When I tried fooling him and pouring his own juice into the tumbler he promptly dumped the contents on the grass. Everyone thought this was wildly funny (including myself) but then he repeated the trick with the juice offered by our hosts, so I thought that was enough and we excused ourselves and headed home.

On our way back I stopped at a shop offering soft serve ice cream. Robert had eyed some kids on the road having it and I thought it would be a nice treat for him. We never got to taste the ice cream because when I offered the tall soft server to Robert for a first sampling the whole soft serve column tumbled onto his shirt and lap. He looked on unimpressed and confused as I mopped it up using the all purpose cloth/wipe which I always keep in the backpack. The poor shop keeper was also hovering around offering tissues and waste basket. As we were leaving he gave us another ice cream, a chocolate coated Popsicle, which we were still able to enjoy.

It Puzzles Me

My ex has been nice to us in this past month, and as much as it is a relief for me, I am still puzzled about his latest incarnation as a caring father, when not too long ago he told me that I was not able to look after our son AND called me many colourful names because I refused to hand him over some money which he thought -wrongly as usual- that it should be his.

I see his recent change of behaviour and wonder what is behind it. Is it real? Is it some sort of preemptive measure to avoid escalating maintenance payments? Is it a mind game? or is it just the sad realization that Robert is all he has left? I do not know, and I am hesitant to make a judgement call on this one. I am going to wait and see,  and I mean really wait for a long long time.  Maybe ten years from now I will be able to tell some more.  In the meantime I am taking his “helpfulness” where I find it, and taking advantage of it while it lasts.  As things happened, it looks like I will not be able to rely on his helpfulness too much because he got himself a full time job (something that he has been loath to do since moving to Cape Town). He said that he would be working every day including Saturday mornings until 11:30. What worried him, as he told me yesterday (and again this is completely out of character for my ex) is that he will not get too much time to spend with Robert, very strange.

In return my natural instinct is also to be nice, and although my analytical mind tells me that perhaps this is not such a good idea, I am willing to risk it. I feel in the end my son will benefit of a hostility-free relationship between his mother and his father.

Having fun at the toy store
Having fun at the toy store

On that note today was the said father’s birthday and we went with him to the Waterfront after he finished working (and gym) and I bought my ex a ticket to the Aquarium which he enjoyed. Robert has his usual fun-filled day at the toy store and we later introduced him again to the fish. He is still too young to appreciate all exhibits, but occasionally he would look and say fish, or “big” but mostly it is water (Ahti).

The Two Oceans Aquarium is really nice. The last time I was here was on the fateful day I lost my wallet (the one that got really lost, not the one I stupidly misplaced), so this became my first visit to the new frogs exhibit, which was interesting.  The few species they showed great variation in size and colours. Some of the frogs are as big as an adult’s fists while others would fit comfortably on a small coin.  In addition to this new exhibits therer were also the old favourites like the predator exhibit, and we were there in time for their feeding. My personal favourite is the kelp forrest with many snub nosed fishes that look pouty and angry. The only photo I took though was in the tank of the clown fish (made famous by the movie Finding Nemo) but the pictures turned out poor especially since I did not have enough time to study the features of my new camera.  I will have to try it out next time at leisure.

At the Aquarium I bumped into W. and her tall, tall son Zack.  Zack is now 18 months, and Robert still wears some of babygros that were too small for him at 12 months. I do not see much of Zack’s mom anymore because she lives and works in Sommerset West, but she promised to get in touch whenever she was in Cape Town.

It was five thrity in the afternoon when we got out of the Aquarium. Robert was completely finished, but I still managed to do some shopping. I went looking for some clothes for me and ended up buying a sandal for Robert. Meanwhile my own sandal is falling apart, but I will shop for myself some other time.

During the excitement out, Robert has nothing to eat for the whole afternoon, but he made up for it by eating one whole scrambled egg and toast. When I reported this to his father in a text message, he texted me back thanking me for a nice birthday.  “You are still important in my life and now Robert gives it meaning” he said.  Whatever that means, I will know ten years from now.

Gaza

Whenever I think of Gaza I remember a cartoon I saw many years ago when I was still a citizen of the troubled Middle East.  The cartoon could have been by the late Palestinian cartoonist Naji Al Ali, but I could not trace it on his official website.  In the cartoon the Arab nation is depicted as a wounded woman; a knife had just stabbed her chest. An arrow points to the bleeding wound, proclaiming it as Gaza غزة . The cartoon works best in Arabic and particularly for those of us familiar with the Eastern Mediterranean version of spoken Arabic, where غزة (Ghazzah) means a stab, and is perhaps a derivative of غرزة a stitch, usually made with a sharp needle or similar instrument.

In my mind Gaza is still bleeding, and it is a wound in the heart of the whole world. I feel sorry for those who are forced to endure life within its borders, because I know that most wouldn’t want to live there if they had a choice.

Gaza is worse than a Bantustan. It is one of the most densely populated regions of the world. The living conditions of the people there are among the worst in the world. Now they are living under the shadow of death,  destruction and war. I have nothing but sorrow and sympathy to offer them.

This blog is not about politics.  I do not want to stand for a cause or declare myself as a militant supporter of one side over the other. I will not write from the viewpoint of an Arab, although I spent the best part of my youth in the Middle East, and I am familiar with the pain, the disappointment and their by-product of extremism.  I am writing because I do not understand how some South Africans Jews who have never been to the Middle East and know nothing about the conflict, choose to support the attack on Gaza.

I performed a google image search on Gaza and came up with over 15 million pictures. They are mostly of death, destruction and misery without end. Gaza is still a wound that is bleeding the world. Nothing has changed in the last two decades; violence breeds extremism and then more violence. So the the bloody history is poised to repeat itself again and again, as long as radicals on both sides of the divide keep calling for each others blood. It is never going to end.

Summer in the City

I did not plan to foot it all the way to Camps Bay today, but the weather and the scenery beckoned me along. I only wanted to avoid a desperate situation such as yesterday’s when I wasted so much time trying to get Robert to catch up on his daytime naps without success, so today I decided that we would both be better off if he nods off in the buggy.

We started right after breakfast, and headed towards the ocean, and soon I found myself pushing a sleeping baby past Clifton 1st Beach, and towards Camps Bay. The weather was perfect and there was a non-stop stream of traffic into the area. The beaches themselves were very busy with holiday-makers and locals enjoying the last few weekeneds before the end of school holidays. I had brought a book with me, but it is usually the case that my little man wakes up as soon as I stop for a little break. This is most inconvenient when I arrive home with my backpack and full shopping bags, and just want to catch my breath from the heat.  Well this time was no different and my book languished in the backpack unopened as we spent some time on the beach.  We mostly clung to the shaded park belt on the periphery of Glen Beach in Camps Bay, but I allowed Robert a short time to play in the sand with his “bucket”.

It was too hot to walk all the way back so we took a minibus taxi home.  Later in the afternoon Robert managed another short nap, and we continued our routine as usual.  Later we played and read books and enjoyed a stress free afternoon. This was so much better than yesterday when both of us were out of control;  Robert was spinning around because of his lack of sleep, and I became frustrated, tired and angry as a result. Needless to say that this is a lethal combination that leads to unhappiness all around.

How Much is Garlic Crushing Worth?

I am not a kitchen guru, and precisely for this reason I need the correct kitchen gadgets to help my mediocre skills in the kitchen.  Finding the right implement, however, is a challenge by itself, because my inadequate skills and my left-handedness conspire against me.

It is difficult to explain the dilemma to the 90% of the population who were lucky enough to become right-handed. We left-handers cannot buy mass market utensil and products : Pictures on mugs end out looking away from us, knives cut funny because the cutting edge and the force applied are on opposing sides, and can openers have to be operated backwards.  It takes major effort and expense to find a tool that works correctly for us left-handers, and therefore I mostly settle for the clumsy right-hand tools.

Since the gadgets used for crushing garlic do not fall under the category of hand-specific tools, I thought that finding one would be a piece of cake. I was so wrong. I have been on the lookout for the correct one for over three months now. During this time I minced my garlic with my non-hand-specific knife, but before that I tried crushing it with my hand-neutral mortar and pestle.

The mortar and pestle were a little too heavy and clumsy for regular and repeated use (I had a stone one), and the cleanup was also problematic. Mincing with the knife on the other hand is much more straight forward, and there is very little cleanup. Disadvantages were the time needed and the risk of ending up with garlic smelling fingers for the rest of the day. The chopping board of course is a lost cause, and it has to be dedicated to chopping only the vegetables who are good companions to garlic.

A month ago I forked out R45 to buy a stainless steel garlic crusher, but it turned out to be wrong. It looked fine when I bought it, made of stainless steel with the garlic crushed in a little compartment that is detachable for easier cleaning. On actual use, however it proved very impractical, perhaps for this very detachable element. Apart from its overall faulty “engineering” which made the garlic come out more squeezed than crushed. This led me back again to mincing and smelly fingertips.

Finally today I discovered and brought home my new love and the most useful kitchen utensil for lovers of garlicky pasta sauce. I bought this beauty, and thank god it was on sale. It is made of brushed stainless steel, cool and velvety to the touch. It also has a round grip that makes its weight fall comfortably on either left or right hands. It looks and feels heavy, durable and practical. With a deceptive simple design of real expensive kitchen tools. Believe me, I rarely wax lyrical about anything in the kitchen, but this is simply one of my most valuable kitchen utensils.