What's cookin'?

I remember when Robin and I were first married. Our meals left a whole lot (of take out) to be desired. I was one of those silly emancipated women in my teens. Emancipated from what? Heaven only knows! But I considered myself one. Maybe I liked the sound of it. Yes. That's probably it. You know the type. The outspoken girl who says "I refuse to be the kind of woman whose husband expects her to wait on him, hand and foot." (Little did I realize that when you fall in love with someone, you want to wait on them, hand and foot. And if you're lucky enough to have married a man like I did - then he wants to do the same for you too! But that's a whole other story.)

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Back to the cooking part. Or lack of it.

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Well, being emancipated and all, I just plain refused to learn to cook. Maybe refuse is too strong a word. Let's put it this way - whenever it came time to cook, I was hiding in my bedroom studying. Or practising piano. Or anything else that would get me out of the kitchen, for that matter. Robin knew this. Well, he knew it in theory. Poor guy! I wonder if he had a clue what he had gotten himself in for when he married me?

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Anyway, imagine his horror when we arrived home from honeymoon and it was time for dinner. And I sat glued to my spot on the couch pretending that my stomach growling was background noise on the tv! Imagine his further horror when I said I didn't even know how to cook a bowl of rice! I had to phone my mom and ask her to speak me through it. Literally. "Hi Mommy! Yes, we're fine thanks. Ja, um, I'm um, well, kind of cooking. No, I'm being serious. Really. I'm cooking. OK, I'm trying to cook." ... pause while she cackles in the background... "Mom? Yoo hoo? Mooooommmm?" ... hang on while she tells my dad I'm cooking, and he too erupts into guffaws in the background... "Mom! I need your help. What am I making? I was thinking of making rice. No, I don't know what with. Right now, I'm just making rice." ... pause while she tells dad I'm only making rice for supper. Both of them split a hernia again as they erupt into laughter. Again. ..."OK Mommy, I'm going now."

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Nah, it wasn't actually so bad. Really. And she actually did help me figure out how to boil some rice. And she didn't really laugh at my expense. Heaven knows, if it had been me on the receiving end of the telephone call, I'd have been lying flat on my back, immobile with the laughter! But my mom isn't like me. She's kind and thoughtful. And careful not to offend.

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Needless to say, I'm not a big fan of rice. Or cooking. Actually, I really dislike cooking. Well, more the standing in the kitchen part, while everyone else is lazing around in the lounge. That's the part that does me in. Truth be told, I just don't like feeling left out. Which is why most of the meals I make now (and yes, I actually DO cook now.. Mmm, more now and then...) are quick and easy. Make that VERY quick and VERY easy.

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I have a friend who is the most organized person I know. And she's a dang good cook too. And she's really pretty. And she's having her second little one on Tuesday next week! (Hello, Hanlie!) And... anyway, she once mentioned to me that she works out a menu plan for the month, then buys her groceries accordingly. And then when it's time to cook every day, she doesn't have to wonder what to prepare. I thought that was mighty clever. And it seems to work for her. As for me - I'm one of those people who starts thinking about food preparation pretty much around the same time as my tummy starts grumbling. Which makes for very rushed preparation. With very few ingredients, what with all the nibbling of them that takes place during preparation. How about you guys?

So, when it's dinner time, what do you prepare?

	Toasted Cheese
	A full five-course meal, thank you very much!
	Cook? Me? Never!
	I only do desserts
	I'm a great cook! You name it - I make it!
	Whatever's easiest / quickest / whatever we have ingredients for
	We have a meal plan, and I stick to it
	My partner is the cook.

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By the way, we decided not to go ahead with any cataract surgery for little Buttercup. They can fix her eyes. But it would cost just a little more than ten thousand bucks (that's about $1400 U.S.) to do it, and it would mean six weeks of eyedrops six times a day... and her body could still reject the new lenses. So, it just doesn't seem worth it for us, if she doesn't even know any better anyhow. I must admit I'm really relieved about it too - I couldn't imagine having to be the one "torturing" her everyday to get her to sit still while I put in the eyedrops. Maybe it's a cop out. Either way, I'm happy with our decision.

Blind Buttercup

Poor little Buttercup has gone in to the vet today. They are going to sedate her so that they can inflate dilate her pupils and investigate whether cateract surgery would be a viable option for her. Shame, she wasn't allowed to eat since last night, so she'd been snoffling around the house looking for nibbles all morning, until we could take her in to the surgery. Shame.

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It struck me again on the way, just how trusting she is. She trusts us. We could pick her up and take her anywhere. She doesn't whimper. She doesn't squeak. She just cocks her head and wags her bum. (I'd like to say she wags her tail, but we think the breeder might have been named Mrs Bobbit - there aint much of anything left at her rear end!) She sits quietly on my lap the whole journey. It doesn't matter where she's going, as long as she's on my lap. And honestly, I'm so not a doggy person - I'm a cat lover - but this little pooch has me squarely wrapped around her little finger. In a manner of speaking. I just can't ignore her little face or walk past her without giving her a rub. Forget that I'm washing my hands like fifty two times a day, because, you know... germs and all of that. It's worth it!

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I sometimes wonder if that's how God doesn't feel about us? That He loved us enough to get His hands dirty to show us love. And when we curl up on His lap, it just fuels His protective instincts? He says "...how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings..." Luke 13 v 34 Isn't this God we worship totally amazing?

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Having Buttercup has really changed my life. God looks different to me now! And if that's the only reason "why" we were meant to get her, then that's reason enough. And so I praise God every day for her! And for Him!

What winter looks like...

These are some pics I took in the last hour.

Just call be Sicko

Vis flu bug vat's bitted bost of us here at hobe is about as buch fud as a debtal appoidbet. (I'll translate for those of you who don't speak flem-ish flu: this flu bug that's bitten most of us here at home is about as much fun as a dental appointment) And that really is what we sound like right now. Or at least, that's what we're guessing we sound like, seeing as our ears are so blocked that every syllable we speak and every attempt at swallowing is accompanied by crackling sound in our ears. Ugghhh... But the part that really grates my carrot is that we are sick, but not bad enough to get booked off from work. It's ok when you're sick enough to stay at home and watch a few movies or tackle a few novels with your cat perched on your lap and a neverending supply of cuppas beside you. But when you're not sick enough to stay home, but not sharp enough to keep working. That. Sux.

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I've worked my way through half of my box of tissues just since I arrived at work this morning. And that's just on one of my nostrils. Now, I know most of you think I'm exaggerating. Tell that to the other nostril that hasn't seen a breath of fresh air in about three days now. That's how blocked it is.

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Woe is me!

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Eddibody got a sick dote for be?

Why I love my hubby (ii)

Bookses

I don't mind admitting that I'm a bit of a nerd bookworm. Love books. In fact, if I hadn't married Robin I really wouldn't have minded marrying a book. OK maybe not. I'm just saying. I really love books. Just yesterday I bought two new ones. Marian Keyes books. Side-splittingly funny ones. Although she does use God's name in vain now and again. So I read them with blinkers on. I tend to do that quite a lot. Seeing as lots of the really funny, entertaining authors aren't God-fearing and all. My love for reading sometimes overrides my better judgment. Which probably isn't a good thing.

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But anyway. About the books. I discovered a really nifty site last year some time that makes the most amazing things. It's called Shutterfly and you can upload your pics to the site for sharing with your friends etc... but more importantly and most definitely more exciting too, is that you can create books there. Literally! Talk about fodder for Char's imagination! And so I spent a few days drooling over my keyboard losing sleep while I uploaded my pics and edited my book then ordered two copies, a big one and a smaller one. (It was a wedding gift for my cousin, for whom I also did her wedding photography) And then it arrived! Yay! I am so chuffed with how it came out! Luvvit.

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If I earned dollars and not rands I would be ordering books for all my friends and family. Alas, I am but a poor, hard-working South African, earning measly ronts and wishing I'd win the lotto. Until then, I'll drool over my little photo book.

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P.S. Yes, I deliberately smudged the background of my pic because the kitchen is a teensy bit filthy I didn't want you all to be jelly tots and covet our family kitchen. Haha!

Queue the Applause!

Am horrified that I'm only posting after three in the afternoon! Horrified! But lucky for me, I have a legitimate excuse. Really. I just spent the last four hours, that's f-o-u-r hours people!, sitting in a queue at the Motor Vehicle Licensing Department. Which is about three and a half hours longer than I anticipated. Fortunately, I always go to these government places prepared. Just call me Eveready. Now, I'm not bragging, ya'll, but just look at my stash of emergency supplies (see left). And that is my leftovers. Yummy. And in case you thought that "flask" was H2O, ahem ahem, let me correct you. That was 500ml of pure bliss in a bottle. One. Frothy. Sweet. Homemade. Café. Laté. Baby. Which probably accounts for my distinct amusement at the fray which erupted just metres from my spot in the queue. You'd think it was World War Three that broke out there. One person (I say person, but I really mean ignoramous) who probably missed his coffee break this morning began hurling some choice verbal abuse at the person behind the counter (thank goodness for the glass-barricaded counter!) when he discovered that he had to pay an additional thirty bucks for paying with a cheque. Thirty bucks. That's less than you'd pay for a cuppa and a muffin at any coffee shop these days. And he broke into a hissy fit. And this from a guy wearing nikes. His shoelaces probably cost more. It was such a good distraction and so entertaining, I half imagined I heard the Boston Legal soundtrack playing in the background. I wasn't the only one entertained either. You should have seen the other people in the queue. We lowered our novels, folded our newspapers, uncrossed our legs, leaned forward in our seats and watched the drama unfold. Really, a standing ovation woudn't have been remiss at the end of Act 1. The grand finalé was when the supervisor herself threw her toys out of her cott, told the man in no uncertain terms that if he did not calm himself down immediately they would ignore him. Needless to say, it was HILARIOUS when he continued ranting and raving, and the two ladies behind the counter simply looked at their computer screens and pretended they were watching Oprah's Favourite Things Show. Brilliant! Hooray for the Passive Aggresives. I was mildly disappointed, though, that Security didn't come investigating. Now that would have been riveting! Eventually, the man stalked off grumbling loudly and slammed the door behind him. Which is when all hundred odd bench-warmers erupted into guffaws. Excellent.

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Without a doubt, the most fun I've ever had sitting in a queue.

Going Potty!

So, it is Wednesday already. Little Buttercup has settled in nicely into her new home... although it hasn't been without it's challenges! For one thing... she can't see, so what we would normally mistake for sniffing around for a place to "potty" is just her investigating the area. Makes for annoying interesting potty training, that does. As if the sniffing sniffing sniffing isn't enough to baffle Robin and I totally, she doesn't make any noises either! So, one minute she's napping quietly beside us, the next she's up and about, walking around sniffing. Sniff sniff sniffing. So I say to Robin, "Liefie, it looks like your doggie needs to wee." (Notice how quickly ownership of said pooch changes hands. When it's potty training, neither of us claims ownership. When it's cute cuddle time, she's mine. Of course.) A lengthy negotiation of ownership ensues, whereupon one of us inadvertantly throws in the "Cummon, liefie, it's your turn. I did the last round" line. This inevitably settles the argument... custody battle discussion, and one of us stands up to lead Buttercup outdoors. I say "lead Buttercup outdoors", but what I actually mean is that we land up carrying her to hasten the process. Otherwise it's a "Come little Buttercup! This way, girl. Cummon, buttercup! This way! whistle whistle... Be careful of the table leg! Woops... don't worry, it's not so bad. This way now. Come little doggy-woggy-woofy-poofy-schnoekie-poekie! This way... No, not that way. Here! Here I am. Come on! whistle whistle...Oh, what the heck, here, let me pick you up and just carry you." Which just goes to show that she's definitely not stupid, this one. She knows exactly what side of her bread is buttered. That's for sure. And she knows how to play us too. Scaniver.

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And so, we eventually get little Scaniver Buttercup outdoors for potty time. And she runs in circles. Up and down. Sniff sniff sniffing. Up and down. Backwards and forwards. This way and that. Sniff sniff sniffing. And doesn't do her business.

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Until we get back indoors. Hhmmmmpphhhh...

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And then out come the masks, rubber gloves, germ-detroying toilet cleaner, gag bucket and the nuclear fallout sirens. No kidding. OK, maybe just a little. But seriously, this toilet training business aint funny. I am at my wit's end knowing how to handle a six-month old blind poochie that has lived outdoors all it's life, and now thinks that any old place is good to do her business. I don't wanna smack her. Or row her. Because she just doesn't know where she is. But she doesn't make any noises at all. So she can't tell us she needs the loo. And she doesn't know her way out and in yet. HELP!

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Whoever said parenting was easy was a liar! And this isn't even my baby!

Quizzy Lizzy

If you could live your life over again, knowing what you know now, what would you change? I would ...

	Study something else
	Marry someone else
	Invest wisely
	Be more outgoing at school
	Learn to play a musical instrument
	Be more health conscious
	Change nothing!

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Go and see

For those of you who are interested in infertility stuff, there's a really interesting discussion going on over at Tertia's blog. Have a look see and have your say too!

Allow me to introduce you

...to the newest member of our family. I don't know... it seems it is our destiny to be adopting! And I'm so happy for it! She is a six month-old corgi, and we have named her Lady Louise Buttercup. She has only been with us since last night and she has already stolen our hearts. Funny how they wangle their way in huh? Oh yes, almost forgot to mention it - she's blind. And we have yet to hear her make a sound. No squeaks. No barking. No howling. Nor growling. Nothing. Just smiles and perpetually cocked ears. She's the most adorable little thing! Welcome to our family, little Lady Louise Buttercup. (Lady Louise is Prince Andrew of Windsor Edward and Sophie of Wessex's daughter, who is squint... we thought it appropriate to give our Buttercup a regal name, seeing as she's a Queen's pooch and all!)

P.S. Thanks for correcting my wayward savage mistake, Caron! Trust as Africans to maul the British Monarchy's lineage! haha!

Belated Father's Day

I missed out on a great opportunity to write something about my dad yesterday... So, I'd like to share with you things I love about my dad today instead.

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It's only recently that I have really started appreciating my dad for who he is. It took me a bit longer than most people to outgrow the "teen" rebellion, if you want to call it that. My dad and I haven't always seen eye to eye. Growing up in South Africa during the apartheid years, my dad's views of politics were vastly different to mine, and even though I dislike politics immensely, and don't consider myself very "political"... we just couldn't look past each other's opinions. We clashed on pretty much everything. But quietly. We just could not understand each other. I was am quite stubborn headstrong. So is he. And both of us are quote vocal. Wow - it sounds like we lived in a warzone. Which is really not the case. We clashed. Quietly. But we still loved each other. A whole lot more than either of us really admitted.

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But, recently something changed. I can't quite put my finger on it. But I just LOVE being around my dad now. I love hearing him tell stories. I love his sense of humour. I love how he smothers my nephew with love. I love that he has the most amazing willpower I've ever witnessed! He is generous. He always hugs me when he greets me. He shouts at the tv when he watches sport. He loves being with his extended family. He is the life of the party. He's my dad. And I wouldn't change him for anything on this planet.

Gushing

I've been avoiding blogging today, because I didn't want to be gushing all over the bunch of you, but it seems I just can't keep my mouth shut and my fingers restrained. Here I am. Gushing. I am totally euphoric! I really never expected in my wildest most overactive imaginings that I would be the recipient of such an enormous gift.

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I am struck by just how unselfish Marie-Jeanne and her hubby, Brad, are. (That's Marie-Jeanne in the pic, with her son, Rourke). I just cannot fathom that she loves me this much! She is going to do whatever it takes, to give me a baby! Me, people! I'm going to be a mom, only because she loves me that much. I am so indebted to her. To them. Beyond anything I could ever repay.

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Oh boy. So much gushy gushiness.

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And thanks you guys, for commenting and sending so many well wishes my way. I can't wait for us to meet one day.

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Oh boy. Gushing again. See how mushy I become when I'm happy? I must say, unhappiness makes for much more interesting, well-written blogs than being so dileriously happy. Oh well. Too bad for my blogging. This euphoria seems here to stay!

Undeserving but Overjoyed!

It has taken me forever to write this post. Mostly because I am so flabbergasted that I stared at my blank screen for about three hours while I tried to fathom this AMAZING blessing we're being given and tried to find the right words to share it with you.

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To heck with right words! Here's what's up:-

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One of my best friends just phoned from Brussells yesterday to offer to surrogate for Robin and I! She WANTS to do this for us! Can you believe it? It is just so beyond my wildest imaginings that someone would WANT to do this for us! And I am so unbelievably grateful and blessed and overjoyed and relieved and tearful and gobsmacked and totally flabbergasted by their offer. Where could I ever find the right words to Thank them for what they're offering us? I mean, how do you thank someone for offering you the fruit of their loins? I mean? Is there a precedent for such a thing? Not in my life there isn't. My friend is willing to do this for me, because she loves me that much! It totally bowls me over.

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I honestly cannot comprehend this thing. How blessed I am to have friends like I do.

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Just two days ago I was distraught and destroyed and depressed and dismayed and discouraged. Just two days ago, I saw no light at the end of the tunnel. Just two days ago, life looked seriously bleak to me. What a difference that one phonecall from Brussells has made for Robin and I.

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I feel so silly, in retrospect, for being so disappointed in God and even more so, for being so vocal about it. He knew all along, that there would be a telephone call made to me yesterday. And He was waiting patiently in the wings for His time to take centre stage again. I feel so silly for "blaming God" for not answering my prayers. Well, that's how it felt, at least. I was so tired of getting silence in response to my questionings, that I'd gotten to the point where I just didn't ask anymore. I just did my own thing, speaking to God, but not asking for His opinion. Like I told you guys yesterday. And now - it's like a total paradigm shift. I'm looking back at this situation from a totally different perspective. I'm looking back and seeing His faithfulness. And not just because now there's HOPE in my life again... but because He really was with me through this whole thing! His ears are never busy on someone else's prayer call. His door is always open. In fact, more than that, He's been knocking on my door! I heard Him knocking! I heard Him calling my name! I just didn't know what to do with Him anymore. I didn't know how to proceed with Him at the helm anymore. And all along, He actually was at the helm.

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Silly me! This God who did everything He could to save us, He will never leave us in the lurch. He is a faithful God. And I'm so grateful that I have Him.

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And my friend Marie-Jeanne, who'll be baking a babe in her oven for me soon!

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Edited to add:- By the way, when we told my mom and dad, Robin phoned and shared the good news, then said to her that he was going to be flying over to Brussells soon and hiring a hotel room for him and for Marie-Jeanne for the weekend! hahahahaha! You know, he knows exactly how to tease my mom. And then do you know what she said? "Well, ok then, you have my permission!" hahahahaha

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And just so you know, he was joking! We'll do this all the proper, scientific, medical route. Just so you know!

Being In Vague

Just recently I've discovered something startlingly scary about myself. I think I started to distrust God! Really. And that's scary. Because, though I'm very vocal about having faith, trusting God, believing everything will work out, yada yada... My prayers have changed lately from being specific, faith-based, promise-claiming prayers to vague 'That's ok God, I'll ask You, but if You don't, that's also ok' type of prayers. Almost as if I'm giving God permission to overlook me. How silly is that? What is the point of prayer then? What's the point, when God is seeking to show me His glory, and I'm dismissing Him with a wave of my hand and a "Whatever, God..." ? How can this relationship possibly be one that grows if I'm not making any attempt at putting trust in Him anymore? It's doomed! And I'm afraid.

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I honestly don't know how to restore my trust in Him. What do I do with the God who wants so badly to be involved in my life, but I don't know Him well enough anymore to trust that things really will work out for my good? For the last while I have been so scared of treating God like some Santa Clause in the sky, that I haven't asked anything of Him anymore, mostly because I didn't want to be disappointed in Him if there was no answer...

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My head tells me I'm cutting off my nose to spite my face. My heart is a little bit broken.

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What I am grateful for, though, is this feeling of being cold that's settled over me.

"I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth." Revelation 3 v 15 & 16

Because, being lukewarm, you do not realize your need of God. At least when you're cold, you realize you're cold and that you need help. That's me right now. I have removed myself so fully from God's presence, quietly, that I am shivering and wishing I was still within His warm embrace. And did you see that part at the end of the verse? It says that being lukewarm is actually nauseating to God! It makes Him want to spew us out of His mouth!

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Revelation 3 goes on to say...

"You say, 'I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.' But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see. Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline. So be earnest, and repent. Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me."

I never would have thought that I would be grateful that I am cold! Because that tells me I need to be covered again, clothed in His righteousness! It's made me realize that I really need Jesus in my life again. I really need to hand over things to Him that I hold dear to myself. Things that are standing in the way of my relationship with Him. I need to "store up for [myself] treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where [my] treasure is, there [my] heart will be also. " Matthew 6 v 20-21.

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Repentance should be easy, when I realize that He is there for me. He is standing at my door and knocking. I hear His voice! Once I open that door again, He will come in and eat with me! We'll celebrate together! Regardless of what silly treasures He had to climb over in order to gain entrance into my life again.

Wolf in Sheep's clothing

This was too funny not to share! This is Squinty before his makeover:-

And after his transformation:-

Poor bugger! It was either tiger skin or cow. It was an obvious choice! Haha!

Sick of me

I must admit, I've been rather proud of myself since this post. I was de-ter-mined to think and blog about anything other than babies. And in retrospect, it wasn't even really hard to refocus on other things. Granted, we've had a few major happenings to be preoccupied with, but, pushing "baby" thoughts out of my mind has been kind of like putting a plaster (that's a band-aid for you guys in the Americas) on a broken leg. It hasn't fixed things. Not that it can really be fixed... but not thinking about things is really hard to do, actually. I suppose I've been faking it a bit. The chit-chat's about All Things Not Baby. It's a farce. Because, those Desperately Seeking Baby thoughts still lurk beneath the surface. Grrr... How I wish there was a way out of infertility. I am sick of being infertile. Feeling like a scavenger. Wishing for a way out. Wondering where my baby will come from. Wondering if I'm doomed to be childless for ever.

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I started writing this post early this morning. I had just written the "wondering if I'm doomed to be childless for ever" when an email arrived from a dear friend whom Robin and I had recently asked to be a surrogate for us. Her email held her response to our BIG question. She said no. I would have thought I'd be more disappointed than I am. But truly, I'm not really even half as disappointed as I thought I'd be. She's a fab friend, and one we love dearly. And of course, we'd have loved it if she'd said yes, obviously, but we really believe that God is good to us. All of us. And together she and I and Robin had been praying for God's leading in our specific situation. And now that we have a reply, how can I believe that her reply is anything other than God's will for us in this specific situation? Maybe God has someone else in mind? Maybe. Maybe not. But I am determined to trust Him no matter what. And our friend also trusts Him. And together, I believe this decision is for our good. All of us. Robin and I and our friend.

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And so we will continue with our adoption proceedings from Kaszakstan.

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It takes me by surprise sometimes, this desire for children. Because it underlies every other decision we make. You'd think that by now, I'd be willing to sell my car and buy a two-seater, right? Nope. I need the boot space for in case we need to stash a pram in there one day. There's this tv cabinet that I love. But it has glass inlays. Therefore, I'm no longer very interested in it. Because what if one day I'm a parent, and we have a toddler running around and s/he trips and crashes through the glass? We even bought a one hundred percent leather lounge suite when it was time to refurnish our lounge, becuase leather is child-friendly. Easy to clean. And all of that.

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Fat load of good all our planning did for us.

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The hardest part about being infertile lately is the helplessness of it. The realization that there's nothing more to do to fix this. The knowledge that we are dependant on someone else to "give" us a baby. It does suck. Nobody would choose this for themselves. Or for their worst enemies.

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And I'm also sick of always being down about it. Maybe one day I will be able to think about being infertile without feeling crushed? Maybe one day I won't even think about it anymore? Well, that would be amazing. Not thinking about it anymore.

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Then there'd be no more posts like this. And you guys would also be happy.

An excerpt...

Am reading one of the funniest books I've ever read. It's called Spud - the Madness Continues... by a South African author, John van de Ruit, and it's the second instalment in the Spud series. I think he's only written two so far. The first one is simply Spud. And the second one is even better than the first one! I'm going to transcribe a few paragraphs from the second one below for you guys. I won't need to sing it's praises once you've read a portion of it yourselves. Side-splittingly funny!

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1991

Town Hill (The Beginning...)

Tuesday 15th January

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13h35 Dad sat back in the driver's seat, surveyed the road in front of him, and then screamed so loudly that the keys fell out of the ignition. Once the screaming had died down a long and disturbing silence descended on the infamous lime green Milton station wagon.

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Dad had been playing his Carpenters tape at full blast and hadn't felt the terrible shuddering as our un-trusty old Renault chugged up Town Hill towards school. Suddenly, halfway through the second chorus of I'm On Top of the World, an earthquake struck the green machine. The back right tyre was so flat that the rim was sticking through the rubber. Dad did his usual whistle, nodded at the shredded tyre, and announced that we had a puncture. He then grinned at me and said he'd been changing tyres since he was 'knee high to a grasshopper'.

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With a skip and a whistle he popped open the boot with an unhealthy creak and lifted up the carpet cover. His eyes glazed over and his lips moved without making a sound. Sensing a nasty turn of events, I moved in to get a closer look. Instead of a spare tyre there was a crate of Castle Lager. On top of the beer crate was a faded handwritten note that read:

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Pete you old crab stick, hope you don't mind but I needed the tyre. Here's
some jungle juice to keep the old engine purring. Frank.

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And then it said:

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PS Will return it by Monday.

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Underneath the date was written:

24/7/1988

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Dad cracked open a Castle and reread the note. He didn't seem at all concerned that Frank had borrowed the spare tyre for a weekend and hadn't returned it for two and a half years. In fact he seemed to be far more impressed that the Castle Lager still tasted good after spending nearly three years in the station wagon. My father held out the beer can like it was the Cullinan Diamond and said, 'The taste that stood the test of time.' He then grabbed two six packs, returned to the driver's seat, and switched on the Carpenters again.

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13h45 Dad drained his beer and crushed the empty can on his forehead (a skill he has perfected since New Year's Eve, when the same stunt ended with Mom rushing him to Addington Hospital for stitches). My father burped loudly, shouted, 'Gesundheid!' and immediately cracked open another beer. In a voice that could have grilled a steak, Mom instructed Dad to put his beer down and find help. Dad clearly wasn't picking up Mom's mood because he spread his arms out and said, 'We must trust and believe that help will fund us.'

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Mom then said that the only thing that would find Dad were divorce papers.

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Dad shook his head and grumbled to himself. He then grabbed a six pack and started striding up the emergency lane of the freeway. Mom jumped out the car and ordered my father to leave the beers behind because she said they make him look like a Cape coloured. (This wasn't helped by the fact that Dad had been using Instant Tan over Christmas instead of sun block.)

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Dad returned to the car and offered Mom fifty bucks to go and find help. Mom was appalled that Dad thought so little of her that he would bribe her in an emergency. After more shouting and some serious haggling, a bribe of sixty-three bucks was agreed on.

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Mom strode out into the truck lane of the freeway, waving her arms above her head, and soon managed to flag down a PPC cement truck. After some lengthy discussions she drove off in the truck with a sweaty man in a white string vest called Larry. Dad looked at me, shook his head and muttered, 'Women.' He drained his Castle and began singing sadly along to We've Only Just Begin.

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I opened my new shiny red diary.

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Year................1991

Name..............Spud

Comments......The Madness Continues...

Bling n other things

I must admit I'm a little surprised that none of you chose the Holiday to Dundee option! (Myself included!) Wotsup with that? haha. Alright then. Here are the results of the poll, to date:-

• 33% would pay off debt (borrrrring!)
• 22% would buy a new house
• 22% would get new boobs and a makeover
• 11% would go on holiday
• 11% would donate it all to charity. Really? Seriously - you would not use a single penny of it and donate it all to charity?

Wow. That's an eye-opener. That tells me a lot about the people who read my blog. According to the poll, most of you are in debt to your eyebrows, dissatisfied with your current living arrangements, have body dismorphic disorder, are overworked and in need of a holiday. The rest are so generous they'd give it all away. haha! You voted, not me! Ok, I did vote too. I couldn't resist. Any guesses what I voted?

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So, anyway, it's Friday, and not a day too soon too. What a tough week this has been. And I can really say without hesitation that I am looking forward to a nice quiet, relaxing weekend. Robin is preaching this weekend. It never ceases to amaze us that whenever he has a preaching appointment, Satan tries his very best to ruin Robin's preparation week! Every single time. That just goes to show that that wily old serpent really has it in for God's Word. And is waging war against the preaching of it, wherever possible. Well, we will not be deterred. It is even more important to be faithful in the rough times than when it's plain sailing, I think. So, we'll keep going, asking God for His leading in every decision we take and His blessing over us as we try to serve Him.

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I hope you guys all have a fab weekend. Take it easy! That's what I'll be doing.
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Oh yes, almost forgot. I don't mind admitting that I'm a bit frivolous. And just LOVE girly things. And what with one of my Love Languages being "gifts galore", I have a semi-serious problem with eBay. I tend to want to buy myself things when I'm feeling down. Mmm... They say the first step towards overcoming an addiction is admitting that you have one. That being the case, let me introduce myself. Hello everybody. My name is Char and I am an addict. I have been clean for three months. Self-congratulatory pat on back imminent. However, I just received something I ordered on eBay last night, and am having serious withdrawal symptoms. I hear eBay calling my name! It has taken every ounce of self-discipline to avoid logging onto my eBay account and perusing their offerings today. It's a whole lot easier though, seeing as I'm flat broke. Makes it easier to "just say no" and all of that. Anyway, thought I'd show you my fab new fossil watch! Luvvit luvvit luvvit!

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My previous watch was also a fossil. Believe it or not, I'm really not a brands junkie. I'm just all for bargains, which was really the determining factor in these purchases. They were about R1000 cheaper on eBay than in our local mall. Which just goes to show that either I bought cheap knock-offs (which I seriously doubt, seeing as they came with all of their pedigree papers, guarantees, original collectors tin, etc. etc.) OR the blighters selling the fossils in South Africa are all a bunch of thieves. Probably the latter. This being Africa, after all. Where was I? Oh yes - my previous watch. It had shoes on it. Lots of shoes. Hello, everybody. My name is Char and I am an addict.

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So, anyway. Here's to a fab weekend, flashy bling, rehab centres and winning the lotto. Hope you have a great one!

Quizzy Lizzy

So, if you were given one million smackaroos (dollars, pounds, ozzie dollars, rands, whatever...) and you could do A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G you wanted to with it... what would you do?
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What would you do with your dosh?

	Pay off debt
	Go on holiday to Europe and Australia
	Europe & Australia? No Way! Dundee? Yes please!
	Buy a new house
	Get a boob job and a makeover
	Donate it all to charity

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Shoes, shoes, shoes

I had a bit of a problem getting dressed this morning. I just could not decide what I wanted to wear. Usually I choose my shoes first, then a shirt to match. My standard attire for work daily is denims with a girly shirt and boring sensible shoes. Sensible because we're always plodding around on dirty sites, and I've ruined one too many pairs of to-die-for dainty shoes. But this morning, I so did not want to wear boring clod-hoppers. I was in a hooray-for-shoe-designers mood. (Cue the Legally Blonde soundtrack...) Hence the farting around in my dressing room when I should have already been at work indecision.
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Who can blame me when there are such FABULOUS shoes to choose from?
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And since you're wondering, I chose a sensible boring pair after all. It's all about responsibility and all of that grown-uppy stuff. Sigh!

Sum Ting Fun Nee

Remember this post? Well, my friend Tony just sent me a link to SUCH a FUNNY site. Go and see. Really! You won't be sorry. Too funny. Talk about Lost in Translation!

Painting pictures

One of the blogs I read everyday is Moments amid Messes. Amberley (the author) and I got chatting just yesterday and I mentioned to her how much I love to paint... And to paint just about anything on just about anything. So I thought I'd share some murals Robin and I painted in the children's rooms at church. Not that I'm bragging or anything. OK, maybe just a little. snigger snigger!

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(In case it's not evident, it was a Noah's Ark mural!)