Jess's sister

A few of you might remember that I caught a bit of a speed wobble a little while back, when I found out that Jesse-Lee's birthmom was preggarooski again.  The rest of you must have been visiting the moon that day.  

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The news shoved me from my peaceful pedestal into the depths of the deepest, darkest, horriblest (yes, that must be a real word!) place. For a while.  Until some of our bestest buddies spoke a few holes into our heads and convinced us to move on.  Which I did.  In principle.  In practise, I've been secretly hoping that everything would go horribly wrong for the two birthparents and that they would BEG us to take their latest offering.  Thereby completing our family of four.  And making me the happiest person on the planet.

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But that would make me a terrible person.  So I've been keeping that loathsome bit of information to myself.  Because, you know, I'm all about image.  

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Anyhoo.  This morning Robin received a phonecall from none other than the birthdad himself, happily informing us that Jesse-Lee's sister, Vickayla, was born two days ago.  The 28th of April.  And that things are going really well.  Apart from the fact that birthmom is having some difficulty with the boobjuice, and general unhappiness at the state of the hospital she was forced to use.

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I wish I could tell you that we are happy to hear that they are happy.  But really, it's hard not to wish a colicky baby on them to put aside our feelings and just be fiddledeedee about it.  When we know that Jesse-Lee's own sister will be living in squalor, in an environment where swearing and substance abuse and fighting are the order of the day...  

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I'm just soooo grateful that we have little Jess.  Without her, this would be so much harder to deal with!  

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In the meantime I'll have to keep asking God for forgiveness that I'm such a bitter old sourcrout.  And ask God to bless little Vickayla and keep her safe in the midst of the situation she's in.  After all, she IS Jesse-Lee's sister. 

Food IS LEKKER after all!

We've been trying to convince Jess that food is really lekker, for about the past fifty-two years six months.  Give or take a few days' strike in between to recoup.  It has been a battle of epic proportions, folks.  

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Never underestimate the power of an eleven-month-old.  Or a five-month-old.  Because that's about when we started trying to feed the iron-jawed monster.  The girl has staying power, I'll give her that much.  

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I just could NOT understand why she just REFUSED to eat.  I mean - hello!  Food!  Show me a hillbilly who can say no to some good home-cooked chow and I'll show you a dinosaur egg.  

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I know!  Exactly.

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And then, about a month ago we were calmly sitting in the "parents with babies" isle at church (the seats nearest the escape door) so that if she gets a bit niggledy we can just pop out the back door without, disrupting the whole service.  So, one of our friends' children (who shall remain anonymous, but for the sake of this post, let's call him Coenie) came and sat at the back with us.  With that a handful of other kids followed him and we had a bit of a party at the back.  Coenie's mom always packs him a "snack pack" for church which always includes either sliced biltong*, or dry wors*.  That particular weekend it was dried wors.  So, he shared with all the kids, handing each one about half a stick of dry wors.  And he gave Robin a piece too.  (Robin being a kid too, you know.)  Jess was sitting on the floor with all of them.  She looks at the dry wors, looks at Coenie, looks at each kid in the circle, notices that she's the ONLY one (besides her mom, but since when do moms count?) that doesn't have a stick of wors.  No problem for her - she scoots over to Coenie's tupperware and helps herself to not one, but TWO sticks of wors!!!  And so the little vegan became a carnivor in the space of one sermon!  haha.  Heretofore she had only ever experienced SOYA, nogal.  Needless to say, she LOVES dry wors.  So much so that we've had to buy her her own private stash!!!   This week has seen her make HUGE progress in the eating department. It's still sporadic, with the occasional temper tantrum (Lord have mercy!) and hissy fit at the sight of a spoon, but we give her sliced apple, whole banana, marie bisuits, boiled egg, DRY WORS!, slices of cheese and pretty much anything that she can feed herself.  If it comes on a spoon, not interested.  If she can snatch it out of your hand, WINNER!  

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Just the other day I was sitting on my father-in-law's lazyboy in their lounge with Jess on my lap.  I absentmindedly opened a marshmallow easter egg and took a nibble of it.  Next minute, boy oh boy, Jess snatched it RIGHT OUT OF MY HANDS and stuffed it into her mouth!  Needless to say, I snatched it right back (because I'm grown-up that way!), ran into the kitchen, split a banana and pretended to be eating that.  She quickly helped herself to "my" banana and appeared quite happy for the swap.  hehe.  

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My new nickname is Speedy Conzales.

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And so, the battle to feed the banana booger continues.  I'm pleased to report, though, that as long as she can feed herself now, she will pretty much try it.  Which I would call a victory.  And as long as I don't need to keep eating Jess's leftovers, it might be a slim victory too!

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*biltong = South African for something like beef jerkey, which can be made from almost any meat

*dry wors = dried out, raw, salty sausage.  Also a South African favourite

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Things that make my heart pump lumpy custard

Noodle Muncher

Jess earns her Hillbilly Badge...

...just call her Dirty Scoundrel!

P.S.  Sorry been so scarce.  I'm enjoying having my mom here SOOO much that I haven't even had two minutes to scratch my bum  nose, leave alone think about blogging!  Gosh, I've really been slack, haven't I?

Bliss

(you can see this pic bigger in a new screen if you click on it...)

Just quickly checking in from my cellphone to let you know that we had a massive storm here at the Hillbilly Dump, and my office leaked and killed my internet. Fun fun fun.

Want to wish you all a wonderful Easter weekend! May it be filled with all things chocolate Easterish. Remember our Saviour this weekend ok! After all, that's what Easter is all about, isn't it? And if chocolate aids you in contemplating Him, then lawaai marai! My mom arrives tomorrow for three weeks! Ok, could anything possibly be better that that??? Chocolate AND my Marmeeeee!!! Didn't think so. Love all you loonies out there. Happy Easter! Chat again soon, hopefully.

You know you're a hillbilly when...

... you have to shave your legs because you're going to the doctor.

Correction. You know you're a hillbilly when you wouldn't really shave if you knew he wouldn't have to actually look at your legs.

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I'm just saying.
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But, this time round, I was actually going to Doc because I suspected I had broken my foot in my haste to reach the bathroom. Because I always leave it to the last minute, then spend the last few steps to the ladies room doing a hoppity skippity doo-daa dance.

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This particular trip to the bathroom was more of a trip than a skip.

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And ended with the sound of crunching bones and much wailing.

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Never let it be said that I'm a hyperchondriac, people. I went three and a half weeks, hobbling around the house with my right foot bandaged and smelling of Wicks Bubblegum, mumbling to myself on account of a few handfulls of painkillers daily. And then I happened to connect with a hole in the driveway on the same day I stopped wearing my bandage.

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Which is never good if you're hoping to hit the malls.
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Only then did I decide it was time to see Doc.

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Off I dash to the bathroom to quickly shave my legs and de-grit my toenails. You know. So that the doc won't actually know I'm a hillbilly. Robin shouts a question or two through the bathroom door while I'm shaving that tricky bit around my ankle, and I kinda lose track of where I'm at. Rinse rinse. Rub some lotion into the dry-shaved leg, so I won't look like a CROCODILE in addition to being a hillbilly. And off we go.

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When we arrived at the doc's and I told him my sad tale of toe woe, he immediately ordered me up onto the bed to inspect my foot. But, alas, doc didn't only want to see my injured foot... He rolled up BOTH denims to around my knees and compared the two.

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Between his surprise at the difference between a very red, itchy, dry-shaved-and-therefore-rashy looking leg and a very white very hairy leg and his attempt to conceal his laughter, it was kind of hard to make out his diagnosis. Here and there I heard the words "Xray" and "immediately" and "painkillers". He didn't have to tell me twice. We were in the radiology department before he could say Pietpompies!

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Lessons I learnt from the experience:-

1. Never shave only ONE leg.
2. But if you are forced into shaving only one, then don't DRY shave the leg.
3. And definitely don't put cream onto the leg immediately afterwards, unless red, itchy and spotty is the look you're going for.
4. Never get excited at the Xray technician's diagnosis of "oh, there was definitely a crack there a few weeks ago, but I can see it's healed a bit already" and get all huffity puffity and say under your breath loudly enough to ensure hubby hears it that "I KNEW IT! and I told you so! but you all think I'm always exaggerating!"... until the REAL doctor gets a look at the xrays and tells you "there was never a crack there in the first place and you shouldn't listen to a TECHNICIAN's diagnosis seeing as he isn't a real doctor and all." Unless you enjoy lunching on Humble Pie. For a few days. While still nursing a bruised ego foot.