For My Babies

For the third time in my relatively short six-year motherhood life, I find myself at the end of my maternity leave, not quite ready to go back to work tomorrow.

Maternity leave was quite different with each of you. With Zac is was  a wet and miserable winter (probably the last time it really rained in Cape Town) that had me feeling rather lonely and somewhat overwhelmed by the daunting responsibility of having my own little human to raise. With Sam it coincided with an extended visit from overseas family that brought constant companionship and support for us as we adjusted. With Bayley it has consisted, in part, of a nearly six-week school holiday with everyone (including Zac needing stitches and getting mumps, and Sam starting school), and has been somewhat overshadowed by our desperate attempts to save water in this the third year of a devastating drought.

Despite the fact that I returned to work at different times with all of you (ranging between 12 and 18 weeks), one thing about it is the same: it felt too soon.

I have felt no shame admitting to - and even posting about - being a working mom. I have said, and maintain, that I am not one who can be completely absorbed with and into my children all day. I'm not the stay-at-home-mom type, and actually am a better mother for the fact that I am able to be stimulated and productive somewhere else for part of my day. I have mastered the art of working smart, cramming hours of productivity into fewer hours of my day, so that I can experience the joy of undivided attention we can give each other when I get home. Still, tonight, it doesn't feel like enough.

Truthfully, I'm not sure it will ever feel like enough.

Something about the last few years has changed me, and I'm willing to bet it's you three. You've each chipped away at the standards that I have held myself to, and the expectations of success I have defined myself by, exposing layers of my identity that have revealed that being a mom is not just what I am; it's who I am. And there is a growing part of me that wishes I had more time to spend exclusively taking in each one's distinctive scent, venerating the uniqueness of your personalities, and holding you all close.

Chances are, there probably won't be tears (from me) tomorrow - not in public, anyway. Rightly or wrongly, I place far too much pride in my professionalism to have that happen. But my heart will ache with each goodbye, and break a bit as I part with you, Bayley, for the first time. 

It will take some getting used to for me, once again, but I'm hopeful. Because of all the titles I could have, being a good mom - your mom - is, by far, my most precious.

I love you so, my Zac-a-roo, Sammy-Spoon and sweet Bayley-Bug x

Battling the Blend between Baby and Boy

What a month this has turned out to be. A new year, eight birthdays including a 21st, 30th, 40th and 50th (I kid you not), a kid in Grade 1, end of maternity leave for me... And despite a desperately depleted bank account, the madness of the new year, and a fresh wave of back-to-work blues, the most difficult by far has been Sam.

Actually, it's not Sam who has been difficult. Sure, after the first morning of unbridled excitement and eagerness to get to school, there were tears pretty much every day the following week, but that's expected, isn't it? In truth, it's the blurred line between Baby and Boy that gets me. Here is my two - nearly three - year old, who is outgoing and friendly, and a big brother already, but he is also still nursing and going to school for the very first time, without his brother or cousins along for the ride. And I'm not sure I know how to manage this well.

Biologically, chronologically and physiologically, I understand the difference between a newborn, an infant, a baby and a toddler. But I can't be the only one struggling to find the emotional and developmental distinction? In fact, not long after starting at the new creche, I was sort of mom-shamed for nursing Sam. I don't know if it was more shock at the fact that I still nurse him, or awkwardness by the fact that I don't have a problem nursing in public. Either way, I battled with all I was feeling.

Increasingly I find myself in the grey area not knowing when to tend and when to tough-love; when to linger and when to leave, and wondering why it isn't possible to sometimes just do both. I want to hold onto this baby with his blankey and his beebee, and yet, this same boy is wearing an underpants all day, and saying words like "either"and "both"in the correct context!

In an attempt to cut us both some slack, here are some of my intentions right now, adapted from something my sister sent to encourage me:

- I'm going to love my child the best way I can. Sometimes it will involve comfort and cuddles; other times it will require rules and restrictions.

- I'm going to teach and train my child, in his own time, to develop his own unique qualities and skills.

- I'm going to nurture my child so that he knows he is accepted and supported for who he is, and not what he can do.

This is what I'm going to focus on. This, and being present, because before I know it, I'll just blink and my Baby will be all Big Boy. There is beauty and blessing of this in the blur, and I don't want to miss it.

Calamities and Cabin Fever

Anyone who has spent any kind of holiday period with kids - even more so with their own - would know the very real sense of Cabin Fever that kicks even after just a few hours of being at home. This is often magnified in extreme weather (when it's either too hot or too cold to be out), and when the holiday funds have dried up. There is one other time this may also be a problem: illness. Now put them all together: holiday + sweltering heat + limited funds + illness. That was our holiday.

A week before Christmas, on Andel's first day of holiday - something I had been waiting a while for (can you tell that I'm a working mom, completely unfamiliar and uncomfortable being at home with three kids under six?) - we took Zac to his swimming lesson. Everyone was happy: not only were we there in numbers and starting our relaxing family time together, it was also Sam's first lesson, and he was super excited! Apparently so was Zac, because he did something completely out of character: he jumped into the water and simultaneously turned toward Sam, and hit his chin on something in the pool, cutting it open.

A pretty big gash considering Zac wasn't even aware of it

Long story short: Zac needed six sutures in his chin, administered by the closest GP under local anaesthetic. To say that he was brave is an understatement. Just this past August he was admitted to hospital with respiratory issues, and squirmed and screamed the ward down when having his drip inserted. Still, this boy, lay perfectly still and without tears throughout being stitched up. He even had the sense of humour to ask me to film it - which I did.

My brave boy

Getting stitched up like a boss!

Of course the downside was not being able to get into the pool. During the holiday. In the blistering heat. While Sam was doing his thing in the water like a champ. We resorted to all kinds of alternative activities for Zac to do during these times, and he happily enough counted down the sleeps to when he could swim.

Happy in spite of it all

Then after Christmas, a day before he could take his stitches out, he woke up with a swollen face. He had woken during the night, rather unusually, screaming in pain. I thought perhaps he had earache, gave him some meds, and prepared myself for the inconvenience of a ear infection diagnosis. Except it wasn't an ear infection. It was worse. It was mumps!

Waking up with a swollen neck

Looking just a little rounder

Back into quarantine we went - and stayed until the end of Andel's leave. Fortunately (although is there really such a thing under these circumstances?) some of Zac's cousins who coincidentally had caught the mumps virus earlier in the year, considered themselves low enough risk to still hang out with us - even if it was in relative isolation.

Interestingly, eight years ago, at the same time, I was the only home with cabin fever and mumps...
At least I can send him back to school this week!

Sammy Goes To School

This morning we sent our baby boy to school.

Actually, he's not really a baby as such. He's two - nearly three, in fact. Still, he's the little boy, and because he been home or at his Yaya's house all his life so far, it's a big deal.

I'm not quite sure how Sam got the good fortune of not having to go to school for so long when Zac was sent to formal daycare (albeit with his Yaya) at 13 weeks. Somehow as things changed with Yaya changing jobs, and Papu retiring, Sam's situation stayed more-or-less the same, and he just woke every day and head to Newmans. While I know he loved it - in particular: playing with Adrienne, and accompanying Papu to Pick 'n Pay - with him due to start Nursery next year, we thought it was time to introduce him to school.

We found a place at the end of last year, and took him for a short visit there before they closed for the holidays. As a result, he spent a good portion of the last few weeks talking about his "new school (with the bikes)". Even last night he was still super excited to go. Truthfully though, I wondered whether he'd still feel the same way today.

He slept until 07h00 this morning - later than he'll need to going forward - and woke happy, as he always does. He greeted me with a huge grin and said, "Mommy, I going to school today". So he merrily got dressed, brushed his teeth, packed his bag and put on his peak cap. I looked at him for a while, in disbelief that I am, actually, sending a second child to school, and that he is no longer my baby. And I felt a little bad because he's gone through a lot of change and growing up the last three months. He must have sensed this, because he looked at me and confidently declared, "Mommy, it's going to be awesome!".

On our way to school

We took a family trip to school this morning. We all went in. We all watched him eat breakfast. And we all lingered for a bit. We were probably all waiting for the tears too, which threatened for us all when Sam asked, "Can Zac-i stay with me?". But then all it took was a little tour of his classroom - and the little toilets he can use - and he was ready and rearing to go. He gave me a huge hug and a kiss, whispered, "I love you" into my ear, and went off with his teacher.

Skater-boy Sam, ready to roll

Sammy Spoon, I am so proud of you. You are growing up so fast, and so beautifully, and with so much grace for all the changes we've enforced on you lately. I know you're going to love being in this environment where you can learn and play and find out more about who you are. And you're right, my boy, it is going to awesome!

A Special Klaasen Christmas

Christmas in London

I'm not sure what it is. Perhaps is the markets full of treats and mulled wine. Maybe it's all the bright lights and festive decorations. It could be the snow and the fact that the sun goes down at 15h30 so you can snuggle up in front of the fire with something/someone warm. Whatever it is, Christmas is so much more Christmasy in the Northern Hemisphere. And so I struggle to get into the spirit here at home.

Christmas in Cape Town

Leading up to this past Christmas I had been thinking about  how we can make things more special for our little family without it becoming too hectic and stressful. (note I said 'special' and not 'meaningful'. I think we fully understand and appreciate the real reason for the season, I just think our lack of commercial interest can put a damper on all the other things). We usually go to Andel's parents for Christmas Eve. We trek there with a million bags and presents, do a huge, traditional family dinner, and then open gifts at midnight before collapsing into bed. We then make a rushed trip home the next day, and meet up with my family around mid-afternoon for Christmas desserts and the epic drama that is Secret Santa. As much as it is definitely fun-filled, it's easy to get lost in the busyness, and just end up going with the overwhelming flow.

This year however, we did things a little differently...

This year, for the first time in 10 years (since Andel and I have been together) we stayed home. It wasn't actually our intention, but a series of events, miscommunication and coincidental decisions resulted in us having zero plans for Christmas weekend. It was wonderfully liberating, to be honest, and meant we could let the kids set the tone for the celebrations. You see, we had never bought our kids Christmas gifts before (the jury is still out on whether we should feel proud or embarrassed by that fact), so they were not expecting anything from us. They were, however, expected a rather big something from Santa.

The boys at Postcards from Bethlehem '17

Bayley meets Santa

The kids had written a letter (which before I intervened look more like ransom demands), and were confident they'd be getting their chosen gifts from him on Christmas morning. So, we bit the bullet, bought the gifts, and leading up to the big day filled our usually sparsely decorated home with seasonal paraphernalia - and, like any good parents, continually threatened to cancel their order with Santa each time they misbehaved.

On Christmas Eve the boys were so excited, they could not go to sleep. They eventually collapsed right where they were close to 23h30 - just in time for Santa to still pop around. And he did not disappoint. He came in through the backdoor that we left unlocked (because we don't have a chimney), hurriedly consumed the milk and cookies left for him (apparent by the mess left on the counter), and left his footprints all over the kitchen and lounge.

Christmas Eve story-time with Aunty Dom

Cookies and milk for Santa

Thank heaven for small mercies. Following the late night the kids had - and even later night for us Santa - not even the magic of Christmas could wake the boys before 08h00. When they did wake, however, the were overflowing with spirit - especially when they saw that Santa had delivered on their demands - I mean, requests.

Look what Santa delivered

Happiness #1

Happiness #2

Santa Bayley

We spent the laziest morning setting the boys' bikes up, and taking turns taking them up and down the street in Andel's helmet before going to check in with Andel's Ma and ailing Pa. We had a quiet, low-key and non-traditional lunch, followed by a power-nap before catching up with our families later the afternoon. We exchanged desserts and Secret Santa, and caught up with our loved ones until late into the night. When we got home we had full bellies and full hearts. And it felt good.

Annual Christmas Family Pic (and whatsapp group icon)

The truth is: I'm terrible at these family days. I find them stressful when we are all trying to attain this unrealistic measure of perfection: perfect food, perfect decor, perfect gifts, perfect relationships. It's exhausting! As a result, I decided long ago that I would limit my kids' exposure to that chaos, and create our own Christmas traditions with far simpler celebrations. We aren't quite there yet. This Christmas was an anomaly; I'm sure we'd be expected to do what we've done previous years. Still, I'm realising that, as my family grows, our focus turns inward to our nuclear family, and we make decisions with our kids in mind, and what best suited for us to create lasting memories and experiences for them. There was something so special about waking up together on Christmas morning, just us five...

Coincidental colour-coordination on Christmas Eve

So, who knows what will happen next Christmas. Whether we'll get around to a Christmas movie, matching pyjamas, or exchanging books to read through the night - we'll have to wait and see. All I know for sure is that we're preparing for Santa on Christmas eve, and cooking Christmas lunch (as per our Family Bucket List), and, no doubt, doing our own special brand of Klaasen Christmas - wherever we may be!

Happy New Year

Some time last night, while laying awake thanks to an earlier nearly three-hour nursing nap I took with my bottle-refusing daughter (a story for another day), I got thinking about New Year Resolutions. Mostly, I was thinking about how much I suck at keeping them, and how if I really wanted to make them, I should probably at least make them realistic.

Around the same time, I saw a post on social media from a friend of mine about a Family Bucket List, and I was instantly sold on the concept. I love the idea of planning things to do with and as a family, and so, courtesy of www.childhood101.com, (and after a very long discussion at the dinner table) we put the following Family Bucket List for 2018 together.

I've shared this on this space, not only to make the resource available to others, but also so that we can be kept accountable. Please feel free to, at any time, ask us how well (or not) we're doing on this list.

Another thing not mentioned on this list, that I hope to do more diligently this year, is blog.
I know I say this each year, and then blog faithfully for only a few months, so this year I've set the bar a little lower. As much as I would like to blog more often, the reality is I have a home, a husband, two jobs, and three kids that also need my attention - more so than this space. Still, because I would like to maintain this platform as a library of memories for my kids when they are older, I have set myself the target of one blog post per week. That's 52 posts. I can do that, surely? Right? Watch this space to find out!

Happy New Year! May 2018 be everything you hope for and more!