Thirteen Words

They warned us about the second week. How it would be harder. How the excitement and novelty of everything would begin to wear off, and reality begin to set in. We were waiting for a wobble - that didn’t come. Not from Zac, anyway. It seems he didn’t get that second week memo. In fact, if anything, he has become more independent. Even this week’s email was only a single sentence of, “Hope you’re having a good day,” followed by another so closely thereafter that I couldn’t even send my reply off in time that read “It’s going well. Need to go. Bye!"

Still we are navigating the space between getting on with things, and holding onto things. We are settling into a new normal at home, grateful to be doing better than we imagined, but still acutely aware that we - or Zac - could feel differently at any time. I realise that, more and more, we will start to see the gap Zac’s absence leaves - like in church today when he wasn’t there singing. This week was hard for reasons far removed from Zac, but I missed him more. And I missed him most when, in an anxiety-induced tirade brought on by too many work demands and too little sleep, he was not there to come to me with a quiet hug and say, “it’s ok, Mom”.

It is both exciting and excruciating to consider my boy already becoming a young man. If you can break habits and form lifestyles in 21 days, how much more can a child change? I guess we’ll find out on the weekend - assuming of course that he can muster more than thirteen words. 

One Week

It's been a week since we said goodbye to Zac.

It was raining and moody last Sunday - quite uncharacteristically so, even for KZN - and it was kind of fitting. I’m awkward with goodbyes - unnecessarily stoic and appropriate. Andel is more open and spontaneous. Zac was unmoved - in a good way. I don’t think I could adequately explain or describe how, the one day Zac was this nine-year old boy from Cape Town, barefoot in shorts and little else, full of energy from being cramped up in a car for two days, and acting like a literal monkey. And then the next day he was the picture of maturity and independence, dressed in his Number Ones. A proper Drakie.

 The week since has been long and short at the same time. There’ve been a couple times in our life together that Andel and I have made the mistake of working the day of departure and returning to work 12hrs after arrival. This was another one of those times. Exhaustion has nothing on the levels of fatigue I’m feeling right now! But here we are: one week into the three weeks we aren’t allowed to phone each other, and Zac, Andel and I are fine, actually. Many people, all well-meaning, have checked in on us, and it’s been surprising for them just how fine we are. I put it down to these two things: firstly, we are now absolutely convinced that this is God’s plan for Zac’s life. We did not pursue it, we did not have to struggle for it all to work out, and we have had supernatural peace. Also, and perhaps this follows on from the first point, we have never seen Zac as happy and comfortable as he is at his new school. It’s hard as parents to be sad when our child is so, so happy. 

It takes some adjustment all the same though, and the two younger kids are still getting to grips with that. They don’t have the benefit of parental love and sacrifice. Sam misses Zac when he feels he has no one to play with, or when he wants someone to show or tell him something new that he can learn. Bayley misses Zac’s energy and quick wit, and how he lets her get away with things he shouldn’t. But they are both doing so well. Even with changing schools, they have amazed us with their resilience and confidence. I look forward to see them bloom now that they both have a little more room. 

We miss being a family of five, but we are not heartsore. Right now, we are enjoying not being outnumbered, and having the bread last more than two days. Let’s see if it’s still the same next week.

Sleep in Heavenly Peace

To say that I am tired is a grave understatement. I am not simply knackered; I am broken. My eyes are on fire, and I can feel my nasal bridge vibrating to the sound of the lawnmower cutting the grass outside my office window.

It started Sunday night, and I figured it was my fault. I returned to work yesterday, and I am not a Monday person. In fact, my Monday blues often begin around noon on Sunday already. On a Sunday afternoon you will find me at home, physically getting things ready, and mentally preparing myself for the week ahead. I'll seek some kind of temporary comfort (usually in food), and go to bed early. This weekend though, we we busy Saturday afternoon, had a church farewell on Sunday for lunch which ran unto tea time, and then a family birthday tea which we ended up leaving at 22h00. I was actually quite proud of myself (because I do recognise that my family prefers the holiday version of me anyway). 

When I got into bed at 23h00, I was already tired, so I expected to fall asleep easily. I didn’t. In fact, I tossed and turned for an hour before finally drifting off. It was short-lived though. Cape Town has had a pretty mild summer so far; the weather only really got hot on Saturday - and it was still there Sunday night. It was so uncomfortable that Andel actually got up at 02h00 to get something to drink and open the sliding door in our bedroom. That, and the mosquitoes the open door invited in, was all it took for me to rouse, and despite my desperate attempts to go back to sleep, I only got about an hour’s sleep before getting up for work.

Last night I was determined to go to sleep a little earlier, and I did - even after more goodbyes - only to be woken at 02h00 again. There was less heat, no open doors or visiting mosquitoes, and yet I still lay there awake. I eventually just got up at 04h30 - but not before realising something significant. You see, sometimes we may think or believe something, and we are so convincing, even to ourselves, that we don’t recognise all the signs pointing to the contrary. 

I have been pretty stoic the last while regarding Zac’s departure. I’ve resumed my juggling act of being employed, espoused, and endowed with children - but really, my sleepless nights are reminding me of the change in season that is, now, 2 days away. As I considered this, in the middle of the night, I went before the Lord - not because I was sad or worried, but because I wanted to hear from Him. He did not disappoint. As I picked up my phone to check the time, my social media was open, and on my screen read a post from someone I don’t even know personally:

God knows, man. Even the things we may not yet know, He knows, and He is there working all things out for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose. 

Pause - January 2022

 I recently had a little time on my hands (wink, wink), so I thought I’d get everyone back up to speed.

I’m thinking about... how divisive this pandemic is, generally. I don’t want to get into it except to say that there is enough pain, disappointment, and confusion without people disrespecting and disregarding each other. Agree to disagree. Be kind. And the church - use the opportunity to direct the world to living Hope who doesn’t change, regardless of which side of the arguments you stand.

I’m watching… cricket. Living in South Africa (maybe a couple other countries share this), cricket is almost synonymous with the festive season. I have these vivid memories of hot summer days, left over Christmas or New Years Day dessert, and the hum of commentary in the background. It’s just a pity that no spectators are allowed - and that the Proteas are playing so poorly. 

Aspiring Protea in an Indian shirt

I’m listening to… choral music, naturally. Not only have we been getting into the Drakensberg Boys Choir, I have thoroughly enjoyed listening to the One Voice Children’s Choir. I first heard them during lockdown doing a cover of Memories by Maroon 5, and then recently watched them perform What Child is This? on The Chosen: Christmas Special. 

I’m loving… tidal pool dipping. We are pretty fortunate to have a number of really picturesque and safe tidal pools to swim in. Tarrin, who dips almost daily in Ireland (yes, that cold country) has been trying to get me to do these dips more regularly, and when she was here in November we had a great early morning dip with the family. I since done two more - which isn’t much, but it’s a start considering it’s been bloody cold both times.

Miller's Point Tidal Pool

I’m busy… labelling everything. All three kids have changed schools, and the amount of stuff each one of them has that needs to be labelled is insane. I actually have a hole in my middle finger where the sewing needle has pierced it a couple times. I look forward to a time where my kids are older, more responsible, and less likely to lose items - or can label them themselves!

I’m going to… graduate soon. I mean, I hope so. I finished my Masters in September last year, and am eagerly awaiting my results. When I finished my teaching qualification, I was not invited to the graduation ceremony. They said something about it being a part time, correspondence degree. Anyway, considering the blood, sweat and tears, I do hope to at least have a Zoom photo or something this time around.  

I’m battling with… having to go back to work. On top of the usual anxiety I experience around it, I don’t really feel like I’m had any time for rest and relaxation, and I’m still tired. I also wonder if I’m over this season. I realise that I crave more flexibility to be involved with the kids while they are young, and to have remote working options while Zac is away. If 2021 taught me anything, it’s not to plan too far ahead, so who knows what may become still. 

I’m resolving to… erect healthy boundaries. I need to protect my time, my privacy, and my mental and emotional health. If I commit to do the best I can with what I have, then I don’t have to feel guilty about saying no to anything more than that, or worry about people’s (often unrealistic) expectations. It’s going to take some work, I know, but I have some good people in my corner who are going to hold me to it. 

Single Digits

 A bit of a blur. 

That’s how I’d describe the last few weeks. I blame it partly on the multiple, daily Covid-induced naps, partly on the hustle and bustle of the silly season, and mostly on the endless list of things to do for everyone heading into this year. Significantly, this blur has brought us within single digits of Zac’s departure. 

Surprisingly, after my wobble at the 6-week mark, I have actually been ok. No emotional outbursts, leaking eyes, or existential crises (yet). In fact, as I have sat sewing labels onto every item of Zac’s clothes (100 and counting), I have become increasingly excited at this opportunity for him. Even with him being ill, I was relieved to have had it happen here, at home. Rationally knowing that nothing could or would have been done differently means nothing to a control-freak mom like me. God, in His mercy, has allowed me to already have experienced my “worst” health fears for Zac, and I’m grateful for it. 

With a week left at home, Zac remains steadfast in his commitment and anticipation to leave. But I have seen him realise just how different it will be. He was vocal in his dislike of isolation, and had to adjust to being separated from Sam (with whom he has shared a room for two thirds of his life). I have also noticed him persevere in patience and gentleness with Bayley, and cuddle a little closer and longer with Andel and me. There is no doubt this is going to change his life - and rattle his cage - but he is unafraid, and I am so proud of him for that. 

Despite our best attempts to keep the next week simple, I suspect the haze we are in will remain as we do all the goodbyes, and extend beyond that into our 3000km road trip. And let’s not forget about the emotional cataclysm I’m expecting sometime thereafter. Nevertheless, we continue to take one day at a time; powered by the Peace that passes all understanding.