It is Wednesday

We are at home.

There is a builder here, fixing the leaky windows, plastering the chimneys.

 

We're sort of stuck because it feels uncomfortable leaving a strange person in the house alone.

Nothing of value to steal, but the useless goods are still mine.

 

The boys fight.

Then play.

Then fight some more.

Sigh.

Here they are, the little blighters.

 

 

My dad had a wonderful day yesterday!

I even spoke to him on the phone!

I'm hoping he's on the up-and-up.

Yay!

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Read all about it

There it is.

It's true, you know.
Silence is beauty.
In abundance.
Sometimes it's better to be quiet (as we all know).
You hear things and voices you wouldn't normally hear.

Sigh.

My mom and I had a warm conversation last night.
My dad will still be in hospital for another 2 weeks, at least.
He goes up, down, up and down.
Yesterday was down again - he sleeps most of the time.
My mother misses talking to him.
She needs rest and care too.
Caring for a loved one does not originate from an endlessly deep vessel nor one that is easily replenished.

My dad has multiple tumours in his bones, it seems.
Exostosis - bony, painful protrusions.
It breaks my heart.
I miss arguing with him.
And the friction is in our similarity,  not our differences.
I love him so.

I get called by friends who care and friends who don't care.
I'd rather the ones-who-don't-care not call anymore.
When there is a crisis, one sometimes has perfect vision.
And in this crisis, my vision of who and what is significant in my life, is crystal clear.
Rather kindly let go of those that aren't willing to listen to my despair as I am to theirs.

But.
Too much seriousness for this Tuesday morning.
On to, what I hope will be, a good day.
Love you Mom, love you Dad.


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Cleeeeeeeean

Praise our lucky stars, the cleaning lady is back.
She stopped working for 6 whole weeks because of an operation.
This morning, Son#1, #2 and I returned to a clean house.
Vacuumed.
Dusted.
We are grateful.

This morning, the boys bought toys with the money that was burning their respective wallet and piggy bank.
Oh well.
Now they have no money left.
Have to start saving all over again.
The toys are already on non-operation.
Sigh.

It's a quiet afternoon at home.
Son#1 and #2 are watching TV and playing on the gameboy.

I'm going to go for a run on the treadmill.
Start studying a wee bit.
Then we pick up Son#3 at 17h00.
Phone my parents (and my dad, just so you know, is doing fabulously - stayed awake for 5 hours watching cricket matches yesterday!)

Early to bed, early to rise.
Tomorrow we hit Rotterdam with a friend and her kids.
Calm and peaceful.
We're NOT thinking about work which starts again in 2 weeks' time.
Sigh.

 
 
 

Jungle

It was a tough night.

Mainly because of too much imbibing in spirits and late hours.

But it was good to talk to our Friend-From-Slovenia and his French-speaking Son.

This morning, the husband let me sleep late.

We had breakfast with our dazed heads and 4 talkative boys.

I'm trying to reach my mother to find out how my dad is doing.

Then, we'll jumble the kiddies in the car and drive to a nearby park.

This afternoon, chapter 2 of entertainment:  The in/out-laws are coming to town.

Sigh.

I just want to go back to bed.

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8

When you're 8 and you know it, clap your hands.

Son#1 is 8.

It's far closer to 10 than 7 was, and it feels odd to have a kid that's 8 years old.

I know I said this last year as well, but still.

This will probably feel odd for the rest of my life.

His Lordship got another pair of Playmobil Aliens/Spacemen, and a wallet.  

When you're 8, you need a wallet.

The husband is hanging curtains in the guest apartment as I write.

I'm cleaning the rest of our house, before moving on to the guest quarters (falala).

 Luckily the Friend-From-Slovenia is only coming at 14h00.

Another 4 hours to whip the house into shape.

Meanwhile, my dad was running a fever last night.

He seemed a bit confused last night, asking where I was.

I think it's his potassium-levels that are too low.

We'll know today, hopefully.

We worry.

We continue to worry.

But.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Shenanigans.

xxx

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C'est Le Weekend: Back to the Way it Was

I understand this sign.

I understand it, because I would also like to turn things around, back to the way it was before my dad got sick or Son#2 had that cyst in his brain and before immigration to the Nether Lands.
Sigh.
Oh well.

It's overcast this morning, but that's super after all this thick heat that spread like a down comforter over the country.
I'm hoping for rain today.
Will do the garden some good as well.

I've been postponing and postponing a good clean-up of the house and today is D-day.
I can think of better things to do.
One is going back to bed and reading all day.
Another is to drive to Antwerp and walk along the river, then coffee, lunch somewhere and Belgian Beer.
Mmmmmmmm.
Dreaming about it, almost makes it feel real.

I'm phoning my mother later.
That nitwit hematologist My father's hematologist still hasn't been to see him.
I want someone else to treat my father, thankyouverymuch.
If only I had connections to the mob.
Sigh.

We can control very little in life.
Better to go with the flow, gather as much information as one can, make a decision, and then let it go.
One has done all one could.
The buck stops somewhere.


 

 

Muggy

Another hot, muggy day in the Nether Lands.
The husband looked after the boys this morning, because I had an appointment with my work coach.
She didn't show up for the meeting.
Mmmmm.
At least I had free coffee in the waiting room, and 30 minutes of quiet reading time.
No Mini-Me interruptions.
Much needed after my horror-day yesterday.

Son#1 went to swimming lessons, and I kind of lost it in the dressing room.
It was hot in there, Son#1 refused to climb down from a cupboard so I could zip up his rain coat (strange but true - for your C-diploma in swimming, you need to wear a raincoat...), Son#2 grabbed the new Future Planet Playmobil car that we bought for #1 for his birthday, who then screamed blue murder, and then #3 bit me, hard, on the behind.
Charming.
There was another parent and quiet child in the dressing room.
It's bad when there are witnesses to one's meltdowns.

This morning, they play well together, intermittently.
But I'm grateful for small reprieves, I promise you.

 
My dad is in hospital still, and will be for the foreseeable future.
He's lost quite a bit of muscle tone from being immobile for the past 10 days.
The physiotherapist is training his neck and back muscles so he can start sitting up again.

Another man is sharing his room now - one who had a brain tumour, had it removed, and is now quite confused.
He had animated conversations with my mother, who played along.
My poor dad - when he wakes up, he might think that he's ended up in the mad house.

My mother secretly gave him rehydration sachets to boost his electrolytes (which were all too low).
The difference is dramatic.
Within 10 minutes, my dad was lucid, wide-eyed, and calm.
Amazing.

Trust your instincts.
 
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Life

My dad is out of the Intensive Care Unit.
Last night, he ran a bit of a fever.
He sleeps a lot still, and has terrible, terrible pain.
Wish I could carry it for him, in his stead.

Yesterday, the boys, and especially me, needed something to occupy us with, get out of the house.
We went to boring-old-Ikea for a cheap breakfast, then to the Action to buy a cheap paddling pool (€2,49!) and a backpack for Son#3.

He chose the Bee Backpack himself, and is quite proud of it.
Look at them legs.

The husband started work again on Monday, and it's quite an adjustment for him after 3 weeks away.
He came home in a strange mood last night, and then went for a bike ride out in the countryside.
I think it did him good.
It's been a rude awakening to come back from a holiday in the South of France, and straight into the stress of my dad's hospitalization, and then work.

This morning, Son#3 is happily going to his new creche again (who would have thought?), and then Son#1 and #2 and I are driving to Dordrecht to buy a second-hand Playmobil Future Planet set that #1 wanted for his birthday, which is on Saturday.

I need to clean our house and the guest apartment.
We have a friend and his son coming over from Ljubljana this weekend.
But cleaning is tough when it's 33 degrees.
And when mind and heart are both in a hospital room in Africa.


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You old Tiger

 

My dad made it through the operation!

He spent the night in the Intensive Care Unit so he wouldn't get an infection in his wound.

But, as I write, he's being wheeled back to the orthopedic ward!!

Yahoooooooooooooo!

 

My poor dad must have been in such pain, his hip was riddled with holes where the cancer ate away at his bone, and he had a tumour in his hip itself.

All the holes were cemented and he got a hip replacement.

I'm relieved.

Words couldn't possibly explain nor contain the massive amount of relief that I feel.

 Go Dad, go!!

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Tonight is the Night

My dad is going for his operation tonight at 7, South Africa time.
The doctor said his blood work is as good as it's going to get.
He sleeps an awful lot.

I feel a strange detachment from all that is happening at the moment.
Isn't that odd?
Wish I were with my mother now, so I could hold her hand too, as she's scared, understandably.
Make her some tea.
Kiss my father.

Sorrow is such a universal concept, even if we live quite unaware of it.
And isn't that a marvelous thing?
But it touches all of our lives at various points in the game, and right now, I'm paralysed by it.
Numb.

Love you, you old fart.
Love you silly.

 
 

 

Tennessee Williams

Time is the longest distance between two places.

And it does feel like it, you know.
We are starting early this morning.
The new bunk beds for #1 and #2 are a bit too exciting.
I haven't slept all that much, and neither did they.

Son#3 is starting a new creche this morning.
Poor thing.

I hope my dad is strong enough for the hip operation today.
I feel a long amount of time away from my parents, not to even mention the approximate 12 000 km this chasm measures.

Just breathe.
Just for today.

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A new day

Yesterday, my mood swung down to the doldrums and then some.
I was an unwilling participant of life;  troubles and heartache too much to bear.

Luckily there is sleep.
And wine.
And a wonderful husband.
Not forgetting my mother, who told me to call her when I needed to talk to someone.
My mother is a strong woman.
My dad is a strong man.
I come from strong stock, it seems.
Strength in our genes.

This morning, the skies are blue again.
It's quiet outside, drinking coffee in the sunshine with the husband, who is reading Tintin comics and me staring off into space.
Life is small and insular at the moment, but that is how I prefer it.
It boils down to who and what really matters in my life.
I like the clarity.
Family first, thankyouverymuch.

I spoke to my dad this morning.
He whispered, but by the sounds of it, he's doing a helluvalot better than this past week.
Dehydrated, not too much pain, but better.

The husband is setting up the boys' bunk bed today.
I need to go to the Ikea to buy an underlayment for the top mattress so Son#2 won't go poking holes in the top mattress from beneath.
I need to start cleaning the house and doing the laundry.
Domesti-City, seems to be my hometown.
The husband wants to move to Cape Town.
And today, that's a fine idea.


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Last Year

My dad is (hopefully) getting his operation this morning to save his leg, get him mobile, and to avoid other complications that will develop if he isn't mobile.

I tried phoning my mother, but can't reach her.
She must still be talking to the orthopedic surgeon.

A year ago, my dad was playing soccer with the boys in the garden.
He had problems with his back, as he'd had for most of his adult life.
But when the chiropractor broke two of his ribs in early October last year, we never expected things to turn out like this.
Not multiple myeloma, cancer.
And not at 62 years old.

It's not fair, and I'm angry.

I didn't sleep.
Son#3 didn't either.
The husband lay awake as well.
We worry for my dad.
We love him so.

** UPDATE** 

My dad is not getting his hip operation today, or tomorrow for that matter - he's sort of stuck between a rock and a hard place - the operation carries significant risks in terms of infection and his current condition, and not operating and being immobile might cause lung infections or an embolism.  Deep sigh.

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And so we're back from Outer Space

And there is always the post-holiday Dip and bad news.
First, I'll pick up where I left off.

We were going to go to the Cote Vermeille, but it was Black Saturday.
We hadn't counted on that.
So we took the opposite direction of all the traffic jams (and I mean, traffic JAMS, no shorter than 40 km in 30 degree heat, families with babies standing by their cars on the highway).
Montpellier it was to be then.
And it was gorgeous.

Scale:

Lunch at the Black Cat, which was delicious, and the boys could run around on the little square:

 
Then we drove to Agde, to a small, unassuming little cottage in a holiday park.
But clean, well-equipped, and with a view of Sete.
Bonus:  It had a pool and air conditioning.
And we had Muscat (or Mushcat, after a few glasses of this divine liquid).

Mummy happy.

We went to Marseillan, which is a beautiful little town with a harbour (not Marseillan Plage, which was uuuugly).

I bought a shirt in a shop, thinking it was €42 - already a blooming fortune, but it turns out I have trouble reading French numbers - it was €72 (cough, cough, and too embarrassed to cry off).
There goes food shopping for the rest of the month.
Mmmmmmm.

And finally to Meze, on the beach, boosting our Vitamin D levels while gazing at sail boats floating past.

 

 

The long trek to Dijon on Tuesday morning, and I somehow mislaid the wires for the DVD-player in the car.
Then the charger for the games broke.
We sang songs and fought and lunched along the way.
My mother phoned to let us know that my dad is in hospital again.
His hip has broken right off, and they need to operate to get him mobile again.
His calcium levels are off the chart, his hemoglobin levels are too low.
Blood transfusions.


And now we're home again.

The house is cluttered and we left it in a mess.
But who cares.

My dad is going for an operation tomorrow morning at 11 a.m., South Africa time.
It's a gamble, and can go either way.
Tonight, I'm phoning my mom and then going for a run, to get my stress levels down and my mind on something else.

Hang in there, darling Dad, you ain't getting rid of us yet.
 

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A Friday and Then Some

Yesterday, we drove to Roquebrun.
At first it was fun.

Bopping and jiving to happy tunes in the car.

It was super hot (35 degrees) though, the husband had slept badly, the kids finally felt the heat.
Son#1 lost a bracelet he got at the Tour de France by dropping it off a cliff.  
The last photo of Son#1 and the bracelet (R.I.P.):

Sigh.
Tears.

Son#2, visibly pained from the loss of the purple bracelet:

We drank Cokes in the car, while Son#3 slept.

Roquebrun was beautiful though.
Magical.
I bought cheap Argan oil at a tiny market for my face and big hair.

When we came back to the holiday home, Son#1 and #2 had a major fight with the village boys.
Sticks were swung towards legs by the French Quarter, and the Dutch responded by force-feeding the French Quarter with water.
Son#2 took the lead in the counter-attack.
I see a future for him in the production of Foie Gras.

Late in the afternoon, we drove to Saint-Chinian for ice cream and bbq-stuff.
Short (Son#2 + tantrum), but nice.

Au revoir, Saint-Chinian.

We are thankful to be leaving here this morning.  
Not that the house is crappy, it's wonderful, but the flies were starting to get to us in a bad way.
If I say that I probably killed about 150 per day - in the house, with fly screens - then that is probably a gross underestimate.
We love Cazo, but we hate the flies here.

We'll miss the dogs, too.
I get the feeling that they are not looked after very well, and it breaks our collective heart.
Wish we could bundle them all into the car and love them. 
The husband had a huge cook-out for the dogs last night.
They ate like kings - left-over steak, salmon, pasta, sausage.
We have friends for life.

Today, we're driving to the Cote Vermeille, before we head up the coast again to Agde. 
If we're really snooty, we might cross the border to Spain to have lunch or ice creams there.
Just for the hell of it.
The husband wants to see Collioure.

On Sunday, we'd like to go to St Guilhem-les-Desert and then go to the beach in the afternoon.
Monday will be beach only, probably, and packing up.
Tuesday we're driving to Dijon again, and from there on back to the Netherlands on Wednesday.
Yup.
The party is almost over.

Meanwhile, in South Africa, my dad's left hip is possibly fractured.
He's in a helluvalotof pain.
Hang in there, daddy dearest.
That chemo is kicking the crap cancer's butt, I promise you.
We adore you!

We might not have an internet connection in Agde, so I might be quiet until Thursday.
Who knows, who knows.


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Burst of colour

 

There you have it.

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C'est Le Weekend: The walrus

Yes, dear reader.

Those are my thighs.

Next year, they will hopefully be smaller, and I will hopefully be brave enough to lift myself off of my towel and actually approach the water.

Bare my behind to the sunbathers at my rear.

At the moment (my heaviest that I've ever been, even 9 months' pregnant with Son#3!!!), I'm a devout towel-sitter.

If one of the kids should get into trouble in the water, it would be every man for himself.

That's how ashamed of my body I feel at the moment.

I'm still waiting for the burqini to become all the rage.

All that flesh, pooh, cover it up, I say.

One thing about the beach though, is that not a single, perfect body can be found.

Here and there, a teenager walks by with a to-drool-for-figure.

But no real people with kids or jobs or over the age of 15.

And all of this, makes me wonder about my alleged perfectionism.

Perhaps my boss is right, perhaps I am a perfectionist after all.

And I'm starting to agree with him to a certain extent, because the fact that I'm not one of those uber-perfect teenagers with their tight-everything and perky boobs, makes me feel like an absolute and utter failure and loser.

Frighteningly so.

Holidays are fantastic for gaining new perspectives and energy for one's life.

My new perspectives are small;  survival-oriented for the moment.

But I have more energy than when we left 2 weeks' ago.

I have the energy for new plans.

And that's fantastic. 

This Friday is our last day in Cazo.
Tomorrow we go to Agde, until Tuesday.

We're off to Roquebrun this morning, then coming back to start packing up, perhaps the beach again this afternoon.

An ice cream in Saint-Chinian.

I love Saint-Chinian.

With all my heart.

The husband is singing Julio Iglesias while cooking breakfast.
He has a pained expression on his face.
Oh dear Lord.

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A drive to Minerve

Magic.

Pure magic.

We love the beach!

Lo-ve-ly!

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Ice cream in Saint Chinian

We bargained with Satan and his Cohorts.
No fighting about who-sits-where-in-the-car, and we might go for an ice cream.
(Read:  BEER, for the discerning reader) 

It worked like a charm, which just goes to show that the kids are able to solve their own fights (with the right incentive), Son#2 is actually able to strap himself in, not his usual 'I can't do it'-whine.

Patience is all it takes.

We had breakfast outside on the terrace this morning, mistake:  Mummy is hormonal, Son#2 made a mess with the milk and the flies came for their share of breakfast too.
Never mind.

In a little while, we're going to the beach, to Vendres Plage today, and will spend the day there.
I washed my hair last night, tying it into a ponytail when I went to bed, thinking I could use my straightening iron this morning.
It broke.
The Universe has a helluva sense of humour.
I now have big hair.
I will leave it at that. 

Think I need some time alone.
Sigh.

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The Oppidum of Enserune

We didn't sleep all that much.
I could not, for the life of me, fall asleep last night, and finished an entire 300-and-something page book in one go.
Reading will be my downfall.

We decided on the Oppidum of Enserune, where we had been before in the past.
Last time it wasn't such a success, and this time wasn't great either.
And it wasn't the 2600 year-old archeological digs or the history or the views that disappointed.

More like 3 fighting and screaming boys in 31 degree heat.

Why do kids fight?
Why don't they listen?
They're sucking us dry, the little buggers.

The biggest highlight was a shared orange juice with Son#3 in the shade, wearing his Tour de France hat.

Now it's almost 4 in the afternoon.
We might drive down to the beach this afternoon, then again, we might not.
There are clouds on the horizon.

I so wish my parents were here.
For them, because we keep thinking about how they would love it here, and for us, because we enjoy their company so much.
And occasional babysitting-service would be lovely as well.


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Moo

On an adventure we went, in search of the elusive Mini Ferme Zoo close to Cessenon-sur-Orb.
We are used to Dutch orderliness:  Exact locations, not somewhere-on-a-route-somewhere-else.

It was lovely. 
Lots of pigs who like to be scratched, cows, geese, goats, chickens, 2 shaved llamas - ridiculous-looking, a couple of horses, a yak which must suffer in the heat, and a gazillion birds.
And 3 donkeys.
I've always wanted a donkey.
In fact, when we moved from Durban to Pretoria back in the 80s, I dreamed of owning a donkey.
No sissy-horse for me, thankyouverymuch. 
But I digress.
Here is the llama:

The boys quickly stripped off their shirts (40 degrees out in the sun).

Son#3 was visibly reddening very quickly.

This was termed 'The Great Chicken Escape'  by Son#1:

Quite a coup/coop.
 
After we visited all the animals - Son#3 was terrified of everything that made a sound - we sat down at the restaurant, cokes, lots of water, ice creams.
The boys played with trains, cars and bikes.

Whined for pony rides which were refused.
Then a gorgeous drive back to Cazo, with the wind in our hair.

Son#3 went for a nap.
The boys went off to play with Nichola and Pierique, the village kids.
The husband and I booked 3 days' stay at a holiday resort in Agde.
Just for the hell of it.
And it has air-conditioning.

Tonight ice cream in Saint-Chinian, or to Minerve, if we feel like it.
Sigh.

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