How important is this piece of material if it must have it’s own religion?”

Georgia – middle child – is unique.

I know everyone says their child is unique and special. Made up entirely from magic sperm, and a daisy encrusted egg.  They came into the world and ….. well special shit happened and and and …… yes everyone is so fucking special.

Right now “normal and standard” is the new special.  One more special Princess party on Facebook and I am going to lose my grip on reality.

Georgia came into the world in the fairly usual way — there were a few hitches along the way, that made me question the sense in ever being pregnant.  And how I was going to survive this one.   She also came into the world with the name Calum/Caleb —- I was convinced she was a boy, and did not want to hear otherwise. – so no girl’s names had been shortlisted.  It took about an hour or two to come up with a backup girl’s name.

Anyway, we can run over that story another day.

Georgia is a strange kid — some days I look at her and I really think to myself “this child is totally off the charts … like verging on bat shit crazy.”

She sees the world, and the people in  it through a lens that I do not possess.  She lives a great deal in her head — she writes stories and is constantly coming up with characters and making cards for the characters, and very complex sort of mind maps.

Georgia is a child who is happy — she is just happy.  Like every part of her is happy from the tips of her rather large feet to the top of her gorgeous head.

She loves everyone.  She hugs everyone.  Strangers.  She looks at you and you can see she is starting to tense up and she says “I need to give you a hug” and then she hugs you — and I think it is a release for her.

She does not have a mean bone in her body.  She likes everyone and she does not judge anyone in a negative manner.  I recall a time when she was trying to explain that there was a child in her class who was overweight and the weight was an important factor in the story, but she did not want to say he was fat, because she knows this is a mean thing to say … so she sat with it for a few minutes and then took another run at the story and she told me the child was round.  Again, in the kindest, least mean manner she could find.

She is fortunate that she is well liked at school and there are a few “strange” girls in her age group, so they all relish in their shared strangeness, and I hope she keeps it forever.

I do not know where Georgia came from — she is so unusual, I can’t even claim her as 100% mine.

I am a bit strange, but when I use Georgia as the scale, I am normal, like vanilla normal.  I look so main stream in comparison to her that it is embarrassing actually.

Georgia is Georgia, self created, self fulfilled and self made. We are merely facilitators that throw food at her every now and then.

Georgia often is busy with a conversation in her head, and she will blurt something out, that has nothing to do with anything that is going on —- because she does not realise you did not hear her internal thoughts.

Often I tend to disregard something she says, because there is so much strange from this child.  And some days I do actually just want to listen to the end of the song.

She often makes a statement that is so out of context, that it takes you 15 minutes to understand the context, and based on that, you can then listen to the statement or question again and it makes sense.

Or it still doesn’t and you just distract her with a colourful pencil or something.

Which is all good and stuff — but sometimes you are 20 -25 minutes into a story — because you want to be the attentive mother, and then you realise that she is telling you about a television show …..  word for freaking word …..and then you lose your mind and swear you will never listen to another one of these stories again.

I now know to ask — is this what really happened or is this from a movie or television show??  {one learns this sort of thing ….. eventually}

The result is that sometimes Georgia says things and my brain does not always “hear” her.

Yesterday I popped in to Clicks.

We already had a “weird” exchange in Pick ‘n Pay with regards to “frills” and why you can’t eat them.  That took  a lot of energy to understand what the hell she was actually saying.  (It turns out there is a sign and it is one of their new slogans….. a heads up would have been good).

I am standing there at Clicks looking at a shelf for a product, that I can see they do not have in stock.  I keep standing there staring at the shelf.  As if by the pure force of my wanting THIS product it will just appear there.

I am not sure if you ever do this — sometimes I walk away — like 5 steps and then go back to the shelf, as if something regarding their stock would change in the last 12 seconds or so.  {possibly I am not that far removed from Georgia’s strange}

I hear Georgia say something …. it’s strange enough that I go “Sorry, what Georgia?”

Georgia goes: “How important is this piece of material if it must have it’s own religion?”

I look at her — in the way I often do.

Knowing that there is something happening here I do not understand and this is going to take a long sit down and possibly two shots of tequila to get me to the other end.

I ask her to repeat herself, in case I had already had wine, and possibly had forgotten.  You now how it goes with afternoon drinking.

She repeats herself: “How important is this piece of material if it must have it’s own religion?”

I step towards her and look at her quizzically – she points to the product.




{In case the joke is lost on you — she was reading Muslim for Muslin}

Like any good parent would do, I snorted, laughed, praised her for being genius and did not correct her.

Let that blanket have it’s own religion.

Maybe princes shouldn’t kiss dead girls in the forest ……. just saying



This evening I was watching a trailer for Maleficent.  Georgia had seen it already and I needed to remind her that she mustn’t spoil the story for me, as I had not watched it as yet.

Georgia told me that her favourite princess was Rapunzel (both share hair of a ridiculous length) and that Sleeping Beauty came in a close second.

I looked at Georgia and felt the overwhelming urge to remind her that “she did not have to be saved by a Prince….”

She is clever enough, strong enough and street smart enough to save herself, and get herself out of nearly any situation by using her smarts.

A prince on a white horse was not needed.

She nodded and still stared glazed eyed at the images on the screen.

I decided to not let this moment pass.  I reminded her that wasn’t she the best at Math in her standard – wasn’t she the cleverest and most creative girl we knew?

Wasn’t she brave and determined enough to get herself out of nearly any situation, without the aid of a prince.  On a horse.  Who needed to stop by and kiss dead girls in the forest?

A guy who  would make life altering decisions based on whether a shoe fitted someone?   Because he seemed to be unable to recognise the women he spent a few hours dancing with.

I am not anti fairy tales, I love the whimsy and the total abandon.

I am however aware that every fairy tale has a princess, or fair maiden waiting for a prince to rescue them.

I think it would be great for a prince or princess to rescue any of my girls if they were in a predicament.  My sense seems to revolt at the point where as girls, they are cast as the damsel in distress, and they need to have a prince to rescue them.

I know it is a silly and probably irrelevant differentiation, but I want my girls to grow up knowing, and believing they are capable of anything.

Even rescuing a prince who happened to have his finger pricked on a sewing needle.

Alternatively questioning a prince who would ride past and kiss a girl who for all intense purposes who seemed to be dead.

A prince who can’t recall a visual nor the name of the person he had danced with the night before.

These are princes who you do not actually want to mix any DNA with.

Happily ever after is a challenge.  At best choose a prince who can do facial recognition, does not want t to kiss every dead girl he rides past, and most importantly appears to have some sort of an income where he is not dependent on his parents.

Otherwise, as you were.


My kingdom for a good cupcake…

I hosted bookclub on Wednesday night – we are quite a large group and sometimes I get a bit anxious trying to cater for all the girls.

I  get my knickers in a knot as I try and make a big dinner, and then I buy too much and I over cater, and really it becomes such a stressful endevour.

By the time the girls arrive, I actually want to lie in the foetal position on the kitchen floor, clutching my bottle of wine and sobbing.

I really wanted to find something easy this time around, and kept it simple.

I ordered books from Kalahari – so I did not have to run around to the bookstores and then end up buying books in a frantic rush.

I opted for Burgers and Fries.  I was going to serve McDonalds, but then I realised that might be pushing the envelop even by my standards.

My favourite burger place is Cafe Royale in Long Street.  So I contacted someone who used to work there, who could arrange burger patties – I think from the same butcher who supplied Cafe Royale.  I am not sure of the details, but they were really great burger patties and were about the size of my head.

I grilled burgers, and we had burgers with avocado and coriander, or burgers with camembert and cranberry jelly, with a side order of thin fries.  Diet-he-is-now-out-the-window-and-I-am-loosening-my-top-button yum.

Granted, I did make a salad  – as I thought there needed to be a ying-and-yang to this whole thing.

Dessert was these super cupcakes that I got from Chef Sam.  I saw her details on Facebook and thought I would give her a whirl.  I ordered, and went along to collected them on Wednesday morning.

I ate too much on Wednesday night – and could not fit a cupcake in (bearing in mind I also ate pecan-and-fudge shortbread and about a kilogram of Chuckles).  So adding to the liter or so of wine, there really was not much more space in my digestive tract for a cupcake.

I decided to eat a cupcake for breakfast – as you do – on Thursday morning.

They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day.  If it makes you ne’erdowell feel any better, Isabelle shared the cupcake with me.

The cupcakes were so beautifully presented – too beautiful to eat actually.  I was suspicious that they looked good and might taste a bit like brown cardboard.  But I was wrong.  Delusionally mistaken in fact.

It was heaven – I ate the cupcake, the worm and the book – and it was really all too delicious for words.  Lick-the-palm-of-my-hand delicious.  I was suddenly very disappointed I had only ordered a dozen.

I am not trying to punt Chef Sam, but damn she is good.  It is always great to find someone who is doing a fabulous job of a work-from-home business, and kicking arse as they do it.

If you are Cape Town based looking for a really great cake/cupcake or what ever for your kid’s party/your party/a stork party/a party where you drink wine/a party where you sit at home and just want to gorge on really pretty cakes and cupcakes – then she is definitely the dame to get in touch with.

She is my new BFF  … I can see her arranging a restraining order against me quite soon.

Note the detail so the book has pages ….

And if you look carefully you can see the little bites out of the book … presumably made my the little word … or possibly chef sam …. | | 082 4317 569