The Stormers and the tea cup

I organised a bit of a get together to watch the rugby yesterday - Stormers vs The Hurricanes. I figured that the dogs battle to come to terms with all the shouting, jumping, falling (off the couch) and wild splashing that accompanies a typical scene in our house when the local teams play - and it's because I haven't sensitised them to the game from early enough. So Jo got a chance to ease into things. The game was an important one, and with the good form that the Stormers are in I felt certain that he'd get a taste of all the 'activities' that make up a game.

Being from Fhk - there was no beer, just wine. Not that he needs to learn about that yet. The dogs were suitably positioned. The 'manne' were in front of the telly. The game ran on for 30 minutes before I noticed that the dogs had escaped, the wine bottle was empty, the Josh mobile (Tracey) had retreated into the kitchen and I was left alone to scream and fret about the complete lack of tackling and general ineptitude of the camera man, the ref and the state of refreshments in the house.

No wonder rugby in this country has gone to pot. While we, the guardians of the game, do the man-stuff - braai, discuss team selection, slate the government, re-live great tries and expound the virtues of low tackles and strong hand-offs - our young men-to-be are in the kitchen making potato salad with mom! What nonsense. I have decided (if not for Tracey I would decree) that all in the house will watch the Brutal Game (so much more exhilarating than the Beautiful one) - man and woman alike. No salad, no looking at the baby room, no measuring the thickness of nappies or the length of stretch marks - just watching rugby. 5 minutes off at half time to top-up the glasses and biltong bowls and if that's done well I'm happy to skip the post-match dissection from Naas and Co.

If he does end up playing the violin and asking for a tea set for his doll-house, so be it. But until it happens we will support our team as one!

Say what?

I 'discovered' some time ago that unborn babies (I can't spell feet uses) respond to the sounds and voices they hear through mom's swelling tummy. Some people swear (though not within earshot of the kid) that speaking to your unborn child has soothing / bonding / developmental / gender-changing effects. I don't know much about that - but I do know that Joshua can hear us - and that he has some definite views about life. If he likes something he tends to rub the the walls of his cocoon; if he doesn't like it - he tries to punch right through!

I discovered this while listening to Jack Johnson. I said 'I like Jack Johnson' - Tracey said 'I think Joshua is purring!' I paused the DVD and the History Channel voice over mentioned David Koresh. Joshua punched. Tracey said 'Put Jack on,' Joshua purred again. So I conducted a little test: Thabo - kick. Nelson - purr. Lucifer, Adolf, load shedding. Kick, kick, kick. Mother Teresa, Mark Shuttleworth and daddy. Puurrr. Mad Bob. Kick. Kick. Kick. From the mouths of unborn babes!

Tuna, Mate

9 weeks to go! And we're eating a lot of tuna. I don't really mind. I like tuna, and it's easy to wash down with 2 glasses of wine (the first is mine and the second is Tracey's - as she "isn't drinking" - the kid is going to grow up in Franschhoek, so I guess his time will come!).

I hope he's going to be an active kid - not active as in climbing up the curtains and stuff - but keen to play outside, jump off the roof and occasionally try to spend the night in a tree (or even make a tree-house if it doesn't involve me). I like active kids. I think they help me imagine being active - which is enough to remind me that feet up is a lot more enjoyable than nose to the grindstone. Joshua will be active I'm sure, and while I don't really fancy building a tree house - I will. I have also thought of making a sled that Amber could pull. The kid will be decapitated for sure when she goes hurtling into the orchards after Bongi - but can you imagine the rush. Makes me wish I was slightly smaller or Amber a bit bigger.

Speaking of the dogs - we went for a walk to the farm dam today and I figured that if Joshua is going to come along on these outings in a few months time, we're going to have to strap him in to his 3 wheel pram-thing (one of those off-road, run-a-marathon-with-it jobs). The road is certainly 'off' and as steep as the descent into Hell - so come August expect to hear cries of dismay from Tracey, cries of frustration from me and just cries from Josh as he hurtles down the hill, mud splattering all about and dogs barking and biting at his wheels. Book in to Fhk Pass Villa and catch all the action!

What's in a name?

Before we knew that he would be a 'he' we spent quite a lot of time looking for a good name for it. We looked through a couple of books, considered re-naming the dog (she's called Amber and I really like Amber as a name), crossed off all the cool names that have been used by our friends (Adam and Kerry got Jessica, so that was the first to go), considered inventing a name and Googled. In the end, an awards ceremony at a local school gave me a bit of a wake-up. I had settled on the idea of choosing a unisex name and we had all but settled on Cameron (yes Cam, named after you), despite Cameron meaning crooked (nose) or something. After UnisexName received his third award for the evening, the person handing out the certificates finally twigged that UnisexName was a girl and corrected himself, making him a her and causing much embarrasment for all. I decided that won't happen to my kid. A boy will get a boy's name and a girl a girl's. Sorry Storm, Skye, Savannah and Stardust.

So why Joshua? Truth is I like the idea that a name means something. Apple Poppyseed is cute, but... Joshua means "God saves" (or similar). I don"t know if Joshua will think He does. It doesnt really matter. I'll do what I do because I think He does. I hope Joshua agrees - so I guess it does matter - but not in a way that I'll disown him if he disagrees. Can you believe that some people do that?

Speaking of which - I have also thought that Joshua may very well become something I am not. If he ends up fabulously rich or handsome I won't mind. Many a man has suggested that I ensure he gets a rugby ball before he gets a Barney. After all, today he's cuddling a fluffy toy, tomorrow he's combing Barbie's hair, and then before long he's buying XS bright Ts at Gap. If he ends up a rugby playing boy I'll call him Jo for short. If he plays the violin, he'll be Joshie. Joshua, Joshie, Jo - that's my boy!