The Drive to Succeed

February 16, 2024February 22, 2024 ~ Slytherin_Baby_and_the_Unmumsy ~ Leave a comment

Himself and I need to have A Talk. Now.

Himself has suddenly discovered a number of manly, outdoor chores that absolutely must be done today, right now, cannot wait at all.

Himself knows that I’m waiting for him so we can Talk. I know this because through the window he can see me pacing the kitchen the way I do when we need to Talk, drinking tea out of the mug I reserve for Talks and because just before he remembered the list of urgent tasks that he needed to do immediately I looked him in the eyes and said, “We need to talk.”

Finally, an hour after the sun gave up, Himself had to admit defeat.

“You can’t run forever.” I stared at him steadily.

He sighed heavily. “Things aren’t that bad are they? We can try to sort things out. Try therapy or something… Couples’ counselling?”

“Nice try. Our marriage is fine. You KNOW what this is about.”

“Are you sure? I’m sure we could find some problems if we looked hard enough…”

“The only thing that is going to solve our problems has engine and four wheels.”

I’m still driving my first car – my varsity car. I would love to pretend that this is because I’m young and not because my car is old, but let’s be honest, all the face products in my bathroom have slowly moved from “Clarifying” to “Age-defying”; a surprising number of my clothes also have “defying” in the label.

When my car was new I wore a lot of tight, stretchy clothes and I still do – it’s just they used to be dresses and tights, now they’re “shape-wear”. While I’m thrilled that the Backstreet Boys are back, I’m not so thrilled that I can listen to their new songs on the same radio I enjoyed the “OG” CDs. Blink 182 has made an incredible comeback and my car is lucky enough not only to be able to say it plays their new number 1 hit, but that it played their last number 1 hit, when it to was new. Not many cars can brag about that.

Teaching Slytherin Baby to clean a car early!

“Is this because of the drop off thing?” Himself asked shrewdly.

“NO!” I was perhaps a bit too adamant. You see, my car does not fit in at all with the uniform cars in the school drop-off line. Apparently the car requirement was in one of the admission documents that I clearly didn’t read.

Actually, I’m being a bit unfair. There is diversity in the car drop-off line: there are silver Range Rovers, white Range Rovers, black Range Rovers, and even a gold Range Rover.

My little car isn’t intimidated at all. It has the attitude of Jack Russell as it noses its way, headlamp to hubcap, through the maze of towering beasts. It has the turning circle of a cruise liner and the power steering of trolley with a wonky wheel, but it feels feathers as it holds up traffic making its turns and creaking its way into a parking spot. And if the parking spot is very small it revs its little engine smugly.

Why should my car feel intimidated by computer-operated tanks that were merely a twinkle in a mechanics eye while it was bowling along dark side streets blaring “Living on a Prayer” and “American Idiot” while its driver tried to make it home before the unspoken curfew that is imposed on all varsity students still living at home.

Unfortunately, the forcefield of confidence does not extend beyond the car itself. The full weight of scrutiny from the Range Rover crew falls on me as they escort their well-behaved and groomed children into school, and I wrestle and drag my squirming, protesting kid out the little car and through the gates: losing a hairband, a shoe and for some reason an earring in the process.

“Wanting to fit in with the school mommies is not a good enough reason to get a new car,” Himself stated firmly, clearly pleased with sounding so grown-up and sensible.

“I don’t want a new car to fit in the mommies; let’s be honest – our kid will never blend in and neither will any car that we can afford. I would just like a car that hasn’t seen every single one of my “I’m cutting my hair and getting bangs” phases. I would like a car that hasn’t seen all my clothes go out of fashion and then come back into fashion. A car whose backseat hasn’t seen… never mind, you get the point.”

Himself paused for a second as his brain tried to organize factual arguments to emotional points. He gave up.

Might as well start learning to drive this car – it’ll probably be the exact same car she takes her driver’s test in!

“Your car is an excellent car. We can’t afford a modern equivalent of your car. It has a [blah blah blah] engine and [something something something] torque and [I blank out until I can understand his words again]. In fact, if you look at it from that angle, your car is in fact, technically more powerful than my car.”

And he would have won he hadn’t added that last statement.

Himself has a car that wouldn’t fit in with tank commander crew of the school but has at least not seen me through every adult milestone in my life.

I really like that car.

I nodded slowly in acknowledgement. “You’re right. Your car is powerful but if you look at it terms of the engine power and the – well, exactly as you explained it, it is more powerful than even your car. And if that’s the case, I have no option but to accept the fact we should keep my car.”

“Exactly!” Himself was so relieved he cracked open a beer.

“And I know that having a powerful car is more important to you than me. So if my car really is the more powerful one, then we definitely need to swop cars…”

I solicitously offered him a dishtowel to wipe the beer off himself and the floor.

Edit to add: Himself has read this story and would like me to tell the readers that he does not agree with his characterization in this expose of our family life. For the sake of harmony in our house I have added his edit.

(PS: I am still driving my old car…)

Memories of Beanbag Trauma

December 29, 2023 ~ Slytherin_Baby_and_the_Unmumsy ~ Leave a comment

Slytherin Baby was outside watering the garden (and the birdbath, and the wall, and the neighbour’s dog), allowing The Grandmother and I to stare at her latest artwork in contemplative silence. The Grandfather paused to look as well and said bluntly, “She’s not very good at cutting out, is she?”

“Well,” murmured The Grandmother, relived that she didn’t have to say it, “I have noticed at the weekly library craft afternoon, the other kids do seem to be much better at cutting out than her.”

“It’s fine!” I protested defensively. “Her cutting out is just fine!” The Grandparents raised skeptical eyebrows.

“When she’s 16 she’ll be able to cut out just fine! Besides,” I carried on, “who cares if she can’t catch a beanbag!”

The Grandfather rolled his eyes and carried on to the kitchen to prepare a two-course snack for Slytherin Baby, and The Grandmother rolled her eyes and went to tell Slytherin Baby that the paving stones had probably been watered enough, and maybe the flower beds would like some water.

My long-standing and deep-rooted trauma surrounding beanbags stems from the fact that I have all the co-ordination of a squashed Gecko.

My father once tried to teach me to kick a soccer ball. About 12 minutes into the lesson, I suggested I throw the ball into the goal and my father suggested we go home and I can play with my barbies.

(13 years later my father tried to teach me to drive; that lesson also lasted about 12 minutes and ended with both of us giving the other a suggestion or two!)

My brother decided to teach me how to throw a cricket ball; after all, he had successfully convinced me that when mom snapped, “Let your little sister play on the computer with you,” it really meant that I was allowed to sit quietly next to him and watch him play. The thinking was that next time mom snapped, “Take your little sister outside and play with her,” it really meant let your sister throw a cricket ball so that you can practice your batting.

I’m not saying that day was a disaster; I’m just saying that my brother continued to practice his batting against a wall, and I have given him socks for Christmas for the last 20 years.

At primary school I tried netball – the school introduced a “social team” that year. I tried hockey – my greatest achievement to date is that I once stopped a ball with my face. I tried drum majorettes – we preformed once. I tried glasses – my eyesight improved, my writing did not. I tried OT – she shrugged and said that I tried very hard.

But where does the beanbag fit in? You see, all this trauma started in pre-primary school with the bloody beanbag.

I loved everything about my pre-primary – the fireman’s pole I was too scared to go down, the ballet classes that wrote a report saying I was an “enthusiastic dancer”, the fantasy corner they only let me into at certain times of the day; everything except their bizarre obsession with catching beanbags.

Every now and then, the teachers would pull out these wretched beanbags and insist on throwing them to us. The throwing part wasn’t a problem. It was the part where they obsessed over us catching them that drove me nuts.

Every time they tossed one to me, I would drop it and the teacher would get concerned. Then they would throw more and more to me, getting more upset with each dropped beanbag. For the life of me, I could not understand what their problem was. First of all, it’s a beanbag – the whole point of a beanbag is that it is meant to be ok if it falls on the floor; why is everyone so concerned if it falls on the floor – it’s going to be ok! And secondly, if you’re so damn concerned about the beanbag not being dropped on the floor – don’t throw it! Pass it to me in my hands!

To this day, I can’t see a beanbag without feeling a fleeting stab of bitterness at the unfairness of life.

Recently I read my old preprimary report card (nothing to do with checking Slytherin Baby’s progress to mine, I promise). The report was three handwritten pages long (how on earth did they find so much to say about a preschool kid?!) and to summarize: baby Amy had a large vocabulary, loved to play dress up in the fantasy corner and had a worrying lack of co-ordination.

Well, grown-up Amy taught her kid about “mandatory” and “voluntary” handholding because those were the words I thought best suited to the occasion; my dress-up box is bigger than my daughter’s (we hold a lot of costume parties) and I’ve just spent the last fifteen minutes racing around the house waving the electric fly-swatter in front of me with all the grace and dexterity of a drunken monkey (the fly gave up and flew out of the house – probably out of sheer embarrassment).

The more things change I guess.

So when the observations about Slytherin Baby’s lack of ability in the cutting department start, I might be a little bit defensive. All I can think of is the next decade of beanbags being thrown in her face, trying to understand what the couch is screaming about “throwing from the chest” and trying to figure out where the hockey ball is coming from.

And in decades to come, she probably still won’t be able to cut perfectly straight or catch a beanbag. But then again, neither can I, and since I never dreamed of a profession that involved catching beanbags, I can safely say my deficiency in that department has not impacted my life in any significant way (apart from not being able to swat a fly!)

On Wednesdays We Wear Pink

September 18, 2023 ~ Slytherin_Baby_and_the_Unmumsy ~ 1 Comment

There’s always one isn’t there? At every school concert: you can spot them a mile away – bright red and trying to crawl under the already-too-small-chair: they are the parents of THAT child.

I know you’ll never believe it, but I am that one parent trying to crawl under a kiddie’s seat and my child is that child.

It all started when I committed the cardinal sin of parenting. I tried to enroll my child in an activity that I had loved as a child. I don’t remember much of my time in Pre-primary, but I do remember the trauma of the beanbag (a story for another day) and the excitement of putting on my bright orange leotard (it was the 80s) and tutu and going to ballet classes. Although my ballet report focused (rather rudely I thought) on my enthusiasm and neat dress rather than any ability to dance, I loved my ballet lessons – the dressing up, the music, the “stories” we danced out. What better activity for an energetic little girl than the beauty of ballet class?

Now, I’m not saying Slytherin Baby didn’t like ballet. She liked the idea of her beautiful pink leotard and tutu (no more neon orange for ballet dancers); she enjoyed being with her friends; she had a very nice teacher; she had a favourite song and dance.

It’s just that ballet is a traditionally disciplined artform, and, well, let’s just say Slytherin Baby is not a traditionally disciplined artform.

The coup-de-grace was a year end “showcase” of the final ballet lesson of the term for the ballet parents. I, like every other parent there, melted a little at the sight of all the little ballerinas in their leotards, tutus, and special hairbands, sitting on their assigned mats. The cuteness overload of that scene was not marred in the slightest by the fidgeting of the little dancers as their teacher stood up to address the parents. As this beautiful “real” ballerina took us through the curriculum she had been working on, I kept an eye on the adorable miniature ballet dancers behind her. There was the little one who sat ramrod straight and focused on her teacher; the one who was pulling at her headband in an effort to get it to sit straight; the one who was sitting close to the teacher and eyeing the crowd of adults crouched on their kiddy chairs with a mixture of bemusement and suspicion; and then there was the little one who kept sliding her eyes over to the child next to her, and every time she slid her eyes, she slid her mat a little closer too. This, along with the mention of a curriculum, was making me very nervous. I think I would have enjoyed the little scene of the child trying to sneak up to her friend a lot more if the child in question hadn’t been mine.

Soon she was close enough. Poke. The friend pushed her hand away. Poke. Push hand away. The Ballet Teacher started instructing her little flock. Hands went up with various levels of proficiency. Poke. Push hand away. Hands come down to different levels. Poke. And finally The Friend had enough and pushed the whole child away from her. Cue shriek of, “The Ballet Teacher! The Friend pushed me!”

In a movement so practiced I shudder to think how often this has happened, The Ballet Teacher moved the mat and Slytherin Baby away from the other child without missing a beat in her instruction.

Finally The Ballet Teacher moved onto pointing and flexing their toes and I felt a rush of relief. This, I knew, was something my child could do. She referred to this as having “naught toes” and “good toes”; The Ballet Teacher referred to this using the fancy French Ballet terms, which I didn’t bother to remember. Something told me remembering Ballet terms would not be all that important in my future.

The Little Ballerina who sat ramrod straight was pointing and flexing her toes with great concentration; the girl with the skew headband was pointing and flexing her toes intermittently while examining the bookshelf behind her; the little poppet had clearly decided to err on the side of suspicion and was huddle close to The Ballet Teacher, toes moving, eyes fixed fearfully on the crowd staring at her; and Slytherin Baby was cradling her foot like a baby.

Next came some other fancy French term that I think means bend your legs elegantly and rise like a cloud ascending to heaven. At least that is what I inferred from The Ballet Teacher’s demonstration and The Little Ballerina’s imitation. Some of the bending looked a little bit more like a sumo wrestler’s starting stance, or a preparation for weightlifting, but that did not in any way diminish the beauty of the demonstration from the little flock. My child was of course not bending or straightening, she was licking the mirror behind her.

Then it was time to do some dancing. I have a distinctive memory of being an “enthusiastic dancer” acting out the dance that required us to “climb gracefully over the fence” and go into the farmer’s orchid. Pick the apples carefully and put them into the basket”. Today the dance started with “Pick up your baby carefully”, and I smiled. Slytherin Baby loves to play with her baby dolls. At last, some part of Ballet that would go smoothly.

Slytherin Baby grabbed her pretend baby with considerable force. And instead of running in a circle, gently cradling her baby like the rest of the Ballet Troup, she ran right at The Friend, shoved her arms at her friend, and yelled “My baby farted in your face!”

I can’t really tell you what happened after that point, because of the roar of the parents’ laughter (which had been a muffled sniggering at the start of the lesson) and the fact that I was bent so far over in my chair I was practically pressing my face into the carpet. I heard more than one snort from the audience before the I could summon the courage to look up again, so I presume Slytherin Baby was enjoying herself.

I managed to watch through my fingers as Slytherin Baby (now being firmly held by the hand by The Ballet Teacher) flounced half-heartedly to “Let it Go” and then started to jam with unbridled enthusiasm to the “Dum-dum” song (otherwise known as “I like to move it”).

So in the end I learned a lot that day. I learned that, just like her mom, Slytherin Baby won’t be a Ballet dancer (albeit for slightly different reasons); I learned that you don’t have to be the most talented performer to be the crowd favourite (to this day I have parents remind me how much they enjoyed Slytherin Baby’s performance); I also learned that once again I am very proud of Slytherin Baby.

She might not have been the most talented, studious, or even “enthusiastic” dancer; but when the ballerinas ran in a circle, lifting and lowering their arms with varying degrees of grace, Slytherin Baby noticed the Little Poppet, pressed firmly against the toy cupboard, terrified eyes glued to the audience as if they might attack if she blinked. Every time Slytherin Baby ran past, she slowed downed and reached out a hand to Little Poppet in an effort to get her friend to join in.

Slytherin Baby might be a foot-cradling-mirror-licking-my-baby-farted-in-your-face dancer, but at least she’s a kind foot-cradling-mirror-licking-my-baby-farted-in-your-face dancer.

To Read or Not To Read

February 15, 2023 ~ Slytherin_Baby_and_the_Unmumsy ~ 1 Comment

If you were ever a teenager you’ll remember those days – stuck in a hot, stuffy classroom with a fly buzzing against the window, listening to the other students stumble and mumble their way through the read-Shakespeare-aloud-lesson (I don’t know why it has to be hot and there has to be a fly, it’s just a law of the universe). If you have a teenager today, you’ll know that this fine tradition continues unchanged throughout the years.

Or maybe you don’t – having been told “nothing” happened at school.

To publish an attractive cover or to languish in monochrome boredom.
To cry, to weep, to never open in any lesson.

We all know the most common association and use of Shakespeare is as a cure for the most stubborn insomnia. And yes, any students reading this, we know that when rest your head in your hand with your eyes shielded, you’re not staring down at the book with intense concentration. We’re just waiting to see if you fall deeply enough asleep that your head slips off your hand. It’s the little things in life…

Something else that remains a comforting and extremely annoyingly constant in the face of unsettling and unprecedented times is the ritual question of, “Why do we have to read this?” (Oh bless your heart, we all know you’re not going to actually READ it) Or to put it into the words of one of my most, er, “street-smart” kids:

“Agh ma’am,” tilts his chair back, “agh ma’am”. (You know it’s serious when you get the double Agh ma’am.) “Why do I need to know to know this?”

“Well, that’s actually a good question. You see, it’s really import–“

“Ma’am. When I’m president I don’t need to know how to read Shakespeare.”

This was the only time a student has stumped me on the “But why do we need to learn this?” Well played kid, well played.

What we’d all rather read than Shakespeare!

As an English teacher who has a borderline unhealthy love of Shakespeare it kills me to see what we as an education system have done to these plays. These plays were never meant to be read! And most certainly not by tired, board teenagers! Imagine trying to read someone the dialogue of “Die Hard” or “The Avengers: Infinity War”, with each fight scene simply written as “they fight”, and convince them that, no, these are really awesome and exciting masterpieces! (“Die Hard” is the best Christmas movie ever and I will die on this hill!) That’s what we’ve done to Shakespeare. We’ve taken something dynamic, entertaining, dramatic, and reduced it to a monotone reading, or more accurately, stumbling.

Education is ruining our learning when it comes to understanding Shakespeare; our education system tells us that we need to know Shakespeare because it is “classic literature” and “high-brow entertainment for the ages”. But have you read those plays? Like really read them? They are filthy; they are violent; and if performed incorrectly, the cannon fire will set the theatre roof on fire and burn it to the ground. (No. Seriously. 1613. Henry VIII. The cannon malfunctioned.) While Shakespeare did write for royalty, his plays were really the mass media entertainment of the day. And boy, did he include some rough humour for the peasants. To quote from Titus Andronicus (the one where the bad guys get baked into a pie):

Chiron: “Thou hast undone our mother.”

Aaron: “Villain, I have done thy mother.”

(Act 4, Scene ii)

Yes. That means exactly what you think it means; and you can’t get cross with me for writing something so vulgar in my blog because I’m quoting Shakespeare! Pro tip: if your teenager complains that they just can’t read Shakespeare because it’s so difficult and they just can’t understand it, tell them that it’s a good thing they don’t read (insert particular scene here) because it’s way too dirty and inappropriate for them. I guarantee you, within three minutes you’ll hear a gasp and embarrassed tittering. I’ve done this in my classroom every year for more than a decade. Works every time.

Yeah, he’s got the head of a donkey, so what? Shakespeare doesn’t discriminate against interspecies dating!

Then there’s the follow up. “Why do I have to read this? It’s so unrelatable!” Well, yes, on one hand you’ll probably never have to deal with seeing the ghost of your father who claims to have been murdered by your uncle slash stepdad and demands you kill him, all while having to deal with your girlfriend and your friends spying on you, getting captured by pirates and then jumping into the grave of your now ex-girlfriend to fight with her brother over her corpse. (See, if you read “Hamlet” properly there’s more to it than just Hamlet mebbeling to himself pitifully for five acts).

But I’m sure that many teenagers have had conflicts with parents, especially stepparents trying to take over a parental role. Nearly everyone has had to deal with friends who betray them (hopefully you don’t react by having them executed!) Who hasn’t been deeply disappointed by a lover who had the opportunity to do the difficult thing and stand up for you, but didn’t?

What about teenagers who have to try hide their new boyfriend or girlfriend because their parents won’t approve? Nowadays it is likely to be because of unsuitable age, hair, job, or attitude more than because they come from a family your family has been feuding with for the last century. Or if you haven’t had to hide your unsuitable lover, you’ve been the friend who’s had to watch in frustration as your buddy changes overnight because of “true love”.

Apart from being both relatable and frustrating, “Romeo and Juliet” has an important lesson for us all. Had Romeo sat down and cried over Juliet’s “body” for a few hours, neither of them would have died. So before you make any major decisions, sit down and have a good cry!

Who hasn’t had to deal with peer pressure? Hopefully not your wife trying to convince you to kill your friend and mentor the king, but still.

Or that one “caring friend” who shows you what someone else is “really like” by telling half truths and showing you out of context screenshots (looking at you Iago).

The settings and situations might be foreign, but the underlying human condition remains the same. We might never run off into an enchanted forest at night in pursuit of a glimpse of an unrequited lover or smother our spouse to death with a pillow (hopefully). But we’ve all either been in that position, or know someone who’s been in the position, of refusing to accept you’ve been dumped or being insecure and trusting the wrong person.

We want to teach students to be critical thinkers, to analyze situations and think outside the box. Shakespeare offers us the perfect solution to that! What better way to encourage independent thinking than discussing whether Macbeth or Lady Macbeth was more to blame? Was Hamlet justified in his anger towards Ophelia knowing what her home life was like? Shakespeare forces us to face some really uncomfortable situations; he makes us look at how we can have empathy for a murderer or feel pity for a woman who claimed she would (hypothetically) gruesomely murder her baby if she needed to.

And he never misses an opportunity to add a sword fight or a dick joke.

At the end of the day, that’s what literature is about. It’s about seeing the world through new eyes; finding ourselves mirrored in other characters, even if we don’t want to acknowledge it; watching the horrible consequences of actions inevitably unfold; seeing the happiness of true love; and acknowledging that “Yo mama” jokes will always be funny.

To quote John Keating from “The Dead Poets’ Society”:

“We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.”

And that is the answer to why we have to read this.

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Lesser-Known Durban

February 3, 2023 ~ Slytherin_Baby_and_the_Unmumsy ~ Leave a comment

So you’ve made it to Durban! Perhaps you flew in with your partner, maybe you drove for two days with your family (lucky you); you might be visiting family, having a romantic vacation or you may be lucky enough to live here.

How ever you got here, or what ever the reason, the next question is always, what are we going to do here? Everyone knows that Durban only has one thing to do – go the beach. Which is great if you love going to the beach, the beaches are open and the weather is nice. But what if the beaches aren’t open, or like me, you aren’t crazy about salt water and consider sand to be the devil’s natural equivalent of glitter? Once you go to the beach your life is now filled with sand – your car, your shower, your clothes, your furniture, the back of the cupboard that you never open and any other crevice in your life that there is no way the sand could get into: Surprise – Sand!

So does that mean you’re trapped in your house, or even better in an Air B’n’B with your kids and your in-laws? Of course not! There are in fact a number of wonderful things to do in around Durban that do not involve salt and sand taking over your life. Why have you never heard of any of these places? Because Durban is so laid back, you’d have to prop it up to be horizontal. We don’t bother with trivial things like telling others about our favourite places.

1. The Umgeni River Bird Park

Everything you really need to know is in the name. This is a bird park situated next the Umgeni River. Whether you have kids or not, this is a great place to spend a morning or afternoon. Primarily a bird sanctuary, the park has a number of interactive elements, including aviaries you can walk through, an education center, a bird show and a pair of birds that will chat to you given half the chance (look for the walk-through aviary near the entrance and listen for someone calling “Hello!” to you)

The bird show is a delightful display of rescue and endangered birds. You’ll get to admire the beautiful hair of Emma the Marabou Stork; Solo the Pelican showing off his fishing skills and cheer on the dancing of Gaia, the second oldest Bar-pouched Wreathed Hornbill in captivity in the world. The show is both entertaining and educational, and you also get to feed and stoke some birdies!

With over 800 birds of 200 species, whether you’re a bird lover or not, you’re bound to find some delightful displays.

Things to note: This is a bird park. It will smell like a bird park. It does have a café and a small playground (yes, your kids will be more interested in the playground than the birds. Kids are like that).

If you are looking for a more impressive raptor flying show then “Falcon Ridge” in the Champagne Valley in the berg is the perfect place to visit.

2. Animal Flag Farm

Found in Ballito, this isn’t just the sort of animal farm where you get to look at the animals through a cage – these animals walk up to you and say hello! A rescue and sanctuary for animals this is a fantastic place to visit to pet some animals, watch a reptile display and a milking demonstration.

Some of the animals are penned, like the wolves (they have wolves!) but there are plenty of ducks, chickens, rabbits, and goats roaming the grounds and climbing the jungle gyms. If you have kids this is the perfect place to take them for the day; they have displays, animals, playgrounds throughout the farm, a tractor ride, a pony ride, and train ride. They also bring out things like Guinea pigs for you to pet and reptiles for you to stroke. If you don’t have kids, grab someone else’s, and take them for the day (let the parents know first!), or forget the excuse of kids and go ahead to play with some animals and listen to the talk on wolves (they have wolves!).

Things to note: You don’t have to have kids to enjoy this farm, there is something for everyone. The wolves are well looked after and kept in conditions that are safe and comfortable in the heat. There are animals that wonder freely, so don’t panic if you see a goat climbing on the same jungle gym as your kid.

3. Durban Natural Science Museum

If you grew up in Durban you have definitely been to visit this museum at least once, if only on a school tour. While it might sound a bit too educational for a holiday visit, this stalwart of Durban is actually really fun and interactive, and if you do get some education, it’ll be because you found some really interesting things. You’ll be able to see an incredible collection of stuffed animals, birds, reptiles, and insects, complete with audio descriptions and sounds; you can explore the origins of African societies and say hello to Peter the Mummy. There is also a Dodo skeleton and a full-size replica of a T-rex! A full-sized replica of a T-rex complete with glowing red eyes.

This is the perfect place for anyone (child or grown up) who has any interest whatsoever in animals, nature or history. You can run amok exploring the numerous life-like displays and interactive exhibits.

Things to note: This museum is situated in Town Hall (a truly gorgeous building) in the center of Durban; while I would feel perfectly comfortable going to this area and have done so several times both during the day and night, do be aware that it is in the city center. I would recommend parking at the Royal Hotel and walking across the road to the museum; don’t wear flashy jewelry or be careless with bags or cellphones.

Far, far scarier than the location is the T-rex! I would recommend that parents check it out before bringing their kids into the room. Although this might just be my childhood trauma of looking up hundreds of feet into glowing red eyes and a maw full of teeth. I preferred to sit outside with Peter while my family went to visit the dinosaur. To be fair, I had no idea Peter Amen was a real mummy; I thought he was a replica! My parents never bothered to correct my assumption.

4. Dangerous Creature at Uskaka Marine World

This is the perfect place for any kid who is in the throes of an obsession with creepy crawlies or any adult who secretly never outgrew that phase. Filled with every sort of horror from snakes to lizards, frogs, spiders and (my personal worst) geckos. There are plenty of things to touch and examine up close, and even more things that live up to the name of the place and have to stay in locked displays. If you have a kid, husband or wife who has been nagging you for pet snake or spider, you’ve found paradise for them here.

Things to note: You’re liking to be bugged even more for a pet snake or spider after this.

5. Ushaka Marine World

Yes, I know I said little-know places and Ushaka is hardly a shrinking violet when it comes to Durban Tourism Advertising, but sometimes the most obvious things can be the easiest to overlook.

The waterpark is fun, but there is also a kids’ waterpark, cage diving, seabed walking, animal feeding and lagoon snorkeling. I personally recommend the lagoon snorkeling. Not only can you see the people at the bottom of the tank admiring the fish in the aquarium (yes, you swim in one of the display tanks), you get to admire the most incredible fish: some shy, some that borderline harass you and even a couple of sharks. I thought they were joking when they said ‘Watch out for the sharks’ – they weren’t. My friends who joined me let me know that you can hear someone scream very clearly underwater. However, the sharks are harmless (I assume!) and certainly add to the ambiance of the place.

The Aquarium itself is fantastic to explore, with a huge variety of informative exhibits. The dolphin and seal shows are delightful, and one of the best parts of the whole experience is that Ushaka is a rescue and rehabilitation center and home to the Oceanographic Research Institute, so you don’t have to feel any Sea World Guilt as you explore. Whether you want to learn about the ocean and conservation efforts or just admire the pretty fishies, there is no way to be disappointed here.

Things to note: Plan your day and your budget before you get there. The best things in life might be free but add-ons aren’t. Consider who you are taking with you and plan accordingly – kids are more likely to be interested in waterslides and snorkeling than your mother-in-law who might prefer to look at the fish; or visit the Dangerous Creatures!

6 Other places

Believe it or not, there are far too many places worth visiting and exploring in Durban to examine in detail in one article. Here is an incomplete list of other delightful places:

6.1 The Sharks’ Board.

For anyone interested in sharks and how the Durban beaches stay safe from them, a visit the KwaZulu-Natal Sharks Board Maritime Center of Excellence is a must. You can visit the museum, watch a shark dissection, or even book an early morning boat ride to watch the staff service the shark nets.

6.2 Botha’s Hill and The Valley of 1000 Hills

The beautiful area between Durban and Pietermaritzburg has a number of delightful places with gorgeous views of, well 1000s of hills. Must stops include the “Pot and Kettle” for a meal and a view, “The Pancake Place” for a pancake and a view, and Talloula for a delightful spa treatment (and a view).

6.3 Mitchell Park Zoo

A modest little zoo in the middle of Morningside, this is (still) home to Admiral, one of the oldest tortoises in South Africa. He’s still looking good for a 113-year-old! You can also see pigs, goats, birds, alpacas, a rhea and peacocks (one day I’ll figure why some of these are kept in cages and the others are left to roam free. Maybe they rotate them? Maybe the naughty ones have to go into timeout?)

6.4 The Midlands Meander

This stunning farming area just past Pietermaritzburg is a must-see!

Is it over-commercialized? Yes. Do you still need to go see it? Yes.

The Piggly-Wiggly has become the hub of the midlands, with a host of artisanal shops, a playground, and a little train. It makes for an easy trip to the midlands, especially if you have children. If you have the chance, find a place to stay for a night or two and explore all the coffee shops, artisanal shops and even do a wine tasting or two! Yes, KZN has two wine farms – Highlands Wine Estate and Abingdon Wine Estate. (Calm down Cape Town people, we know they’re nothing like your wine farms, but we can’t travel to Stellenbosch just to do a wine tasting whenever we feel like it. This is very exciting to us.)

While the beaches in Durban are awesome, there is some much more to this city than just sunbathing and swimming. Durban may be laid back, but don’t make the mistake of thinking that it’s boring!

Explore Durban and surrounds by renting a car at King Shaka International Airport. The SANI brand was established in 1997. SANI Car Rental is a South African homegrown car rental company. Vehicles available to rent include compact cars, economy cars, premium cars, people carriers and SUVs. SANI Car Rental serves customers throughout South Africa including at all major local and international airports.

Deck The Halls

February 1, 2023February 1, 2023 ~ Slytherin_Baby_and_the_Unmumsy ~ Leave a comment

(But Amy, Christmas is long gone! New year’s is over! Even taking down the tree is a thing of the past! Why are you writing this now?

Look, if I were the sort of person who could publish a blog article in time for the actual season, I would be publishing articles about how to be organised and how to be a great mom, etc; not these!)

For as long as I’ve had my very own Christmas tree to put up and decorate, I’ve followed a very special tradition. I pour myself a very large glass of wine, put on a Jimmy Carr or Ricky Gervaise comedy show and set up the tree. Because if I’m going to have to spend the rest of the season smiling politely and behaving appropriately, I’m going to give myself the gift of getting tipsy and laughing at the most inappropriate humour I can find! It’s the little things.

But this year has been different. Slytherin Baby is now old enough to have some understanding of Christmas. She knows there’s a Baby Jesus wrapped in a manger, his mommy Mary and his daddy Joseph, and most importantly there are presents under the Christmas tree!

Next year we’ll tackle the issue of her wrapping a stuffed t-rex in a purple blanket and walking around saying “I’m Mary. This is the Baby Jesus wrapped in his purple manger. He’s a dinosaur.” I blame badly worded carols for the manager thing, after all the comma in “laid wrapped, in a manger” is very easy to miss! I’m not quite sure what I’m going to blame the t-rex thing on.

Despite the fact I have clearly neglected some key theological Nativity education, there was no way Slytherin Baby was going to let me get away with putting up the Christmas tree (“But where are the presents?!”) without her input. So this year, instead of wine, awful humour and an evening spent carefully spreading the branches of our (fake – c’mon, what did you expect?) tree meticulously symmetrically and spacing the ornaments perfectly, I put the tree up and let Slytherin Baby loose on it.

My original plan was to decorate with her (and maybe do some discrete reorganization), but until you’ve been ordered sit down and not touch anything by a toddler, you’ve never experienced the brutal put down of an order you cannot disobey. If only I had half as much success when I give her an order! And so I was relegated to sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee and wincing only occasionally. Apparently my anti-anxiety meds are working.

When The Grandmother arrived she was ordered to the couch with her own coffee (“Mommy, get Granny her coffee!” Yes m’am). Apparently The Grandmother wasn’t on any meds because she winced a lot more and was a lot more anxious about Slytherin Baby standing on her little chair to get to the top of the tree.

(“No! Go away! I can do it!”) Ok, if you insist. You’ll either do it, or you’ll learn a valuable lesson about gravity.

“it’s ok,” whispered to The Grandmother, “you can redistribute some ornaments later.”

I nodded skeptically; although Slytherin Baby couldn’t remember where she’d hidden the neighbour kid’s toy 10 minutes ago, or what you had just told her to do, she had a remarkable memory when she wanted to.

“But last time we were here, you promised we could get this Sky Paw patrol toy!”

“Kid, when we visited this store TWO MONTHS ago, I said we would think about it next time.”

“Mommy!! Why did you move my paints to the top shelf!! I put them under the Sky blanket, in my baby’s cot under the desk!”

“Kid, I sent you to your room to get your shoes.”

“I can’t find them. Why did you put my paints there? Help me move the desk so I can get my paints!”

“The shoes are in the middle of the for, you’ve literally just stepped over them. And no.”

Just as I was considering my odds of being allowed to move anything on the tree, Slytherin Baby stepped back and stared at her creation. With the sort of expression Himself has when he sees a Lamborghini, and in the same tone voice, she breathed, “It’s beautiful!”

And indeed it was. Not a single thing on that tree was moved.

Talking Up a Storm

August 31, 2022 ~ Slytherin_Baby_and_the_Unmumsy ~ Leave a comment

“What’s wrong? Please, just tell me what’s wrong!” I remember crying to a wailing Slytherin Baby when she was only a few weeks old. The only answer I got was a renewed round of screaming.

“What’s wrong? Please, just tell me what’s wrong!” I was still crying a few years later. This time Slytherin Baby was able to answer.

“No! No! No! Don’t want! Don’t want! Don’t! Go away!” She screamed back. It turns out that having your kid learn to talk is nowhere near as useful as you would think.

It didn’t really surprise me that Slytherin Baby learned to speak quite early; after all, she was able to give me a pretty comprehensive bitching out the day after she was born. It was even less surprising when she refused to use her powers for good.

“Mommy, why is there a fish tank there?” yelled a voice over Daft Punk one morning on the way to school.

“Umm…” I struggled for a moment trying to balance my principle of encouraging a curious nature that will one day lead to rigorous academic and critical thinking, and the fact that a busy intersection at rush hour was not the perfect place to start searching for lost fish tanks.

“The fish tank!”

“Baba, I don’t think that there are any fish tanks here.”

“Yes, there is! There is a fish tank!” Slytherin Baby yelled indignantly. It turns out that once again, I had underestimated my daughter’s abilities.

“Oh! Darling that’s not a fish tank,” I told her, relieved that she hadn’t lost her marbles. “That’s a statue and they’ve put glass around it so that the pigeons don’t sit on her and make her dirty.” I decided that the discussion about vandalism from people could wait for a few years.

“Why?”

“Um, I just told you why. To keep the statue nice and clean.”

“No! Why her?”

“Kid, I don’t know what to tell you – the answer doesn’t change just because you keep asking.”

After a frustrating few minutes all around (and a couple of gestures to other drivers to ensure they were also included in the morning’s festive atmosphere) I finally figured out what the problem was. “You mean why is there a statue? Well, you see…” I floundered, wondering how to explain this one. For a moment I cursed not only the driver in front of me who couldn’t choose a lane, but also the pandemic and my fear of taking loud, unruly toddlers into church. “You see, we put up statues of important people. And that lady is an important lady . Her name is Mary. Go! The light is Green!”

“Who?”

“Well, you remember the Baby Jesus? Christmas is his birthday? Well, Mary is his mommy.”

“Oooh.” There was a reflective pause. “I like the Baby Jesus.”

“That’s good.” I was proud of my daughter for her religious enthusiasm, and myself for having introduced a theological concept while dodging the myriad idiots on the road. All without swearing!

“I used to push the Baby Jesus around in his pram when he was a little baby.”

“Um..!”

“I was little too, but he was littler.”

“Well…”

“He was so happy.”

“Yes… Oh, look at that bus!”

“He was so so happy that I pushed him in his pram.”

“That’s right. Look, here’s school,” I replied weakly. For a moment I wondered if I should beg Slytherin Baby, or the Baby Jesus, that she not mention any of this to her teacher.

“I’m going to push my baby doll in the pram,” Slytherin Baby told me importantly as she marched towards to school gate.

It turns out, I shouldn’t have prayed for that. The picture that was sent home was of Slytherin Baby holding up a plastic glass from a picnic set. A plastic glass that she apparently asked to be filled with wine!

“I’m sorry; I have no idea where she would ever get that from,” I half laughed, half groaned to the teacher at pick up time. The teacher, who has met my daughter, and knows me, laughed heartily.

“Don’t worry. There were other children who asked for champagne because they were champagne glasses,” she reassured me.

“Well, now I’m not only embarrassed by her alcoholic tendencies, but by her uncultured alcoholic tendencies.”

“Mommmeeee! Come! I want to watch ‘Paw Patrol'”

School Daze

January 20, 2022January 20, 2022 ~ Slytherin_Baby_and_the_Unmumsy ~ Leave a comment

Throw back to Slytherin Baby’s first day of school last year

“I’m doing this for your own good,” I told Slytherin Baby who looked at me askance. “You’ll have lots of friends to play with.” Slytherin Baby threw her dolly on the floor in disgust. “You’ll have new toys to play with.” Slytherin Baby threw her dummy on the floor. “I promise, I’m only thinking of you. This is not so that mommy can have a few hours each morning to do some work and not lose her mind.”

“Lose her mind,” Slytherin Baby replied bending down to retrieve her dummy.

“Don’t repeat that at school please.”

“Repeat at school,” she chanted back at me, inspecting her dummy closely. “Wash the dummy!” She ordered holding it out to me.

“Yeah, I’m definitely sending you to school for you and not me.”

And so it was that Slytherin Baby was packed off to her first day of school. She eyed me doubtfully as I handed her over to The Teacher, but was successfully lured away with the promise of a dolly. I totally didn’t need the tissues The Teacher pressed on me as I left with a promise to Slytherin Baby that she would have a good day, I just had some dust in my eye.

“How did today go?” Himself asked that evening.

“Very well,” I replied. “I went to the shops and I finally managed to find a pair of shoes that aren’t slops. You know, to put in the back of the cupboard in the unlikely event the pandemic ever ends and I can go back into work.”

“I was actually talking about Slytherin Baby,” he said as she strode into the room.

“Who there? Daddy!” she roared, lunging for him.

“Ahh, well. She stayed at school long enough for me to go to the shops and buy a pair of shoes.”

“So, not great?” he asked. “Wait what did she just say?”

“She’s just going through a bit of pronoun confusion; ‘upy you’ means ‘pick me up’,” I explained. “I’m pretty sure…

“Did you have a good first day of school?” Himself gurgled at his daughter, who looked at him and pointed at the front door.

“Out!”

“Yeah, that’s what the school said,” I muttered. “Hopefully this won’t be the first of many days that she gets sent home.”

“Did she have a really bad day?” he asked bouncing her on his hip.

“No, she was actually very brave; she stayed nearly the whole day. She just needs to get used to it.”

“Go outside!” Slytherin Baby ordered.

“The Teacher says Slytherin Baby is ‘very verbally astute’,” I reported.

“‘Verbally astute’? That sounds good,” Himself replied, smiling at Slytherin Baby.

“Hmmm,” I murmured skeptically.

“Put down!” yelled Slytherin Baby, giving up on anyone actually taking her where she needed to go.

“She said that a lot today apparently,” I sighed.

“Isn’t verbally astute good?” he asked.

“It’s teacher talk; I happened to be fluent in teacher tal – ”

“Go outside!” interrupted Slytherin Baby, yelling at the closed door.

“And she also said that a lot today,” I muttered opening the door and catching her as she tripped on the door mat.

“So what does it mean?” Himself followed us out of the door and reached over to rescue an orchid from her snatching hands.

“It means she runs her mouth a lot.”

“Well, hopefully tomorrow will be a better day for her,”

“Yeah, hopefully,” I sighed. “I’m sure it’ll be better for Slytherin Baby too.”

As it turned out, Slytherin Baby stayed the full morning on her second morning.

“Brave girl!” exclaimed Himself.

“She was very brave,” I smiled.

“The Teacher!” sang Slytherin Baby and she leapt into Himself’s arms.

“No,” I explained. “That’s Daddy.”

Himself looked at me quizzically as Slytherin Baby inspected him, sighed, and then patted his rather hairy cheek in a conciliatory gesture.

“She adores her teacher. In fact, I think she has claimed The Teacher as her own personal property.”

“That’s good. She just needs to get used to the whole going to school thing. I mean she lasted the whole morning today,” Himself said.

“You’re right. Of course, we’ll just have to see how tomorrow goes when no one has a birthday and there aren’t any cupcakes.”

“Another early day?” Himself asked when phoned at lunchtime on the third day and heard what was either a feral cat attacking a parrot, or Slytherin Baby screeching in the background.

“The Teacher said she was a little teary, but overall, she had a good day. She just didn’t want to push it the first week,” I explained. “Which I mean makes sense, sometimes teachers just need to cry and the best thing to do is send the kids home.”
“Daddy?” said Slytherin Baby, snatching the phone from me. “Hello!” she yelled into the phone. “Hello!” She listened for a moment to her daddy telling her she was such a good girl, then pulled the phone away from her ear to inspect the screen.

“Ta for mommy!” I told her firmly, holding my hand out.

Slytherin Baby glanced at me, then went back to the phone. She pressed the big red button that shone up at her so invitingly.

“Slytherin Baby!” I exclaimed.

“Bye-bye!” she yelled at the screen before handing the phone back to me. “Lunch!”

“The Teacher,” Slytherin Baby said that evening as I rocked her to sleep.

“No, I’m mommy. You know, the one who gave birth to you.”

“The Teacher?” she repeated.

“Oh,” I suddenly understood. Every evening for the past three evenings I had told her she would be going to play with The Teacher when she woke up. “No. Tomorrow you’ll be staying with Mommy the whole day,” I explained, patting her back gently.

“Mommy,” Slytherin Baby said, reaching up to hook her arms around my neck.

“That’s right, your Mommy,” I murmured hugging her just a little bit closer.

A Walking, Talking Blessing in Disguise

November 17, 2021 ~ Slytherin_Baby_and_the_Unmumsy ~ 1 Comment

And just like that, we have a walkie-talkie. This is turning out to be a bit of a mixed blessing. One the one hand, it’s wonderful to see Slytherin Baby growing and exploring her world, seeing her enthusiasm for discovery, and getting a free work out as I run after her trying to protect the few possessions she hasn’t gotten her destructive mitts on yet. On the other hand, the potential for her embarrassing her mother has grown exponentially.

Now I surround myself with some lovely women who are Very Good Moms. They are the sort of good moms who pack delicious snacks for their kids. Sadly I have enough difficulty producing meals for the family, snacks are just something that happen when there’s no real food in the house. Fortunately (or unfortunately!) now that Slytherin Baby is both mobile and verbal, she can sort the problem of snacks out for herself.

On the playground Slytherin Baby was strutting around like a mini-Attila the Hun inspecting the troops when she heard the unmistakable sound of lunchbox being opened. Showing hitherto unseen dexterity she whipped round and bellied over to my friend, the Mom-I -Wish-I-Could-Be, craning her little Slytherin neck like a velociraptor to inspect the contents of the snack that the mom had loving prepared for her own child. In a display of kindness that one would expect from the Mom-I-Wish-I-Could-Be, she offered the box to Slytherin Baby, who snatched a sandwich with no hint of a ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ and ambled off to conquer another part of the playground in the Name of Slytherin Baby.

It took only a few minutes for Slytherin Baby to strut back over, steamrolling three or four littlies in her haste to swop down and scoop up the last sandwich before marching off to continue her reign of terror.

“Sorry,” I apologized weakly. “I can’t offer to reciprocate for your child, but I can promise to give you a good Gin and Tonic next time we have a playdate at my house.”

A few minutes later, you guessed it, she strode back to the Mom-I-Wish-I-Could-Be like a returning king and poked her nose back into the snack box. She prodded around before glaring at the mom.

“Bread!” she demanded.

With the patience of 10 saints the Mom-I-Wish-I-Could-Be offered her all sorts of other treats that she had packed specifically for her child. The little horror turned her nose up at them all and stormed off with her injured dignity to find yet more ways to embarrass her mother.

“Make that 2 Gin and Tonics,” I muttered, my head in my hands, while the other mothers laughed.

When I later related the story to the Best Friend she nodded sagely. “There’s only one way to deal with this; you need to find a child who behaves even worse than yours and has a mother who is more incompetent than you.”

“That’s the problem! There are no children worse, or mothers more incompetent! My child is that child! And I am that mother!”

Without missing a beat the Best Friend said, “That’s wonderful! Think of what a blessing you are to all the moms around you. You make them feel so much better about themselves. That’s an awesome thing to do for others!”

“You hear that baby?” I said to Slytherin Baby. “We’re a blessing to those around us.”

Slytherin Baby looked up from the pile of books she had pulled off the bookcase and spat out the one she was currently chewing on.

“Mama!” she squealed, a dust bunny hanging from her lips, as she flung herself at me, smacking her face against mine and smearing dust and spit all over my cheek. I hugged her back. “Definitely a blessing!”

Slytherin in Love

May 14, 2021 ~ Slytherin_Baby_and_the_Unmumsy ~ Leave a comment

“Watch this,” I said to Himself one evening while I tried to convince Slytherin Baby to put the carrots into her mouth. “Where’s Hufflepuff Kid?”

“Huff?” asked Slytherin Baby, pausing in her effort to put a carrot in her ear. “Huff?!”

“Still can’t say his name, huh?”

“Well, she’s not even a year old,” I defended her, “and it’s quite a long name.”

“Huff!” Slytherin Baby demanded banging her tray and sending peas across the kitchen.

“This is a bit mean, isn’t it?” Himself asked as he reached out to stop Slytherin Baby toppling over as she craned around in her highchair to see to the front door.

I shrugged as I fished peas out of my gin and tonic. “I can’t always tell right from wrong when I start my day being woken up at 4am with a wet little hand on my face and a voice screeching ‘Peepee!’”

“HUFF!!!”

Hufflepuff Kid lives next door to the Grandparents in their apartment complex and there is only one, little, seldom-closed garden gate that separates him from the wonders of the Grandparents’ house. Wonders that include a treat-stocked kitchen and a traditional Portuguese Grandfather. “They wouldn’t ask for something if they weren’t hungry” he assures me as Slytherin Baby and Hufflepuff Kid cluster around his feet, all but holding begging bowls, as he opens the biscuit cupboard.

“Ok, but why do you have dog biscuits? You don’t have a dog. Do I need to be looking into nursing homes?”

“Hufflepuff Kid has a dog,” he tsks as if it’s the most obvious reason in the world.

“And why- Oh, good grief, now there’s a hadeda in your kitchen.”

“They normally get supper at 5. You’ve made me late. It’s coming,” he adds to the bird who ruffles its feathers and stalks back outside.

Other wonders include a large garden strewn about with push-bikes, balls, dolls, and assorted action figurines dragged out of retirement at the top of the cupboard for a new life of being chewed, bitten and bashed about by the next generation.

But, without question, the holy grail of the Grandparents’ House is the birdbath. The birdbath is a flat rock with a hollowed-out center, just about the size and shape of toddler’s bum, and filled with very suspect, very murky water. There is a regular birdbath in the garden, and that will do, but both birds and babies far prefer the slimy rock water.

Hufflepuff Kid’s only obstacle to this Nirvana is the gatekeeper – Slytherin Baby. At the first hint of a rattle at the gate Slytherin Baby freezes, then whips her face round, nose pointed to the source of her prey like a hunting dog.

“Stay!” The Grandmother commands Slytherin Baby. “Go let him in,” she commands me.

“Isn’t he over here quite a lot? Don’t you guys ever want a break?”

The Grandmother takes a moment to survey her living room, covered in fingerpaint, books with slightly ripped pages, battered cars, a broken drum and a teddy bear trapped on top of a bookcase which should be far too tall for Slytherin Baby to be able to reach. “You think he’s going to disturb my quite retirement?”

“Point taken. I’ll let him in.”

At the gate Hufflepuff kid hesitates, Slytherin Baby hovers in the doorway, waiting for him to make his move.

“Go on,” I encourage him. “She’s bigger than you, but you’re faster.”

After another tense second, he’s off. Slytherin Baby takes after him. Hufflepuff Kid can run, while Slytherin Baby’s still crawling; but she can cut the corner and head him off.

For a moment I watch indulgently, until I realize where they’re headed. “No!”

The Grandmother comes outside to watch Hufflepuff Kid racing to the sludge water, Slytherin Baby crawling for all she’s worth after him and me chasing them both.

I fling myself in front of the rock of disease, blocking him off. For a moment he hesitates, then turns to the less fun, but still water-filled birdbath on the other end of the garden. Slytherin Baby stops and eyes me; trying to decide if she can take me. While we stare at each other and a tumbleweed blows past, Hufflepuff Kid stops and looks back.

“Slyth?”

Slytherin Baby glances between me and her man. Hesitates. Then, “Huff!” she squeals and starts after him again. Relieved, Hufflepuff Kid starts running away again.