He tells me he needs an “escape board” (:lol:) (:lol:) (:lol:) (:lol:)

Today he asks me “MUM, do you know where my brother and sister went?”. So, I say no, where have they gone. He says “They ate bubble gum, you know! And, they did die!” (:rolleyes:) (:rolleyes:)

Dorje is growing his hair so it is “like his dad’s” (:rolleyes:) (:rolleyes:) (:lol:) (:lol:) (:lol:) So I bought some clips to tie his fringe out of his face whilst its still growing – I mean, they don’t say “Bend it like Beckham” for nothing. Anyhow, Louiza informs me that Luka also wants boy clips like Dorje. He he he (:cool:) (:cool:) (:cool:)

Most days with Dorje we make muesli for breakfast. Fantastic Camphill wheat-free muesli, with Camphill yoghurt and honey. And a liberal sprinkling of seeds. Pumpkin seeds, linseeds, hemp seeds, sesame seeds, sunflower seeds. Dorje’s not a great fan of seeds. He often tells me he doesn’t want at least one or two varieties. There’s no real consistency to which he rejects – he just likes to assert himself and say no. Usually though, after I put them in my muesli, he wants to copy me, and we put them in his anyway, but he doesn’t really show any great enthusiasm for the seeds.

With one exception. Golden linseeds! Now golden linseeds, in case you’re wondering, taste just like linseeds, or any bird food for that matter. But the name! He calls them goldseeds, and shows great excitement every time I bring them out.

There’s one more ingredient that goes into his muesli (and I don’t mean blackstrap molasses). Most important is that I put lots of barley grass in. Not just the sprinkling I put in mine, but lots and lots. We pour it in. He mixes everything together. If the overall colour isn’t dark green, we have to put in more. This usually takes 3 or 4 generous goes, as I can’t imagine anyone actually liking half a jar what’s basically dried grass in their muesli, but clearly the colour, and the name, is more important to Dorje than the taste.

I realise more and more how complex the English language is from speaking to Dorje. Having a Xhosa nanny, getting the genders right is an ongoing struggle. I don’t know how many times I’ve corrected things like The man, she said. I try and do it subtly, not harshly telling him he’s wrong like a schoolteacher. I usually repeat the sentence with the correct grammar, but then I run into the difference between I and you, and the conjugation of the verbs. So I usually have to find an excuse to repeat the sentence from the same grammatical point of view.

I can see the outcome. Either Dorje will be a grammar nazi, like me (I remember stubbornly saying yes instead of ja like the cool kids, at age 7 or so, just because it was right ), or the opposite, making the impression of a rapper in the Oxford English department.

There are times when I just want to give up. I’m pressing softly says Dorje, as he sticks the fork in my skin. Now I’m pressing hardly he says, poking the fork into my skin with a vengeance. Trying to explain is just too much – bloody English grammar.