Over the recent long weekend, we went to stay in a house in the Koue Bokkeveld. Dorje loves going away, and it’s a reminder of how much we’ve lost in the city when a child can just roam over a large area without the need for constant supervision. At home, he’s stuck between the four small walls, or closely guarded when he leaves.

He had a bike, which helped with his mobility!

Friends came along with their daughter, Ylara, who is slightly older than Dorje. Apparently a fan of Disney movies featuring princesses and happily ever after, she announced that she was marrying Dorje after a bath together. Dorje sounded enthusiastic.

When she was still talking about it two days later, Dorje’s enthusiasm seemed to have waned. Here’s Ylara with Anique:

While Dorje and Ylara were making marriage plans, or biking all over the countryside, I was doing what should be done on a holiday:

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.

Gladys yells for Dorje “Where are you?” I hear him answer “I’m at HERE!!!” (:lol:) (:lol:) (:lol:)

Dorje asks me this morning for an Easter Egg. So, I explain that the Easter Bunny brings Easter Eggs. He rolled his eyes at me and said “MUMMMMMMM. You can buy them at the shop!!!”

EISH but they are too smart with answers hey (:twisted:)

For someone who supposely doesn’t watch TV, Dorje’s pretty good at telling me all about what Power Rangers and Transformers can do, and how police kill baddies with guns, or chop them up with swords. And of course he must demonstrate.

So, on Sunday I was once again a baddie being hacked with a sword (a small branch), when he hit me on the knuckle. It was sore.

“Do you love me but not like me?” he asked. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of this, but I think it comes from something his mom has probably been trying to tell him – that you can love someone, but not like what they’re doing.

So yes, I love Dorje, but don’t like being beaten up by him.

Later that day we were talking about who’s who in the family. He was telling me about his ouma (Anique’s mom), and that his mom’s ouma was old, and died. “But boys don’t die,” he said, “only girls”.

Sadly I had to tell him that’s not the case, and that when they get old, men die too.

My father is turning 80 this weekend, and Dorje is of course coming to the party.

“I’m going to go to grandpa’s party, and then he’s going to die,” he announced. I looked at him, and he had his best sweet cherubic face on, with just a hint that he was looking for a reaction. He didn’t get much from me, but I’m sure if he said that to others, like say, my mother, he’d get a much more rewarding reaction!

Saturday morning saw Dorje overloading on fruit. For breakfast, he had pawpaw, grenadilla, nectarine and pineapple, and then moved on to the main course of muesli with yogurt and golden linseeds, linseeds, sesame seeds, hemp seeds, pumpkin seeds….. and molasses.

He has sweet molasses at his mom’s house, so is quite used to the taste. However, I don’t have sweet molasses, I have blackstrap molasses, which is extremely bitter.

Two or three years ago I played a trick on him where I swapped sweet molasses with blackstrap molasses. His expression said it all, and I think I put him off any molasses for a few months.

So this time I asked him if he was sure. He said yes. I suggested he taste it first before smothering it all over his muesli,and gave him a tiny bit on a spoon. I asked him if he liked it, but as is his habit, he said yes as the spoon entered his mouth, before actually tasting any.

But even after he’d tasted it he said he liked it! Blackstrap molasses, something even I, drinker of wormwood tea and known as the ‘anti Jamie Oliver’ when I cook for myself, think tastes pretty vile!

I gave him a bigger spoon. He still liked it. I poured a small amount over his muesli. He liked it.

I’m still suspicious, or rather worried that his taste buds have been destroyed somehow. He even asked for ‘yuckie tea’, or wormwood tea the other day. We have a game where we drink a sip, and either make sounds of agony, gasping and gagging in horror, or sounds of ecstasy, as if we were drinking a wondrous ambrosia, nectar of the gods. He drinks a fair bit of wormwood tea before the game wears thin.