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Mary1's last born has left childhood behind and is embracing her teen years with a vengeance; "we" have a party diarised for each of the next six Saturday nights, no exaggeration. At last Mary1 can breathe on her own, bath without an audience and have Saturday nights out without leaving a sad fairy alone with the staff. And then receiving intermittent texts from the said fairy asking how the date is going. And to come home if the date is boring. How liberating puberty is!
John21 is warm, smiley, embracing and comfortable in his own skin. I could tell he wasn't the sort to have told his wife she looked fat in that outfit or that her meal served at the dinner party she hosted was below par. Or that she was a bit fat for a bikini at aged 32 as she was "post-natal". He is a classic mensch. I liked John21 immediately. John21 spoke warmly of his now ex-wife. And her family. And their adult children. Good sign. No sour grapes. No resentment. How dreary the dates are when the chap bangs on about his ex-wife. Obviously he is not mad about her, they are divorced. Hello! There is no need for a post-mortem. John21 was terribly excited about life. He enthused about everything. He was positive, a glass half-full kind of chap. John21 and I have a lot of friends in common, too and his ex-wife is married to one of my oldest and dearest university man friend's uncle. What a small world. Actually not so small. The Jewish community in Cape Town is but a shadow of its former self. Not much choice the second time round these days. Especially in our age group. Most of our age group left the country straight after university. #clever.
Mary1 and John21 had a wonderful, happy coffee date in front of a roaring log fire at Mary1's favourite hotel on a Sunday afternoon. Lots of coffees. It was a warm, fuzzy kind of date. What worried Mary1 later though, when lying in bath without an audience and thinking, was that John21's greatest wish and hope for the future was not to travel extensively. Not to start up a new business. Not to study. Not to go shark cage diving or even to see the Spring flowers at Churchaven. No.
John21 was most looking forward to being a Zaida (Grandpa). Which would make me the Boba (Granny). Yes, that is right. Me, the Granny. I could picture John21 and myself sitting on the covered veranda at his beautiful mountainside home admiring the back of Table Mountain. In rocking chairs. Next year. Remember that ditty we used to sing at school, terribly funny it was: "Ouma en Oupa sit op die stoep ..." and then it gets really rude.
This would mean that Saturday nights would immediately revert back to bathing with an audience, breathing when there was a moment and having the (not-so-sad) grand-fairies and grand-goblins (not to leave out boy children) to stay for the night so their folks could go out on a Saturday night and not leave the fairies and goblins with sad faces with the staff. It would be like this because I know what kind of a Granny I am going to be. My firstborn has scripted the profile already. Just in case I get any ideas about not being the dream Granny. And having a life of my own. "Having a life of your own is not mutually beneficial, you have to invest in your old age, invest in your children so that they choose to invest in you when you need it most " it was pointed out to me quite clearly by my very insightful child.
I look forward to being a Boba. But do you know what, I needs a year or two's break first. I have only just entered my last puberty. Then I shall be the world's best Boba. So, to my first and second born children who are at that critical age, the age when our grandparents had already birthed our parents: "you know the drill". I am not ready. Yet. My time will come. Then drop the fairies and goblins off at Boba and hit the town!