this kid

A year ago I was in turmoil with this little person. And so I'm here now with the proof that 'this too shall pass' is the singular most valuable parenting phrase EVER COINED.

Sunday is nearly 4. She's grown like the proverbial weed (the latest spurt being 3 cm in 2 months!) - and not just physically.

There was a moment a few months back when I realised that every day there were moments of potential conflict (put on shoes, get out car, have a wee, eat your supper - all of these the very trenches of parenting warfare as you know), where I was holding my breath, braced for the inevitable mortar fire, and ... not getting it.

'Okay' she'd say, neatly stepping over my jaw (hanging on the floor in disbelief) and complying.

Steadily we've been able to untangle the complex knots of expectation, manipulation, exasperation and emotional damnation and just conduct our relationship like two normal family members. Or maybe it was just me who had to do that, she just ... grew up.

She's learned to laugh it off. She can handle some light teasing. She knows (quite expertly in fact) how to offer an alternative solution if the one at hand doesn't quite suit her. She strikes a mean bargain. She's irresistibly cute.

She is nearly 4. Life is sweet. I'm so glad she's growing, but could she stop growing? Because, ridiculously, as predicted by me, I miss my soft-cheeked babachoo too ...

twinkle star photography

Much earlier this year I won a family photo shoot with Twinkle Star Photography by answering the question: why do you think you should win this shoot?
I answered that we should win because Friday was losing teeth at a rate of knots and we should get some pics before she became a gap-toothed monster, and I won!

Months later I finally got it together to free up an afternoon and the lovely Sam arrived to take our pictures. We settled down for tea and chat to get the girls (and me!) at ease, whereupon Friday promptly popped a tooth! We did laugh!

Sam quickly had us all feeling very comfortable, and the girls and I pottered around as we would on a normal afternoon.

I'd had my reservations about the shoot - I'm not a formal portrait person and definitely didn't want it to be too cheesy ... but Sam was super, she totally got where I was coming from and in our pre-shoot chats quickly recommended a more documentary style, lifestyle photography it's called.

Basically, photos of our lives.

With Sam cleverly catching snippets of our home and other quirky details (love those sneakers!) in between. I think this gives so much more depth to the collection of pics she's given us, and I've a feeling I'll treasure this memory, tying a little girl's shoe, as much as the shots of us together.

Later we headed outside into the wild wind for the great afternoon light, and some horse-play.

Thank you Sam for a wonderfully relaxed and fun afternoon, and for capturing such lovely moments in the lives of my crazy little ones and I. 

I just know the glow of these pictures will become more golden and magical as these little girls grow up, up and away.

the wee one

I'm lying on my Mum's bed while Sunday uses the en suite bathroom. Suddenly I realise the sound I'm hearing is not the comforting tinkle of pee on porcelain. More a discomforting splashing on tiles.
'Muuuuuum?'

Once again, she didn't quite make it.
Is it over-confidence? She's been potty trained for months. Is it stubbornness? She's an ace at that. Is she just distracted? Or is she actually doing this to make my life just that little bit harder?
Some days I'm guilty of thinking just that.

Once, in a fit of exasperation, when she was dancing and knuiping and looking panicky, all the while denying she needed to go, I resorted to: 'Sunday, I can see you need to wee. If you have an accident I'm actually going to be really cross and I might have to smack your bum.'
She looked me in the eye, crossed her arms (and her legs) and declared: 'Well, then you will get wee on your hand.'

Diabolical.

After I'd done mopping up the bathroom my Mum reminded me, 'Now do you understand why I resorted to telling you that if you didn't wee when you needed to your bladder would burst?'
I do. A myth which haunted me for most of my childhood, one which I'd lambasted my mother about a number of times, now makes perfect sense.

One more accident and I swear, as much as I hate to, I'm repeating the lie.

I'm that pissed on, I mean off.

gender bender

In keeping with the dichotomy which is this child, the two central tropes in Sunday's life at the moment are
a) how she CAN'T WAIT to have her babies and
b) how she's actually a boy, not a girl.

The boy thing has been around for some time. She loves a pretty frock, likes to think 'pink is her favourite colour' like her sister, but lest you be very careful of using the wrong gender pronouns or she'll rake you over hot coals.
She was having a vaccination shot last week and afterwards the nursing sister declared her to be 'such a brave girl'. Both Friday and I looked up in horror - nooooooo - but it was too late. 'I'm not a girl!' Sunday shrieked as the poor nurse floundered, eventually doling out lollipops to lighten the mood and commenting instead on their 'lovely blonde hair' until Friday told her 'my daddy's black' (what?) and I saw the woman's eyes glaze over with confusion as she ushered us out of her office declaring we'd been the 'most fun she'd had all day'.
In the car on the way home Friday muttered, 'I meant Daddy's hair is black', while Sunday rambled on about how she was a nice lady but 'a bit silly to not see that I'm a boy hey Mum?'

We indulge the phase, knowing from earnest conversations that she does really know what's what, but just chooses to live this fantasy for now. And as a child who really, really wanted a willy for my 5th birthday I'm okay with letting this one play itself out.

However the baby thing has been around for even longer. Friday had no interest in dolls as a smallie, but Sunday's maternal urge is strong. We all recall how when she'd just started crawling she'd collect dishtowels around the kitchen and clutch them to her chest, patting them hard and saying 's, s, s'.
She has a small but beloved collection of dolls, named Eyeball, Cucumber, Zebareba and Su'Lala (I couldn't make this shit up if I tried), and the subject of babies (growing them, birthing them and raising them) occupies a lot of her conversation.
For now she's happy playing with her dolls, but beware statements such as: 'You're such a good Mum.'
Oh no, if asked she's a big brother, a father or a granddad to this special bunch of weirdly-named kids.

So it was heart-breaking to watch, yesterday morning as her big eyes welled up with tears, the dawning comprehension that the two dreams had no clear intersect.
Chatting away about how she's a big boy, she suddenly had a moment of clarity and started sobbing, 'But if I'm a boy how will I have my babies Mum?'
My eyes teared up too. It's a sad thing watching the shattering of a dream, however nonsensical it may seem.

She tried to convince me that 'some boys can have babies' but I squashed that one pronto. There are limits to how much fantasy I consider it healthy to indulge. We chatted about adoption instead.
In conclusion she decided that when she was ready to have babies she might decide to be a girl again after all.
You go my boy.

My big boy, in a fairy frock, holding his her baby up to see out the bird hide.

small girl sads

Sunday is loving school these days. We went through a rough patch towards the end of last term (when she was so deaf poor thing) and then a rocky re-entry at the beginning of this one, but now we're in a rhythm (I'm sure being able to hear has made all the difference!), and she's loving it.

When I collected her yesterday she and her friend Max were waiting for his Mum and I, desperate to ask whether Max could come and play at our house one afternoon soon.
We made a plan for next week and Sunday was so pleased. I realised it'll be the first time she'll have an independent friend here, not one of my friend's kids or one of Friday's friends - Sunday's own friend from Sunday's own school coming to play at her own house. It's kind of a big deal.

She couldn't wait to tell Friday. 'She's going to be so 'sescited Mum! She's going to jump up and down!', couldn't wait to share her big news with her big sister.

But ... she didn't get a chance.

Friday burst out of her classroom, ponytail and backpack swinging, 'Mum, Mum, Amara says her Mum is going to phone you to ask if she can come for a sleepover on the weekend. A SLEEPOVER!! Please Mum say yes, please please please.'

And so Sunday's first playdate gets trumped by Friday's first sleepover. And as much as I tried to balance the levels and monitor who shared their exciting news with Dad first and make as much of each thrilling life event as the other, I could tell Sunday was deflated.

Does having a big sister mean one always has to share the limelight? I don't know, I don't have one. But it's a little heartbreaking to watch.

let's talk about colouring*

*And no, I don't mean colouring ...

Colouring-in has gotten a bad rap over the years, the premise being that it stifles kid's creative drawing, use of imagination etc etc blah blah blah.

We're in a big colouring phase (I'm trying to type with a straight face here) and I think it's great.
Firstly, it's super easy to print pages off the internet depending on what they're interested in - in the last month we've been through unicorns (of course), fairies (of course), frogs, bee's, eagles and a medley of patterns and floral designs.
Secondly, what they're learning about colour and shading, and the pencil-grip practise they get puts paid to all other concerns.

Thirdly, they're still totally drawing freehand as well.
Fourthly, printing out and handing them a stack of blank, inspirational pages buys me some time to do other things around the house - and what's not to love about that?
And lastly, we've seen such a huge improvement in Sunday's colouring skills in just a few weeks. From random scrawls, to real progress in keeping between the lines and using different colours etc.

My favourite thing at the moment is to listen in on them working together. Real discussion about colour choices and the personalities of the figures they're colouring or the stories behind their pictures.

Imagination, creativity, sisterly bonding - all of this is good. Now if someone would invent a self-sharpening pencil crayon I'd be completely happy.

self portraits

Saturday morning drawings.

Friday: I'm an angel Mum, bringing joy and happiness to the world. (Wise ass.)

Sunday: I'm a monster.

From the mouths of babes. Anyone who'd like to tell me again 'shame, it must've been those bad ears which was making her so difficult' should come and spend a couple of days in our house #justsaying.

grommets

It was late one night, whispering to her in the bedroom she shares with her sister, asking her to move up, or roll over or some such, when she suddenly turned and looked at me with wild eyes, as if she’d not known I was there, that I realised it.

She’d not known I was there. She’d not heard my voice. She was deaf.

Our pediatrician recommended an audiologist but I went straight to an ENT. Confirmation: radically deaf in both ears.

It’s probably only been a few months, I’m not allowing a blanket excuse for some of the behaviour we’ve suffered through this year, but a deaf little girl is not a happy little girl and I was relieved by the surge of tenderness which welled within me. My poor baby.

So last week, sandwiched between her sister turning 6 and an epic unicorn birthday party to celebrate this great milestone, we woke frightfully early in the morning and stumbled off to Claremont Hospital.

She was a star. She didn’t ask for breakfast, she didn’t protest or complain. She gave the nurses a special smile she’d prepared for the occasion (she has a selection of smiles in her repertoire – one for me, one for family, one for friendly car guards etc – all different), she watched wide-eyed as the younger patients returned from theatre in tears, and when it was her turn she lay, ever so small in her big hospital bed, as a friendly porter wheeled her through the halls, and gently succumbed to the anaesthetic. The only sign of her apprehension a raptor-like grip on my finger; so that even once the rest of her was floppy and limp I had to prise my hand away.

Grommets in, adenoids out.

I lay next to her as she slowly floated to the surface back in the children’s ward. A nurse was talking to the young boy in the furthermost bed from ours, offering him a selection of treats from the hospital menu.

Sunday’s eyelids fluttered, she raised her head a little to look at me and croaked, ‘Mum, did she say jelly?’

She had. I ordered some for my little hero and a while later we trundled home.

‘I can hear Mum, I can really, really hear.’

I’ve not heard anything sweeter for a long time.

chalk and cheese

Sunday's new school couldn't be less like the school she attended last year. We loved last year's school, and we love this one, make no mistake, but I do marvel at the differences.

Last year's school was bright and colourful and spanking clean. This year's school is earthy and natural, the brightest colours in the place are on the kids, this year's school is muddy and haphazard and ... mysterious.

Last year's dressing up rail was a parade of delightful outfits, various characters and animals, lots of sparkly fairy wings.
This year's dressing up suitcase is a unknown bundle of weird and wonderful - second-hand hats and homemade creations, scarves in every natural dyed colour known to childkind.

Last year's play-dough was glittery and aromatic, cut with bright plastic shape cutters, this year's play-dough is ... yup, naturally dyed, and slowly all melding into the same shade of brown, moulded into gnomes and toadstools.

Last year's outside was a big netted trampoline, climbing frames and a guinea-pig in a hutch. This year's outside is a vintage swing-set, a climbable tree, a teepee and a friendly Great Dane to pet through a fence.

Last year's school had the alphabet on the wall, this year's school has a surfboard in the corner.

But what last year's school and this year's school have in common is this: a teacher whom Sunday loves. A woman who sees my baby girl, who gets her idiosyncrasies and laughs at her jokes, who guides her through these first fragile years of learning about group interaction and standing on one's own two small feet.

Two utterly different sides of the same warm, secure coin. How lucky to be exposed to both.

lessons in rice

These photos are from back in February. I have a feeling it was the first morning I got an inkling that my next few months at home with Sunday weren't going to be all plain sailing ...

It started off alright, a little girl very busy doing funny little girl things.

See that tray of coloured rice? I left it there naively thinking it would extend her solo play time, while I got some work done.
2 colours rice and some pouring and scooping toys. What's not to love right?

It was all going swimmingly until I mixed the rice. And something in her then-nearly-3-year-old make-up VIOLENTLY OBJECTED to such an outright parental disrespect for the natural order of dyed rice segregation.
In short, all hell broke loose (no photos supplied).

In those early days of tantrum hell my first response was to IMMEDIATELY FIX THE PROBLEM and so ...

... we quickly set about dying new batches of rice.
(See that sweet clear-eyed face, showing no trace of recent demonic fury and rage.)

Each colour carefully and prettily segregated as they dried in the sunshine. And then very carefully and prettily separately decanted into a plastic muffin tray from the recycling.

Whereupon what was the first thing she did? MIXED THE COLOURS OF COURSE.

In retrospect there were a lot of lessons learnt that day, about the deep complexities of the 3 year old mind. About trying to apply adult logic to a very non-adult small person.
And in the months since we've learnt how very many games, crafts and fun times can be had with a simple batch of coloured rice.

For all of us.

We've also learnt how spilled uncooked rice will stick to your toes and spread throughout your house in ways we could never have imagined.
This batch of rice served us well, but finally, today, I swept up and chucked the last of it. And like the tantrums which held us all hostage these past months (but have started to abate) I hope not to see any more dyed rice around here for a long, long time.

dinosaur party

And so, despite it being touch and go there some days, she made it to 3 and specifically requested a Dinosaur Party.
I was happy to oblige.

Dinosaur party hats. Fruit & doughnut skewers. Carrot (cup)cakes. Nikki Werner's (super easy and delicious!) Cheesecake from here.

Cardboard Dinosuits for the win.

Rwoar.

Le Cake!

My first ever 'proper' party packs. I've arrived.

Contemplating new ways to torture her mother ...

It was a great morning, she was immaculately behaved, her friends were lovely, my friends were even lovelier. 

We're one step closer to 4.

And in years to come I'll look back at this last photo and nostalgically mourn the loss of my soft cheeked babachoo.

*crickets*

Some friends were asking me today why I've been so quiet on the blog ... dead blog air, is there anything more deafening?
I know when blogs I read fall silent I always wonder what's going on in their lives. I hope they're just too busy hanging out and being glamourous, and not ailing or unhappy.

My silence hasn't been for any of these reasons, good or bad. My silence has been due to the sheer exhaustion, frustration, and at times despondence, of full time parenting a particularly demanding and forceful little girl. And who wants to read about that, I replied to my friends this morning?

I can't come here exhausted, after a day of toddler dramatics, and muster any enthusiasm for parenting insights, or happy crafts. I've often so little humour left that I can't even crack a smile post bed time, my stores of creativity depleted, my words all used up, the sound of my own voice grating in my head.

And no one's interested in that right?

This thing about 'mommy blogging' (urgh), is that we walk a fine line between making it all sound too perfect, and using the space to moan and complain. I'm equally irritated by bloggers who do either. I don't like to bad mouth my kids on the internets, but I'm as horrified to hear that anyone reading this blog may think I make it all sound too easy, that our lives look too fun and squeaky clean.

Life has, for a lot of the time in the last few weeks, not been much fun at all. Life has in fact been pretty tough. What I learned from my friends today is that I should be writing about that here too. And what I've learned just from writing this post is that writing, as usual, always makes me feel better.

Today was Sunday's 3rd birthday party. It was the hardest kiddies party I've ever organised, not because of its scale or logistical intricacies, but because I found it really hard to muster the good feeling and energy to celebrate this small girl right now.
After a day of battles and tears, demands and tantrums, it was extremely difficult to brainstorm the ultimate dinosaur cake, or think of ways to make her day extra special. Once she was in bed I wanted to stop thinking about her entirely for a while, to replenish myself with ME.

But I did it, we did it, and it was lovely. She was an angel - she wore a dress! she only freaked out once! she loved everything! she didn't call me 'Bad Mummy' or slap me!

She was sweet and delightful and appreciative and funny ... she was deliciously 3 and I must, I must remember that this too shall pass and one day (soon) I'll look back and wonder at how the time has flown.

three going on thor

She'll be three in 10 days time and I've had NO idea what to get her for her birthday.

What do you get the kid who has four dolls, plays with them regularly, but ALL their accessories are imaginary? An empty box full of 'baby clothes'?

What do you get the kid who basically wants to be read to ALL day long, in a house already bursting with books? A paid drama student to read to her with all the appropriate voices?

What do you get the kid who has an older sister so there's one of everything she could want in the house already? Tea set - check. Dolls house - check. Blocks, books, dolls, puzzles, mini-kitchen etc - check.

What do you get the kid who has everything she needs really, but must have something to unwrap on her birthday morning right?

What do you get the kid who's currently a tyrannical torturous tantrummy tot with VERY SPECIFIC notions of what she does and does not like? A gift voucher? Ha ha ha.

I was at a dead loss until a few days ago when she declared, out of the blue, that she'd like a sword for her birthday. To fight dinosaurs, monsters, big frogs for mummy, baddies and dragons - in that order I think.
A sword.

So my question really is: would it be so wrong to get her a sword? Obviously not a proper goblin-made one, I can see how she doesn't quite have the fine motor control for that, but a nice hippie Waldorf one?

My mother is horrified, presumably at the notion of giving a 3 yr old a weapon. Husband is not supportive, declaring rightly so that a wooden sword can still inflict a lot of damage - namely to her sister.

But I'm more than a little tempted. I think there's something empowering about it, I like that she's casting herself as the hero in this particular imagining. I like that a sword can be a prop for an expanding selection of games including knights and vikings, intrepid explorers and swashbuckling adventurers.
Aren't we always told that the princess fantasy is a weak one, playing the victim waiting for a knight to swoop in and rescue the helpless maiden? Aren't we encouraged to teach our daughters they can be anything, they can be the rescuers, they can hold the power? Would there be as much objection to a boy wanting a sword for his 3rd birthday?

A year ago I'd have rejected the idea of giving a 3 year old a sword purely on the basis that I believe you don't give children weapons. But now, as she talks about her sword daily, and her birthday approaches, I'm not so sure.
What do you think?

loving them fiercely

Phone pic, Main Rd Diepriver

Friday started Grade R last week. She's been so excited about it for so long and, as is her way, glided straight into a new environment with nary a backward glance.
I'm in such awe at how well she embraces change.
This 'big school' thing has awakened stuff in me though. Of course. Concerned thoughts about a future in which, invariably, we'll face a time when she doesn't think I'm such a fun person to hang out with. A time when she'll have secrets, have fears that she'll not share, a time when she'll not laugh at my silly jokes but roll her eyes and groan.
I've found myself, somewhat pathetically I admit, feeling triumphant when I have made her laugh this week. Feeling grateful for the big hugs I've gotten, my heart singing when she jumped into my arms after that first day of school and whispered 'I love you Mum'.
Each moment from the womb that imaginary umbilical cord stretches just a little further, but last week I felt its tug so sharply.

With Sunday I had almost the opposite experience.

The pre-school we'd signed her up for last year turned out to be a total dud. Disengaged staff, dirty and broken toys, cat poo in the sand pit (loads of cat poo at that). At first I felt like a fool, why had I not seen the obvious flaws when I'd visited last year? Then I felt like a snob, we were so spoiled by her previous, magnificent, play school that maybe my standards were too high? Then I felt angry - I've visited pre-schools in townships with almost no equipment, where the smell of cleaning detergent is so strong it'll make your eyes water - clean, happy schools run by underpaid people determined to give every child the best experience they can - there is NO excuse for bad hygiene in schools for little people.
So we left, Sunday and I, and went out for breakfast to regroup.
And as we chatted at the table, that umbilical cord shrunk a little. I had been about to reel my youngest out a bit, to send her off a little further into the world without me. Now she'll be home for a while as we come up with another plan, home alone with me.

That 2013 To Do list will have to simmer on the back burner for a little longer. I'll get there, I'll get there.

11 Dec

Ack! I didn't take any photos today! So ... I'm later-gramming. Yup, just when I thought instagram couldn't get more laughable (follow the link, you'll thank me), I discovered #latergram - when you post a pic you took earlier, to post later, so it's not, like, instant - see?

These from the last day of school. Our Sunday, being the most delightful little flirt.

if I were blogging ...

... all I'd be blogging about would be ...

Packing. And how I'm starting to wonder whether 'slow and steady wins the race' was the best approach. I feel like I've been packing my whole life and the real crunch only starts now ...

The Massive Cold Sore my body bequeathed me with just in case I was under the illusion that that I'm not stressed.

The Asshole Parent in Friday's school who bought her 6 year old daughter a BRA. The kid in question doesn't even have puppy fat boobies. I weep for humanity.

How I got 6 disturbing hits on this blog from a totally gross p-o-r-n site. Maybe I shouldn't be using words like b-o-o-b-i-e-s. I blame this post. Or maybe this one.

To confess that last week I became one of those parents who takes her 2 and a half year old to the doctor because omg there must be an explanation for the monstrous behaviour we've had inflicted on us recently right??
This is how that went ...
Me to doc: 'Either way I'm prepared to leave this consultation embarrassed. Either my kid has a raging ear infection I've been totally unaware of for the last week, or she's just 2 and a half and I'm an asshole.'
Doc: 'And you're hoping it's an ear infection.'
I love my doctor.
However, she examined Sunday from head to toe and declared her absolutely healthy.
'She's just preparing you for her teen years,' she said with a small smile.
I hate my doctor.

Not this kid surely? This delectable bundle of energy and imagination and observation and general delight?
The very same.

If I were blogging I fear I'd be totally boring and self-obsessed right now.
So I'm not.

now I lay her down to 'leep

Sunday, aged two and a bit, decided to drop her afternoon nap. Her sister did the same thing at that age.
I was 7 weeks pregnant at the time - can you feel my pain?

I really thought Sunday would hang on longer. She loves(d) sleeping, and was still rocking a 2 hour nap the week before she quit.

But now baby don't nap no more and that, plus the sudden onset of TWO-ness, is making our evenings a little ... strained.

Tonight I lay on her bed in the dark, totally still, totally silent. While she thrashed around the bottom of it, emitting the guttural animal shrieks of frustration and utter over-wroughtness that I so clearly remember her sister making.
I lay on her bed in the dark, holding a fluffy turtle in position with my toe so she didn't bang her head too hard against the foot of the bed, waiting for her to calm.
I lay there and wondered how other parents deal with this, as we always perpetually wonder right?

I know there's no soothing her until she's ready. Strictly no touching her until she asks for it. I know there's nothing I can do but keep that turtle in position, silently apologise to the neighbours and lie there in the dark so she knows I'm there.

And when the shrieks turn to wails, when the thrashing becomes less violent, when the hand beating my leg starts caressing it instead, then at last will come the moment when she whimpers, ''leep wif Mummy', and I can bring her up to lie next to me, head on the pillow, hand on my face, and watch as she drifts off, still sobbing a little.
Then I lie there and let a big tear of my own slide down my cheek.

It was a long day for a little girl. And a long day for this big one too.

stepping up

Shew, this young lady is becoming one independent little being.

Our house regularly echoes with her desperate plea: 'I'll me do iiiiiiiiiit!' (utilising all possible pronouns - and her multi-functional black 'teps - in her quest for self-determination).

I find this stage so exciting - she's courageous, confident and oh so proud of herself when she completes a task to her (very exacting) satisfaction.
But it's a tough one too.

Sunday is having to learn one of the hardest lessons of her life: the world won't always work the way she wants it to.
Even as an adult this pisses me off, so I can only imagine how frustrating it must be for a 2 year old.
Actually I don't really have to imagine, I'm witnessing it nearly daily at the moment and, as always with this parenting gig, am often the meanie who's refusing to let her open the hot oven, use a teaspoon amount of toothpaste, wash her hair in the dog's bowl or ride in the front seat of the car.

Maybe the crux of the so-called 'terrible two's' (yukky phrase) is having to work out the complexities of context. Sometimes its totally okay, indeed encouraged, to be independent, self-sufficient and involved - sometimes it's okay to use knives and glasses - but other times (and suspiciously when you most want to), it's not allowed.
Why is that?
Whhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?

science girl

Shocking I know, but despite the Cape Town Science Centre moving to my home suburb many months ago, I'd not visited it until last week.

We made a plan to go with a friend and her son, and for a while I'd thought to arrange for Sunday to do something else for the morning. I thought that at 2 and a bit she was possibly a little young, would get bored, and then fractious.
How wrong was I?

In her usual studious and independent style, Sunday sought out the projects and demo's which suited her.

Things which looked fun.

Things which made a noise.

Things which moved and shook.

.

Things which rocked her world.

I feel badly for underestimating my little Science Girl, but also glad to know that the Cape Town Science Centre so thoughtfully caters for all ages. A great outing - especially on a cold and rainy day.

The Science Centre is running their holiday programme until 15 July, has ample parking, well-informed and friendly staff and a small cafe which sells great coffee, muffins and toasted sandwiches. Interestingly the cafe seems to have no problem with visitors bringing their own snacks either, making this a great place for a small birthday party, or parents who have kids on restricted diets etc.

pop quiz

What goes:

'Whino!'

'Burd!'

'Graffe!'

'Ant!'

'Ebra!'

'Lephant!!!!'

'More 'lephant!!!!'

'Buck!'

'Burd!'

'Lion!'

'Monkey!'

'Baba lion!!'

Answer: The Lion King, as narrated by Sunday.