I've been a bad bad blogger once again. Not sure why really. I would never manage to hold down a job as a regular columnist.

Still no home for the pics unfortunately. The house is virtually finished. We are waiting for the doors for the kitchen cupboards, and I have yet to organise any curtains, and there are vast tracts of unfurnished lounge. The existing lounge furniture had to go either into the new family room or into the old lounge, now a tv-and-toy-free zone. After some deliberation I decided to pay homage to the combined god of tv, children and husband and put the furniture in the family room. So the lounge is totally empty at this point. We are really pleased with the house. It strikes me as good looking and spacious and yet comfortable and homely.

Some more snippets from the last month.

We attended Angie's funeral. It was really good to attain a degree of closure, and it was also good to experience an alternative perspective on Angie's life. Employing someone so culturally distinct from oneself does tend to give a rather one-dimensional view of that person, despite one's best efforts otherwise. Angie was much loved and much respected. She was the head of her family, to quote the pastor (as translated by Pat), both mother and father to her nine children (of whom seven are now living), as the family's father had walked out on them some time ago. Hamba gahle Angie.

The kids' school holiday has flown by. I can't believe they (and I, sigh) go back on Monday. The days have been crammed with ice skating, beach trips, bike riding, picnicking, and seeing friends. The kids also spent their traditional night with each set of grandparents. For one of those nights, Peter and I were at a work leadership strategy thingy. Not quite sure why we suddenly find ourselves back in the inner circle, but there you go. I was somewhat dismayed to discover that my boss, instead of taking up a nice healthy mid-life crisis sort of activity like driving fast sports cars or large motorcycles, has taken up smoking. How thick is that - to start smoking at almost 40.

A friend (who has already recently been through a lot) has just been diagnosed with breast cancer, and is recovering from surgery (breast-saving surgery fortunately). Chemo and radiation are scheduled, as a precautionary measure (as far as they can see there is no spread beyond her lymph node). It all seems a bit unreal.

Yesterday I had a total of six kids to look after, as Lauren had asked for a friend, and then I decided to also have the two kids of the friend I just mentioned (to give her mom and their household a break). I felt like the old woman who lived in the shoe. I kept misplacing the two-year-old and finding him in odd places, for example, investigating beneath the pool pump cover or testing the new shower door for strength.

The latest craze at our house is playing in mud. As in, digging a large crater, filling it with water to create a total mud-bath, sliding down a one-meter slide into said mud-bath, and plastering mud all over one's body just for good measure. Strangely enough, this game appeals just as much to eight-year-old girls as it does to two- and three-year old boys. In fact, one of the eight-year-old girls, who shall remain nameless, was in all honesty the ringleader in this curious behaviour.