The Life Manual (batteries not included)

I asked my husband the other day, when I would grow up. At what moment, I would buzz, rattle and inflate, form a cocoon and emerge with all the secrets of life and all the knowledge required to raise children and appreciate the brussel sprout. He smiled at me, and chuckled in a way that lets me know that no matter how ridiculous I am, I am the most loved woman in the world. And with the look of a man who has all the answers, he said simply "Don't worry about it so much, the baby comes with a manual".

Now the physical logistics aside of how I would print a life manual, what if there was a manual? A set of rules and procedures that outlined how-to's on every conceivable situation. A hitchhiker's guide, if you will.  

If we look at the things that come with manuals: electronics, appliances and the wonderful world of Ikea. How useful do we find the manuals that are included? Written by illiterate gnomes who haven't ever heard English and who all have PHDs in health and safety, half of the story is 101 ways this television, bed or coffee table will kill you.  Fit stake A into death trap B until you hear a crack, find item C (not in the box) in order to make this item safe for consumption. Not that it will fulfil the purpose for which it was intended. Ever. 

Maybe all our cars are Transformers. We just don't know how to activate them, because the secret is written in the telephone directory in the glove box, which doesn't open. However, find and push that button at your own peril. As your car transforms into a super quantum mechanical alien who will save the world… You will be crushed. You will have a really cool car. But there will only be bits and pieces of you left to appreciate it.

Six months ago, this was a fair trade off. Your new life as a Thing from the Addams Family riding on your Popularis Prime would've been satisfying every evening when you got into your Transformer-themed bed. Now, as you become a Transformer: Emergency Air Bag Boobs, Floatation Device Ankles and a Blackhole in your mid section (let's face it, THAT is the only way all that stuff fits in there), the cost seems too great and the benefit way too low.

Do we want to know the dangers? My life mate has a heart attack, a nervous twitch and stress spasms every time I get near a road. Busy intersections have caused him to hiccup in seizures of health & safety. The last thing I need is for him to know, truly know how much can honestly go wrong and how quickly (please refer to Page xxxiiilv in Chapter iiixvy-3 of the Life Manual). My civil liberties and freedoms would be severely impaired, I'm sure.   

I know that I am slowly growing to be a parent. I have been censoring my blue verbs when stubbing my toe, which is f-ing f-unny and people look at you like, wtf a-hole? This is the first step in learning parent language, which includes such ground breaking techniques as S-P-E-L-L-I-N-G-I-T-O-U-T, Ear Muffs! and  Ons praat die taal, want hy kannie verstaan nie. I don't even know when I started doing this. So, happily and with confidence, I'm throwing out the manual or being struck by enlightningment. I don't even care if brussel sprouts are good for me. All I know is that I will find all this out, one thing at a time, learning with my precious family.

Lashings of WHIPPED cream

It's the new year, and we all know what that means: The New Year's Resolution. The single-most unbinding promise we make to ourselves. And we can make promises, we can break promises but the one thing we cannot get a handle on is control. There are just too many variables.

Standing at the airport with our family of friends, a close friend (let's call him Pauly D for the always-impeccable, orange physique and ever-present Essex-shades) said "I need to control myself". To which I answered, "How's that working for you?". Maybe what is required is a little less control and a little more going with it. When you are booked to go to a foreign country and the embassy won't grant your visa. Go with it. When your boobs start taking on a life of their own and double in size. Go with it. When you point at a friend and she bursts into tears. Go with it. What's the worst that can happen?

In the first case, you end up in a very foreign country, you never expected to, with so many opportunities. In the second, your little family is blessed with a little alien that has taken up residence somewhere between your ribs and your knees, still not quite sure. And in the final case, the universe drops a doll of perfect contours, sweet heart and fairytale personality into your lap. All because you went with it.

Now one might think, that having gone this far (with it). You could just gone with it some more. But somehow the human condition likes to interfere and strike down these things that we have stumbled upon. We begin to feel undeserving, like we should've or haven't worked for it. We begin to feel like there is no way that this will work out. Unless we intervene, regain control, quantify variables, think through every eventuality and outcome (the more pessimistic, the better). Because this will make us prepared. This will save us from... From what? The amazing things that are happening to us all the time.

To this I say: DON'T. Just DON'T. For every terrifying what-if that drags you into the grips of terror and despair, there is a what-if that can empower you and move you the other way. And when you begin to over think what is happening around you, follow these easy steps:

1. Go to the fridge
2. Open a Castle Lite (or favourite alcoholic beverage)
3. Drain the bottle
4. Beat yourself over the head with the empty bottle for not going with it and possibly missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime
   

Pauly D, do yourself and the world a big favour. Control less. Hell, think less. Go more. More going with it. Because you never, and I mean never, know where it will take you. We took a cab out to Dubai Sport City, had a beer (and a homemade Ice Tea) at the Ernie Els Golf Club. And once our courage was up we walked around. This place is absolutely amazing, we walked past Dave Richardson in the ICC building (I later found out Dave missed our meeting due to match-fixing in India, but I don't let details bother me), we saw the most amazing sporting facilities (you can only imagine), we literally wet our pants. Just when it couldn't get better, we got lost in the staff accommodations. Houses and cars that would take your and Lulu's breath away. Thank heavens a taxi accidentally came to rescue us, otherwise we'd be squatting in one of the beautiful parks.

But I know, that this place is where I want to be. The Big C seems so at home here. I've never seen someone just fit. And if you argue with my Go With It plan for you, I will smack you (and get away with it "because of the hormones") and tell you this. The job The Big C wanted, that he thought he was too late to get, has just been advertised again. And I bet you anything, he's going to get it. Why? Because he just went with it.

Enjoy living in Cape Town!