Carol’s Column

So, what's a lion or two?

Motherhood is fraught with difficulties. In fact, I've come to the conclusion that there's only one way to handle motherhood. Like alcoholism, it has to be taken day by day.

Over the years the crises have been many and varied. Such as when one-year-old Barry threw his dummy at a pride of lions in the Kruger Park. The alternative to not risking life and limb to retrieve the dummy was unthinkable as anyone incarcerated in a small car with a screaming infant for more than three minutes will agree.

Then there was the murder of Ralph's army of silk worms which I sprayed with insect repellent inadvertently while attempting to annihilate a mosquito with Pavarotti pretensions.

Jamie almost burnt down the house when he and Simon had a braai in his bedroom. Not to mention the time he got locked in the toilet in a Bloemfontein garage while we were en route to Cape Town and we only noticed his disappearance in Beaufort West. "So, we'll pick him up in three weeks on the way back," I remember my husband said at the time. Nicky broke her wrist while skydiving off the roof and it was Henry-the-Hog who swallowed a fish hook.

Such is motherhood.

There is nothing that can surprise me. Well, almost nothing. Our second youngest unmarried son be brown,' I murmured.

"Brown chicken, I prefer brown chicken," said Ralph's father. "A thigh or a leg." "What are you talking about?" said my daughter.

"Ralph has a girlfriend called Fatima," I replied.

"What kind of a name is Fatima has been hitching around Morocco for the past month prior to furthering his studies in England.

Last night a friend phoned from France to say that Ralph and Fatima were having a wonderful time and that they'd be back in London in a week or two.

"Fatima?" I asked Alain, as inquisitive mothers do.

"Yes, his girlfriend," replied Alain.

Ah.

I brought up the subject at dinner that night.

"Ralph has a new girlfriend," I announced.

"Pass the chicken," answered my spouse.

"Ralph has a new girlfriend," I repeated.

"Brown," said my husband.

"Yes, I think she might be brown," I murmured.

"Brown chicken, I prefer brown chicken," said Ralph's father. "A thigh or a leg."

"What are you talking about?" said my daughter.

"Ralph has a new girlfriend called Fatima."

"What kind of a name is Fatima?" asked my mother-in-law, her ears twitching, her eyes like organ stops. "Sephardic? Hasidic?"

"I think it's probably Muslim," I said.

"Ah, I didn't realise there were Jewish Muslims," observed my mother-in-law.

"Ma, I don't think there are," I said. "It is possible that Ralph's girlfriend is an Arab or Indian girl."

"So, as long as she's Jewish, there's not a problem," said my mother-in-law categorically.

My daughter rolled her eyeballs about her head.

"Ouma, times are changing," she said. "This is the new South Africa. It's not important who or what Fatima is."

"for all we know, Fatima's a he," I muttered. One has to have an open mind about these things. "only this week the Nats voted to open their party to all races," said Jamie. "They looked as miserable as all hell, but they voted unanimously to do so."

"Ouma, one of these days, you'll have Mrs Mabonela instead of Mrs van der Merwe as your next door neighbour," said Nicky.

My mother-in-law shook her head. In wonder, horror or sorrow, I wasn't quite sure which.

"Times indeed are changing," she said.

Later, as she left, she pulled me aside. "Motherhood is difficult," she confided. "Things overtake you and nothing is quite the same again."

"Yes," I laughed. "One day I will probably have three daughter-in-laws called Sheryl, Fatima and Wing Sen, and a son-in-law called Mashinini."

"Well, that's fine," she replied. "As long as they're all Jewish."

Ja, well, no fine.

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