New Things

We don't like new things at my house.
Old things that are familiar are much more comfortable, even if they have certain eccentricities and idiosyncrasies. Once you get used to them and figure out the tricks to make them work, you know where you are and what to expect. This applies to things like clothes, especially shoes, computers, various kinds of switches, pots and pans, and most of all to household appliances.

The washing machine that we had for the past fifteen years was a comfortable old thing. It had certain idiosyncrasies, and over the course of fifteen years of constant use it occasionally needed more serious attention. Like when it overflowed because the filter was blocked and the neighbor came up to tell us that water was dripping into the garage, because we had the bathroom door closed. After that we never closed the door completely when the washing machine was running, and the wall eventually dried out too. Then there was the time that the temperature regulator went out and I ended up boiling the boys snowsuits, which they found quite interesting. Many stray objects have been removed from that washing machine, which obviously do not belong in a washing machine, but on the whole it has been a relatively cooperative and hard-working member of this household all these years since we used to wash many loads of diapers.

The day before Patrick came home, we finally realized that the washing machine has been leaking for some time, and when we figured out that it wasn't a problem we could easily fix ourselves, we called the repairman. The repairman came early that Monday morning and started checking what needed to be repaired and how much it would cost. Before he finished that list it was clear that we would need a new washing machine. Patrick came home Monday night, the repairman brought the new washing machine Tuesday morning.

I took an instant dislike to the new washing machine. It had too many superfluous lights and an elaborate display of trivial information on a poisonously green lighted panel. And a very flimsy handle for the soap drawer. This washing machine was clearly not going to be with us for the next fifteen years.

It didn't even last a week. It was loud to start with, but it just got louder and louder when it went into the spin cycle, until it sounded like it was about to explode. We unanimously agreed that this could not be considered normal behavior, even on the part of a new washing machine, so we called the repairman again. The repairman discovered that the cement block inside it to stabilize the drum had come loose and was just being tossed around inside the metal case when the drum turned. The repairman wasn't left much opportunity to think about attempting to repair that, since a portion of the cement block had already been pulverized into cement dust on the floor underneath the washing machine.

So the repairman left again and came back the next day with another new washing machine. It looks exactly the same, and I still don't like it, but at least it has lasted longer than a week and did a reasonable job washing sweaters as well as the rest of the laundry. We'll see.

And then yesterday Peter came home with a new coffee machine to replace the one that broke months ago ...

Paddy the Hero

When Paddy first got home from South Africa, we were concerned that he seemed so subdued and stressed, but he soon recovered his sense of humor and started singing along again with the highly eclectic selection of music he listens to all day at the computer.

Listening to his accounts of his experience and his concern for the other kids, I was under the impression that he was better off than most of them. Then, when we went to the meeting at school last week to discuss what had happened and how to deal with it, I was quite astonished to hear the other kids say again and again "but it wasn't nearly as bad as Paddy's situation". And when they described difficulties they had encountered, we also heard several times, "so I was glad that Paddy was there with me."

I am now seriously impressed with my younger son.

The parents' representatives from the class did an excellent job of preparing the meeting (with support from my wonderful husband), and I think it went well on the whole. I think it was important to clarify where mistakes had been made to make sure they are not repeated in the future. I was also glad that it was agreed to continue plans for the second part of this exchange, to bring kids from South Africa here and to make sure that all goes well for all of the kids this time – from Austria and from South Africa.

I think this is what they call a "learning experience", but I also think that what we as parents have learned most is that we have a bunch of great kids here.

At least I had running water

After one week I have finally returned from the hole that is the hilltop-luxury-shanty looking down on Mossel Bay. I was not pleased. Not with the place. Not with coming back. I'm not easy to please apparently.

First we spent a two nights at a hotel in Cape Town. Nice. Spacious. Showers. Bed. Roof. ... Then we met Mossel Bay. When we arrived in Mossel Bay (or at least the shanties near it) I felt sorry for all the people that had to put up with that kind of mess. But nevermind (I thought), we'll be at school any time now! There'll be lots of happy faces and interested students! And they'll have showers!

Nope.

The school itself looked like a prison. I think it goes without saying that we all thought the busdriver was joking when he stopped in front of it. We still thought they were joking when we got out of the bus, got our luggage, went inside and had chicken. Apparently there was no joking going on whatsoever. The chicken was okay... but it would be the best meal we'd have for 4 days.

Then we met the students.

I got the one who looked most down-to-earth and organised. And when the rickety bus dropped us off at the house I thought: "This isn't so bad. I probably got the best one". I later found out that it was not at all not-so-bad and that the entire house-funds were spent on the exterior. I had no shower. And the bathwater looked suspiciously yellow. Not so bad, though. I would have lived with it for 2 weeks, that wasn't the problem.

The real problem was the family. They wouldn't talk to me. I talked to them and they talked back.. to some extent, but that was it. They didn't ask me anything about Austria or myself (except why I wouldn't eat the eggs) and my host was not down-to-earth at all! He was a frighteningly confused human being and STILL everyone counted on this guy, because apparently he was the most organised guy in Mossel Bay. CURSE YOU MOSSEL BAY!

List of things that I disapproved of, but aren't important enough to earn a paragraph, but should still be acknowledged: the students weren't interested in class at all, the lessons were in Afrikaans, I heard the song "Sexy Back" about 17 billion times every day and had to put up with a large collection of freaks dancing to it, there were more dogs than people, there was nothing to do except sit on the street AND there is no service at restaurants at ALL!! ACKK SPEH CKKHHG *gagging noises*

Then came the party on Saturday...

It was at my host-family's place. My confused host organised it. -_-' On the other side of the street a large group of people was huddled up, presumably not discussing politics, my friend Piza was offered Marijuana twice and something to inject once, my host-dad got drunk and high and started asking girls from my class to sleep with him.

I think that may have been the culture shock my Geography teacher was referring to.

When we managed to get through to our teachers about what was going on it was over. Everything. BAM. And now I'm in Linz. And the 6M paid less than we did.

Welcome to Mossel Bay!

...

I'm not going back there any time soon.

Sincerely,
Retarded demon Monkey

News from South Africa

Since we had not heard from Paddy nor from any other parents of his classmates about how things were going in South Africa, it was more than a little alarming to get up Friday morning and read a mail to all the parents saying not to worry, the situation was not really as dire as it sounded at first, and our children are all safe.

Later that day we received a message from Paddy and a communication from the school including a message from the teacher with them in South Africa. These messages all seemed to suggest that a number of the kids must be suffering quite badly from "culture shock" and were finding it difficult to cope with living conditions so vastly different from anything they had experienced before, but everyone – the teachers with them, the school there, the host families – were doing everything they could to help the kids deal with the situation. Sadly, now it seems that things have gone badly wrong: the current news is that Paddy's class will be boarding a bus tonight to get to the airport in Cape Town and fly back a week early together with the parallel class that has been in a different (wealthy and white) part of South Africa for the past two weeks. From what we have heard from other parents, it seems that everyone has been getting different accounts from their own children, so it seems impossible to know what is really going on. Although Paddy wasn't finding the situation easy to deal with either, he didn't sound at all happy about coming home a week early.

Now a message has just arrived from the school to inform us that the kids will be arriving back in Linz tomorrow night about eleven. I think the two wonderful teachers with them are the ones I have the most sympathy with. This must be an absolute nightmare for them!

Even though I am sorry for it to end this way, I will still be glad to have Paddy home again. I really miss my little guy, when he is not here.

At this moment Paddy is somewhere over Africa

The reason why I haven't been updating this blog so often lately is that every time I look at my inbox and my work calendar, I start imagining people waiting for email replies and translations, who might see from this blog that I am at the computer, but not actually working or replying to emails. So I apologize to everyone who might still be waiting to hear from me, but since I am not being very efficient this evening anyway, it seemed a good time to update the blog again.

Today Paddy left with his class from school to spend two weeks in South Africa. For days, at least, I have been thinking that a trip like this would be so much easier to cope with and prepare for without sarcastic comments – or at least not quite so many of them and not in response to every single question. When we got to school this morning, where the class was meeting to get on the bus to go to the airport in Munich, I had the impression that a majority of the parents there had much the same feeling about it. It was a bit disconcerting that everyone noticed and commented that Patrick had the smallest suitcase by far, even though Patrick had also packed everything he needed into this same suitcase by himself when he went to New York for two weeks. I asked Peter if Patrick was defying the laws of physics with his packing practices, but Peter just said calmly, "It's the cow factor", which I found reassuring. It seems that Patrick and his physics teacher recently had an interesting discussion about the theory of relativity and cows, which at least Patrick and (hopefully) the teacher were quite happy with. However, anyone who wants to know the details about how the theory of relativity involves cows will have to ask Patrick. The last physics class I took was in college, at the end of which I was convinced that there is actually no reason to expect solid objects to remain solid objects in the same form, because the molecules could simply rearrange themselves at any time and without warning. I remember I found this idea quite fascinating and have lived happily with it ever since. I'm sure the cow factor in the theory of relativity is at least equally reasonable.

In my role as Patrick's mother, I also thought it was not unreasonable to question what he was packing, and what he might have forgotten or not thought of. This was especially the case following the discovery of a surprising number of socks that have been hiding out in Patrick's suitcase since his trip to New York last summer. When Patrick complained that he had no socks left and set out into town to buy new socks, I didn't question the veracity of the complaint. With the Sock Wars still continuing among the three men in my household, mysterious disappearances are not uncommon. At some point during the summer I attempted to get the situation under control by dumping all the socks I could find anywhere in the house onto a large pile and sorted them ruthlessly. I discarded every sock without an unequivocally matching partner, every sock with a hole anywhere, and every sock that appeared to be left over from the 1970s. The matching pairs of socks that were left were neatly divided into three groups according to certain attributes (even numbers of black socks for all three, grey and beige socks for Peter, stripes and polka dots for Patrick, and anything that looked ridiculous for Christopher). The Sock Wars died down a bit after that, but certainly did not end. Finding a secret stash of socks in Patrick's suitcase suggested two possibilities: either Patrick has assumed a more insidious role in the Sock Wars than had previously been the case, or he does not have quite the control over his material world that he claims to have. Since he still asserts innocent victimhood in the Sock Wars, I had no choice but to persist in questioning what he might have forgotten to pack or not thought of taking.

When we got to school, he realized that he had forgotten his sunglasses. Hopefully that will be all that shows up missing in the next two weeks. Then all I have to think about are his gibes, which became increasingly frequent over the past week, about what irresponsible parents we are to send our poor youngest child to the second most dangerous country in the world ...