um, not sure what to call this one

I'm really good at this whole blogging like nobody's reading gig. I think, I write, I publish (only occasionally it would seem) and I'm still genuinely surprised when I get comments. And then I'm really bad about acknowledging or responding to them, and even more surprised when you keep reading regardless.
But I couldn't not acknowledge all the lovely congratulatory comments you left on my last post. Thanks everyone, you are all so dear. From Julochka's offer to make a quilt (!) to Iasa and Sara's funny stories and all your warm and hearty well wishes. Ag thanks man (a sincere thank you in Souf Efrikan).

Oh and, while I'm momentarily acknowledging the existence of you readers: am I becoming a mommy blogger? [PS - it's rhetorical]. Recently I've started worrying that I might be. And in light of recent events I'm probably going to get more so. It's a phase, bear with me. Especially you, fakeboobsareok, I'm worried about you. And Mr London Street. Hang in there ok?

Ok, back to today.

It was Monday, Frieda Monday. And it was pissing with rain. Oh and we finally had The Adenoids removed on Friday so things (read: our 2 yr old) are still a little delicate and temperamental...
Only one thing for it. Baking. (Good god I am turning into a mommy blogger. And also seemingly, American, is that really the 2nd time I've said mommy in this post?).

One batch of lemon zest biscuits and one of peanut butter delights. And I'm not using the word 'delight' in vain. Seriously this is one under-rated cookie. 1 cup peanut butter (crunchy people! always, always crunchy), 1 cup castor sugar, one egg - tada! orgasmo. Could you have a more perfect recipe for baking with a 2 year old?
I didn't share with her the memory of the last time I made peanut butter delights, those were liberally laced with marijuana and eaten in a darkened cinema while watching Lord of the Rings. Delightful.
Ok, ok - two confessions - firstly, I did tell her the story, but only 'cos she's too young to understand the subtleties (and don't worry L, I didn't name names) and secondly, I admit to possibly only sharing the story here in an attempt to regain some semblance of cool. I'm that shallow.

Once we were thoroughly sticky and tanked on raw cookie dough we headed off to the Aquarium. Every time I go there with Frieda she understands and enjoys it more, and thereby so do I. Her responses to the weird and wonderful collection of fish was magical. From the sea horses (big favourite) to the giant sea turtles - she paused and took each one in fully and completely before moving on to the next attraction. Do we ever regain that single-minded focus? I don't think so.
To add to the excitement there were divers in the shark tank, though it took me a while to persuade her that they were in fact people, dressed in bizarre suits and emitting strings of bubbles. Its a real morbid fascination watching people dive with man-eaters. I mean, obviously you don't actually want to see someone being munched by a shark (least of all with your toddler present), but just a little flipper-nibbling would've been kind of cool (and probably made for a far more exciting blog post) ... At least one of the divers had an electric shark prod stick thingie which he waved about whenever one of them got too close, probably just for effect.

Anyhoo, the point of all this really is that today was a Frieda Monday more poignant than most. A day spent with my daughter where I was deeply attentive to every laugh we shared, every moment she slipped her little hand into mine, every time she leaned against my leg.
A Cape Town couple, contemporaries of ours, friends of friends in fact, lost their 2 yr old daughter in the most incomprehensively tragic and random way last week. A short in the electric window mechanism of their relatively new car caused a fire, their child was asleep in her carseat in the back, they'd left her there, in their safe and secure garden, for mere minutes while they carried their shopping bags and younger baby inside, when they came out it was too late.

The whole city's been in shock, everyone talking about it and feeling so terribly, utterly sad for these young parents.
But when you've a chatty little thing of your own, a small person just discovering the world, a friend with whom you're growing and sharing and learning every day, the tragedy of it really comes home to you, and you clutch your child with a fierceness that springs from deep within you, 'til she wheezes 'Let me go Mummy!' and runs off to see the penguins.