A Wrinkle in Our Spare Time

FOREWARNING – This blog post contains unnecessary amounts of whining and moping. A verbal “pity party,” if you will. Please feel free to post any judgmental thoughts in the comment section below – Any friendly reminders of “first world problems” or “privilege” earns a special place in our hearts.

In approaching our year abroad in South Africa, we were beyond excited at the possibilities presented before us. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to not only explore the wonders that exist throughout this awe-inspiring region of the world, but also to immerse ourselves, and more importantly our children, in a culture that represents their familial heritage. From historical sights to modernized cuisine, we anxiously anticipated residing in a nation that, unlike the States, was not attempting to slowly transform itself into a real-world Gilead.

Having taken reduced roles in both our jobs, we also were equally eager to take advantage of a concept that all-but-disappears upon the arrival of children – Spare time. A notion that all of humanity essentially takes for granted, until it no longer exists in one’s day-to-day life. Like the McRib or Shamrock Shake, except in this case, much fewer calories. Yet now, here we were with a 2nd chance at it. And instead of spending it hungover as we did for most of our 20s (which to be honest, was like a walk in the park compared to the “I had 2 ½ IPAs and now I’m hungover for most the week” hangover of your late 30s), we had a true opportunity to be productive, and begin to tackle a long overdue list of “self-improvement” activities. From learning a foreign language, to improving our culinary skills, even attempting to author a children’s novel. Mark and Julie, version 2.0, were officially ready for fabrication.

Fast forward 9 months, and while our “wish list” remains almost entirely untouched (with the exception of a recently-perfected Pad Thai recipe), our arrival into “parental survival mode” has officially been declared, thanks to several unforeseen elements of life here in South Africa:

• The school day ends at noon
• The school day seriously ends at noon
• Did we happen to mention that the school day here ends at noon?

Thus, with what had previously been envisioned as a “9-5 never-ending parental happy hour,” has now been whittled down to 1-2 hours in the morning, on some mornings, sometimes. And since “adulting,” always seems to catch-up with you, no matter where you live, our “self-improvement time” has slowly been overtaken by “errand time.” Or, to summarize more in the wise words of Ian Malcolm, "life finds a way." At which point, we return to our daily scheduled programming:

• 12:00PM – Pick-up the kids from school. Spend about 5 minutes searching for their shoes, as running around barefoot is apparently a traditional rite for South African children

 

• 12:30PM – Lunch time – Which at this point, we can probably just rename “Peanut Butter & Jelly Time” (less so this version and more so this one), since we have all but given up attempting to diversify their mid-day meal

 

• 1:00PM – 2:30PM – “Quiet Time” – Essentially 90 minutes of Finn napping, while we switch on-and-off going into Lincoln’s room every 5-10 minutes to tell him to “simmer down now.” Wordle & Quordle are dominated at this time, as are initial drafts of this blog

 

• 2:30PM – 3:00PM – “Snack Time” – Is it just me, or after you become a parent, does every event during the day have to be officially referred to as: (insert activity) + time?

 

• 3:00PM – 5:00PM – “Activity Time” – A mix of soccer, swim lessons, various playgrounds and general romping’s around the city. The option of “staying at home” has officially been retired due to its innate ability to bring out the kids “cray cray”

 

• 5:00PM – 6:00PM – The oh-so-glorious and recently-implemented “TV hour.” Current fan favorites are Paw Patrol, Truck Tunes and Winnie the Pooh. With the occasional episode of Red Shoe Diaries to spice things up a bit.

 

• 6:00PM – 7:00PM – Dinner & bedtime routine – No need to divulge details here, as it has basically been whittled down to a science at this point

 

• 7:00PM – 10:00PM – Our workday official begins. Yup, begins. At 7PM. 

Houston, we have a problem.

Now, at this point, most of you are probably thinking something along the lines of:

• Unwanted Advice #1 - “Come on Mark, I would kill to have the opportunity to spend so much time with my children. Being a true part of their daily lives. Watching them develop their own unique personalities. This is an opportunity which is as rare is it comes for most parents.”
  
  • Rebuttal - I mean, yeah. There’s definitely that. But, there’s also the fact that we have not had more than 5 hours to ourselves since July of 2021. And at some point, a 6-hour break is needed (insert compulsory shoutout to single moms).

• Unwanted Advice #2 – “Hire a nanny then!”
  
  • Rebuttal - Which again, I mean, yeah. And while nanny’s only cost about $500/month in South Africa (in comparison, they are about $5,000 in the States), it just felt wrong having another person raise our children in our house, while we are in, our house. I mean, there’s only so many hours you can “disappear” into a coffee shop before wanting to come home and binge some daytime Netflix shows. I mean learn Spanish, sorry, learn Spanish. Definitely not re-watch Breaking Bad for the 3rd time.

In the end, what is truly ironic about the entire situation, is if we had an opportunity to change our approach from the onset, we probably wouldn’t alter a thing. Because it has been an absolutely amazing year thus far. And it has been unbelievable to have such an active role in our children’s lives (with the exception of the 2 days last week where a flu-ridden Lincoln felt obliged to “recycle” all his meals onto various fabric-covered objects around our house). We just set our initial expectations for this year abroad in a reality that in no way mirrors the one in which we currently reside. Or in more late 90s filmography terms, our expectations took the blue pill, and our actual lives chose the red one.
 
Which brings me back to the precursor for this entire blog post. The true reasoning why we are partaking in a pity party, instead of learning about another interesting aspect of life in South Africa. And while I would love to blame our recent bout of COVID-19, or even the two, yes two, stomach bugs which have rampaged through our household in the past 6 weeks, the true impetus behind this post is none other than the South African Holiday Calendar.

Exhibit A – The School Calendar From Hell:

• Monday March 21st – Public Holiday (Human Rights Day)
• Monday March 28th – Friday April 1st – Fall Break
• Monday April 4th – Tuesday April 5th – Fall Break Plus
• Friday April 15th – Public Holiday (Good Friday)
• Monday April 18th – Public Holiday (Family Day)
• Wednesday April 27th – Public Holiday (Freedom Day)
• Monday May 2nd – Public Holiday (International Workers Day)
• Tuesday May 3rd – Religious Holiday

Thus, in a period of 8 consecutive weeks, only 1 of which comprised a full weeks’ worth of school, the remaining seven were broken up by the calendar equivalent of Yoko Ono – The dreaded “long weekend.” A once highly-anticipated event, commemorating a much-needed day off from school or work, and celebrated by an extra night out, or even a last-minute road trip to Nashville. And now, “later” in life, none other than a source of trepidation. Since months of occasional mentions of “we should plan something that weekend,” have finally come to fruition, with no plans to speak of, and only sold-out resorts, full campsites, and insanely expensive flights forcing yet-another years of staycationing.

I digress.

Thus, while we would have loved to have planned 8 consecutive weekends’ away, our 3-week journey to Tanzania had all but depleted our “travel reserves,” thus forcing us into the unforeseen dilemma of figuring out how to spend a years’ worth of long weekends, in a period of 2 months. Without leaving our house. Which, if I have to be completely honest, and even slightly positive (I know, hold your gasps), there are few places better in the world than Cape Town to deal with such a, well, “first world problem.”
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And with that, I leave you with a smattering of photos of the last 8-weeks of our lives. Amazing, exhausting, memorable, you get the point: