It's time for another Thunderbolt - the chronicles of Thunderchild.
So there we were a year or 3 ago, just finished watching our normal early evening soapie, about to start with schoolwork when TC comes up to me and says: "Dad, I need to build a car for Technology". Let me just explain. Technology is a subject taught in schools over here and exposes the kids to all things, well, technological, from computers to shapes, structures (e.g. Dome Structures) and everything in between.
"Cool," I reckon. "Do you have a design yet?". Yes, she says and shows it to me on paper. Simple enough, I think. "Dad, it needs to have axles. One must be moveable, and the other not.". It's just here, where silence descends upon the study. This axle moving thing is unfamiliar territory for me.
"Daddy, it needs to be finished by Thursday". The silence becomes a humming in my ears as the blood takes on an extra supply of steroids and goes berserk. IT'S TUESDAY, BLOODY EVENING! Deep breath, or 2. I try to get TC to explain this axle theory to me, but she cannot (I expected as much as she sometimes struggles to explain things), so I read her text book. A few minutes later I have a fair idea of what's required.
So, we need the following: a design, a shell of a car, axles (we'll use dowel sticks), bottom parts of cans for the wheels (at least 8), some tape, some wire and a drill bit small enough to go through the wood. Problem is, I don't have the dowel sticks, drill bits or enough cans. But never mind, I'll get the wood and stuff the next day at the hardware store. Now, at about this time, I was very into electronics, and I thought it would be cool to have some lights on the car - so in goes 2 LEDs, some soldering, a battery holder and a few penlights into the design. However, we cannot do it all that evening so we get stuck into cutting the cardboard to form the car.
Round about 22h00 TC says she's going to lie down for "just a few minutes". I carry on working, knowing better. At midnight, I'm tired and decide to go to bed. But first I need to get TC to bed: she just couldn't make it and passed out on the couch.
OK, so the next day I'm off to the hardware store to buy "supplies" and on the way home I stop off to get a battery holder and some penlights. That evening she and I get going again on our design. The axles are cut (using a Leatherman), holes drilled for the nonmoveable axle (the wheels move, not the axle), grooves created for the moveable axles (wheels are fixed to the axle) to allow the wire from the car to hold them, the cans get cut and holes made into the bottom and eventually fitted onto the axles. Now, just a note regarding the bottom of cans (remember, they are rounded): Don't try and drill the hole. The best way is just to use a pocket knife (or steak knife!), punch a hole and then widen it. Works much better this way.
Once done, I need to solder the wire onto the LEDs, connect up the battery holder and switch and add the batteries. Test: works like a dream! Connect the LEDs to the car, fasten the holder to the inside and test again.
"Daddy, I need number plates." No problem. Luckily we have not yet run out of ink for the printer. A few clicks later and the printer kicks into life and we have our plates. Cut, glue and stick. But 22h00 we're finished. So what if the wheels are a little skew! They're round, aren't they? And the car moves forward...sort of.
The next morning I take TC to school telling her not to let anyone touch "our" car. And save the batteries so that the LEDs work when you show the car. I leave for work.
The afternoon I pick her up and ask how it went. "Dad, someone sat on it and squashed it.". Silence descends upon the car (Silence has this way of descending). "Just joking!", she laughs. "So how much did we get?". "Ten out of ten", she replies with a big smile on her face. Apparently the teacher was very impressed with the design and construction.
I got full marks! The stuff these kids make you do for school.
Now, a few years later, and she's still at it. Tomorrow evening it's off to school for a braai (barbecue to the foreigners reading this) - it's one of their major fund raising events for the year. Should be interesting. And cold (it's winter).
Now for the last line (some of you should know what's coming):
"Van die Affie vrouekrag."
Goodnight TC, Daddy loves you very much.
Friday 19 August 2011
Tuesday 9 August 2011
Clothing and the iPad
"Daddy, there's a competition and if I win I will get an iPad", says Thunderchild to me as I get home from work last Friday. "OK, what must you do?" I ask, wondering what she's going to hit me with. "Collect clothing for the poor people", she says excitedly.
She then goes on to explain what the drive is about, who started it and which schools are involved (looks like some of the top schools in SA have joined in). To view the charity, go to http://clothing4children.org/. When I hear the number of schools I start to realize that her chances of winning are kind of slim. I know I'll have to rather concentrate on the giving aspect instead of on the winning part. Luckily for me, TC is just that sort of person: she likes to help people. Always has.
So this past weekend we start sorting out our clothes into two heaps:
She then goes on to explain what the drive is about, who started it and which schools are involved (looks like some of the top schools in SA have joined in). To view the charity, go to http://clothing4children.org/. When I hear the number of schools I start to realize that her chances of winning are kind of slim. I know I'll have to rather concentrate on the giving aspect instead of on the winning part. Luckily for me, TC is just that sort of person: she likes to help people. Always has.
So this past weekend we start sorting out our clothes into two heaps:
- those that fit NOW (we keep these)
- those that fitted in the past or those that we know will never fit again (we give these)
So between TC, myself and the wife we manage to get nearly 2 large bags full of clothing. Could've given more, but we had cleaned out our cupboards about 2 months ago. Yet she's still not finished. I have to please send everyone at work an email asking for clothes, which I promptly do. So too my wife.
Now, how to get her friends involved that are not in her school (she goes to a school that's not in our feeder area). This is just where my genius eldest comes up with a brilliant idea (she has a tendency to do this): create a Facebook invite! How the hell? I would never have thought of this. So off TC goes and does the FB invite. By the end of the evening she already has a few replies, so it looks like she could just pull it off.
Slowly, the iPad idea is disappearing. She just wants to get as many clothes as possible for her school and the charity. Well done TC, Daddy's proud of you.
"Na die gelag..."
Wednesday 3 August 2011
History Lesson
Thunderchild's in bed, not feeling very well. I think the hockey last week really got to her as she's been sick since then. And to top it all off, they've had school tests this whole week so far. In fact, I have to wake her up tomorrow morning at 3 so that she can learn. Hopefully the Vicks Medinite will do its work.
Anyway, the reason for this episode is to put keyboard to bytes about the creation of TC, in case something happens to me and the story is never told.
It was in May 1996 that the wife and I went to the computer show at Nasrec, just south of Johannesburg. We would go almost every year. The Wednesday of the show she and I were sitting at the window seat discussing having a child: I was already quite sure I wanted one. I can't remember what she was eating, but it definitely was not the lasagna (they always put garlic in and she doesn't like it). So she tells me she'll give me until the Friday to make sure I wanted a child. Needless to say, Friday came and we started the "process".
Well, who would've thought that having a child is so difficult? I mean, a few seconds and that should be it. So, after a few months (8!) of procedures, pills and having a proctologist stick his finger up my backside and the gynae telling us to get "busy" every 2 days, I'm driving home from work one late afternoon on the highway just before the turnoff to Centurion and get a call on my cell: "Hello Daddy!" Those words blew me totally away - must be the most amazing words a wife can say to her husband.
So, the nine month (or thereabouts) process begins. The wife decides to do the healthy thing and only drink apple juice and Rooibos tea (I heard somewhere that in Europe it's referred to as "Cape Red"). The wife was determined that this baby was going to be healthy and have a minimum of 9 fingers.
I never knew the sex of TC until she was born (even though the wife went for an amnio I decided not to ask), so we referred to her as TLO - The Little One (which later in life became TLS - The Little Sh!t). There were many times I'd lay next her and talk to her while she was in the womb. The conversation would always start along the lines of: "Hello TLO, this is your daddy speaking, AGAIN!...". Other times we could feel her move. She'd get this rhythmic movement that would last for about 30 minutes that the doctor later said was hiccuping (hiccing up??). But it was so cool to feel her move inside. Towards the end of the pregnancy you can actually SEE her move.
When we went for the amnio they brought up her image on the monitor. Her hand was by her head and it looked like she was waving at me. Of course, I waved back. "Idiot," said the wife, "she can't see you". I kinda felt really stupid, but it was so cool to see my little baby.
And so you carry on getting the room, blankets, toys, clothes (for 0-3 and 3-6 months) and cot ready for the big day. The wife checked in the day before. I was up very early the next morning and made my way to the hospital - it was raining (how fitting for what we called her: no, not "Rain", "Skye" or "Cloud"!). Got there and the wife had to go for the epidural. Good God! I'd never seen a needle that long before. They stuck it right up her spine. Apparently you cannot have a cesarean without it...
OK, so she get's wheeled into the operating theater and a sheet is put up, I suppose so that we cannot see what was happening. The wife mentioned that she could feel the doctor tugging, but before we could do much more, he said in Afrikaans (and I quote): "Ah, 'n pragtige baba dogtertjie" Translation: Ah, a beautiful baby girl. I cried my eyes out. Having your child being born must be the most intense spiritual feeling and emotion imaginable. It's all so real now.
She started crying on the count of 9 (out of 10, whatever the hell that means). And she didn't stop for 2 hours. They had her in an incubator. I sat next to her the whole time, not knowing what to do. Do I touch her, hold her hand? Will the nurses moan? Chase me away? Eventually she managed to get a finger in her mouth which shut her up immediately and she was able to calm down. We could then wrap her in a blanket and take her to her mommy. It was a beautiful sight seeing the two of them together.
And that dear reader, was how the thunder rolled into our lives.
"En luister in die donker nag"
Anyway, the reason for this episode is to put keyboard to bytes about the creation of TC, in case something happens to me and the story is never told.
It was in May 1996 that the wife and I went to the computer show at Nasrec, just south of Johannesburg. We would go almost every year. The Wednesday of the show she and I were sitting at the window seat discussing having a child: I was already quite sure I wanted one. I can't remember what she was eating, but it definitely was not the lasagna (they always put garlic in and she doesn't like it). So she tells me she'll give me until the Friday to make sure I wanted a child. Needless to say, Friday came and we started the "process".
Well, who would've thought that having a child is so difficult? I mean, a few seconds and that should be it. So, after a few months (8!) of procedures, pills and having a proctologist stick his finger up my backside and the gynae telling us to get "busy" every 2 days, I'm driving home from work one late afternoon on the highway just before the turnoff to Centurion and get a call on my cell: "Hello Daddy!" Those words blew me totally away - must be the most amazing words a wife can say to her husband.
So, the nine month (or thereabouts) process begins. The wife decides to do the healthy thing and only drink apple juice and Rooibos tea (I heard somewhere that in Europe it's referred to as "Cape Red"). The wife was determined that this baby was going to be healthy and have a minimum of 9 fingers.
I never knew the sex of TC until she was born (even though the wife went for an amnio I decided not to ask), so we referred to her as TLO - The Little One (which later in life became TLS - The Little Sh!t). There were many times I'd lay next her and talk to her while she was in the womb. The conversation would always start along the lines of: "Hello TLO, this is your daddy speaking, AGAIN!...". Other times we could feel her move. She'd get this rhythmic movement that would last for about 30 minutes that the doctor later said was hiccuping (hiccing up??). But it was so cool to feel her move inside. Towards the end of the pregnancy you can actually SEE her move.
When we went for the amnio they brought up her image on the monitor. Her hand was by her head and it looked like she was waving at me. Of course, I waved back. "Idiot," said the wife, "she can't see you". I kinda felt really stupid, but it was so cool to see my little baby.
And so you carry on getting the room, blankets, toys, clothes (for 0-3 and 3-6 months) and cot ready for the big day. The wife checked in the day before. I was up very early the next morning and made my way to the hospital - it was raining (how fitting for what we called her: no, not "Rain", "Skye" or "Cloud"!). Got there and the wife had to go for the epidural. Good God! I'd never seen a needle that long before. They stuck it right up her spine. Apparently you cannot have a cesarean without it...
OK, so she get's wheeled into the operating theater and a sheet is put up, I suppose so that we cannot see what was happening. The wife mentioned that she could feel the doctor tugging, but before we could do much more, he said in Afrikaans (and I quote): "Ah, 'n pragtige baba dogtertjie" Translation: Ah, a beautiful baby girl. I cried my eyes out. Having your child being born must be the most intense spiritual feeling and emotion imaginable. It's all so real now.
She started crying on the count of 9 (out of 10, whatever the hell that means). And she didn't stop for 2 hours. They had her in an incubator. I sat next to her the whole time, not knowing what to do. Do I touch her, hold her hand? Will the nurses moan? Chase me away? Eventually she managed to get a finger in her mouth which shut her up immediately and she was able to calm down. We could then wrap her in a blanket and take her to her mommy. It was a beautiful sight seeing the two of them together.
And that dear reader, was how the thunder rolled into our lives.
"En luister in die donker nag"
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