The Art of the Vanishing Jacket

Life doesn’t nudge; it usually erupts. This week has been a sprawling rollercoaster of reflection—some of it chosen, some of it forced, and some of it so absurd I could do nothing but laugh. In my household, there is simply never a dull moment. You might be rolling your eyes right now, leaning back with your own coffee, and thinking, “Alright, Fruitloop, what happened now?”

It’s a fair question.

The Silence of the “Retired” Circus

The week began with a bit of a shuffle. On Thursday, my mom came to fetch my son for a day out. She spoiled him properly—new clothes, toys, pizza for lunch, and a trip to a “retired” circus. That’s the best name for it: a piece of land with a tent and enclosures for a handful of lions, tigers, a camel, llamas, and a chaotic flock of chickens and rabbits.

My son, being himself, had packed a bag filled with his own board games and toys, convinced he was the entertainment coordinator for the day. When it came time to come home, he simply decided he was sleeping at Grandma’s. He didn’t take no for an answer. And so he went.

Suddenly, there was silence. The kind of quiet that eventually hurts your ears, but is also deeply enjoyable. I didn’t have to explain why the sky is blue. I didn’t have to explain why dogs bark instead of meow. I didn’t have to “know everything.” I just was.

The Altar of Embarrassment

Friday morning, I woke up early and headed to church. I was three minutes late—a “bad hair day” casualty—and I walked in frantically searching for my mom. The minister stopped everything. In front of everyone, he asked, “Who are you looking for? Let us help you find them.”

My mom turned her head, I spotted her, and I basically ran down the aisle. Then the minister added, “Oh, now I recognize you!” I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole. Outside, another person joked, “So glad you found your place.” I sat there contemplating my life choices, wondering if I should have stayed in bed to avoid the public spectacle. The last nail in the coffin was a lady bumping into me at the supermarket and stating, “Oh, I know you, you were the lost woman in church.” Everyone knows me now.

When I finally fetched my son, the absurdity continued. He was having pizza for breakfast with my dad—and my dad never eats pizza. My son had left with a small backpack and returned with what felt like a suitcase. It was a large basket, but unpacking it felt like a three-day expedition.

The Roadhouse and the Great Sauce Debate

Friday night, we decided to try the roadhouse two blocks away. I’d tracked them down on Facebook, studied the menu, and decided: we must have milkshakes. Naturally, they were out of ice cream. We drove to a neighboring town, got the shakes, and ordered burgers.

My burger was great. My husband and son? Not so much. My son saw the sauce and decided it was an enemy of the state—he only eats ketchup. My husband ate half of his and surrendered because the dressing was overwhelming. I had to listen to the “sauce complaints” for the rest of the night.

By Saturday, we sought refuge at a “pitch and putt” golf course by the river. It was beautiful, free, and… completely unmaintained. The grass reached my knees, the greens were cracked, and the mosquitoes staged a coordinated attack. We retreated to the restaurant and ordered a pizza to share. It turned out to be the best pizza we’ve had in a long time. It made all the other disappointments disappear.

The Digital Detox (Again)

We couldn’t go home yet because the digging in the streets had damaged the cables again. No electricity. I suggested a picnic at the sports grounds where I run. We stopped at home to grab a blanket—finding the power back but the Wi-Fi dead—and headed to the river.

Of course, the “relaxing” picnic turned into a fishing expedition. I had to drive back to my mom’s to fetch gear before I could finally sit. Three hours later, as the sun set, I realized it was a great idea. There’s something about the river that resets the clock.

Sunday was for tradition. We met on a farm at 6:00 AM for the Easter sunrise service. Last year was a wall of fog, but this year the sun was beautiful. We had our coffee and rusks, then spent the day lounging with cartoons and an Easter egg hunt.

The Mayor’s Flowers and the Zumba Rhythm

Monday was my birthday. I woke up to coffee I didn’t have to make, cake, gifts, and a house full of balloons. There were even flowers from France! Well, not literally from France, but the Mayor spoke to my husband and arranged a special surprise. Thank you Mr. Mayor! They are my favourites.

I went to my first Zumba class, too. I realized very quickly that I have zero rhythm for hip-hop or aerobics. My coordination for following steps is non-existent, but it was fun anyway. I intend to go back and fail at the choreography all over again.

The Flawless Wednesday (and the Missing Jacket)

School started on Wednesday. Tuesday was a scramble of marking stationery, packing bags, and ensuring no socks were missing. The first day had to be flawless. And it was.

Until he came home and announced he had lost his school jacket.

I sent him back Thursday to find it; nothing. I went myself; nothing. My guess is some other kid is wearing a jacket with my son’s name on it. Those jackets are expensive to replace, and I’m just hoping a decent mom realizes the mistake and sends it back.

The Home Affairs Miracle

Between the jacket hunt and the chaos, I finally tackled a task I’ve avoided for five years: the Department of Home Affairs. I needed our marriage certificate printed and my surname changed on my ID so I don’t have to pay double when my license expires.

Usually, Home Affairs is a 5-hour sentence. I was in and out in 30 minutes. I somehow managed to cut a few corners and jump a few lines in the mess. Nobody complained. Nobody noticed. It was the best experience I’ve ever had there, though the ID photo queue looked like a pilgrimage I wasn’t ready for.

While I was standing in line, my husband messaged: no electricity. Again. Later, the Wi-Fi died because the UPS battery finally gave up. We managed for 10 hours without coffee or internet, just keeping everything together.

The Quiet Count

The rest of the week has been uneventful, and I am ready for the weekend. I might just take my blanket back to the river and count the leaves on the trees. No electricity, no jackets to find, just the water.

Maybe that’s the point. We aim for the flawless Wednesday, but we survive the “cowboy baths”, no TV, and the missing jackets. Life nudges us with a “retired” circus and a church call-out, just to see if we’re still paying attention.

But for now, I’m just looking for the sun, Saturday, and serenity.