I’m hiding behind a hedge. Jacket over pajamas. Bunny slippers. And I think I’ve been spotted.

REWIND. 8H20…7H55…7H26……7H04….
“Muuuum! MUM WAKE UP!”
Eye flutter.
“Mum, it’s 7 o’clock! Didn’t you set the alarm?”
Fact: we use only 0.01% of our brains. Yes, the decimal’s in the right place. So, it’s seriously impressive what it computes, barely conscious and firing on such dismal capacity, in under a nanosecond. (I’ve no idea how long that is; just sounds really fast)
Sunlight. Kids. Alarm? Alarm! OUTING. No husband. Zap of dread. Crouch. Pause…engage.
Gunshots. “No breakfast. Teeth. Hair. NOW.”
Tears from Number Two, “But Mum, we’ll never make it!”
“Trust me. GO.” He goes.
Slippers. Face, wipe. Teeth, rub.
“Everyone! “ I toss a pile of uniforms onto the bed. “Dressed. Bags. Go”
Breakfast. Bananas. Lunch. Bread. Spread. Zip. Zip. Zip. Zip.
7H09 “TIME!” They tumble into the hall.
Number 4 -engulfed back to front (as usual), in Number 2’s uniform (!). Check.
Number 2 -limbs protruding from too short Number 4’s everything. Check.
Number 3 – pristine (no guesses which gender) Check.
Number 1. Sniff. “LIFT!” Deodorant. “TURN!” Air freshener. Check.
7H12 “EXIT!” 1. 2. 3. 4. Catch myself. Spark-plug hair. Mud masque streaks. Specs, arm missing. Sunglasses over. Nearest coat – crimson candy eBay fix.
7H13 Slam. 7H14 Back. Grab drugs. 7H15 Slam. Breathe. Reverse. Neighbour’s cat. Miss. Once, paralytic Graeme tried to keep up with me on his BM bike. Hell for leather, he said. Hands up, I morph into Medusa behind the wheel. “Mum why does dad slow down when the traffic light’s orange, and you speed up?”. 1.5 CRDi 0 – 100km/h in under 10 seconds. Quiet too -ace for sneaking up behind Geri’s. Driving Nirvana. Hoot. Overtake. “SEAT BELTS ON!” Two-wheel corner careen. Pull up at school, tires smoking. Head mistress comes scuttling out. “Mrs Stauch, please DO note the recommended driving speed for the drop off zone. We’ve had a number of complaints from the residents about a (cough) blue Getz”.
“SURE THING MABEL!” I yell, feathering the clutch, revs high. Three out of four topple onto the pavement. Take off, narrowly missing oncoming parent. Adjust wing mirror. I now bear a definitive resemblance to a frizz – framed black footed ferret. Poor Mabel.

Finally, all troops deployed. And, then – drag on the wheel. I’m driving cushion -less. In Art of War, Chinese warlord, Sun Tsu says in the midst of chaos, there’s opportunity. Well sure, if complete humiliation counts. Phone? Home. Adrenaline surge? Depleted.
Scarlet Witch eyes me pityingly in wing mirror. Double framed, zombie hair, platoon make- up. Proximity to humans -unthinkable. Options? Aside from invisible flight?
There’s nothing for it. Crimson candy jacket and I alight. (What were the Tommies thinking?)
There follows a haze of Squirrel Nutkin flutterments and scufflements, as I dart bush to bush, homeward bound. Finally, on home strait, I spot a man. Whom I know. Driving right at me. Quick recon. Across the road lies my salvation. One last rally and with him bearing down fast,I launch myself in a sideways run across the road. A half dive – fall, and mercy of mercies, I’m behind the most beautiful hedge I’ve ever landed in. And I worship.

What a year.
I’ve cried my heart out and laughed my head off. Don’t you love those friends who always bring the joy; transform same-same? Danni’s one of them. We’ve been friends for 30 years (jeez I’m old, Dan we’re so old) and with her, I laugh till I can’t breathe. She actually cracked a rib once. True story. Dan sees life differently. She always has. And when I’m with her, so do I.

Once she dragged me into shop I avoid with good reason. Smelly things. I find them, well, overboard. Or, well overboard. Vanillary. Guardian of the forest. Goddess. Lord of Misrule. For a soap? Rest my case.

Anyway, Dan wanted to roam and sniff, and whilst roaming, was immediately targeted by the hungry sales assistant. Right there are Reason 2 and 3 – innocent sniffing in the cross hairs. Witless fawn in the sights. I tried to act natural, picking up enough items to avoid stationary-customer radar.

I startle at a purring over my shoulder, “Anything specific you’re looking for?”
Bullet to bulls-eye.
“No, I’m good. This isn’t really my kind of thing”.
Undeterred assistant smile. “I’d really like to see if I can find something you like.”
Feet dragging, I follow her to the counter.
“Why don’t you try this Breath of God? It’s an oriental woody fragrance with a touch of fruitiness”.
Reason 4– being forced to sniff. Dutifully, I inhale. Danni hovers by, furrowed brow. My nose wrinkles.
“Ugh, God’s breath stinks”.
Silence. Who said that?
Dan leaps forward as assistant’s face crumples. “Fi’s got different kinds of tastes, don’t you Fi? Very, uhm, specific”. Reason 5: have to fake -Fi it; assuage assistant.
“Yes, I’m sure many would find God’s breath… uhm… enlightened.” Smile. Kill me now.
(False) hope restored, assistant presses on, “Well tell me, what you do like”.
Jeez, the woman’s relentless. I have to say it.
Leveled gaze, I reply. “I love the smell of cigarette smoke, and petrol fumes. Adore petrol fumes.” Was that a whole body twitch? Danni laughs nervously, not bearing to glance at the now catatonic shop assistant. But she’s triggered my olfactory factory and I’m unstoppable, “Together? The absolute best. I could just stand on the forecourt forever, breathing them in”.
Silence.
“But, (reverse gush,) actually I think my mom in law might love Breath of God. She’s quite, you know, Bohemian. What time do you close on weekends?” Nothing. Has she passed out, propped against her tower of God’s Breath bottles? Exhausted from all the flattering I seize my chance and exit, followed by Dan who, amidst her wheezing, vows never again to subject me to such trials.

Dan’s joy amazes me. She salvages the unsalvagable with her luverly mix of horrified glee. More so, her joy (in the main) is hard won; fought for.
Between us – no living parents, broken hearts, cancer, financial maelstroms (“You know Fi, revolving credit is actually the cheapest kind of debt.” Yip. Vanishes too. Now you see it, now you don’t). I’ll spare you the details (and us the embarrassment), but the list is long.

Now I’m not into pink, or unicorns, but I can hand on my heart say: Danni sees the rainbows. And I think it’s because she’s a comparer.

Comparison kills joy. Hmm. Depends. Not the semi-clad – Hyacinth kind: “Shame, that video of Hyacinth doing the Cha- cha- slide in her underwear has gone viral. Tsk tsk. With kids, one must always double delete”. Translation: comparing my life to Hyacinth’s demise has brought me untold joy.
Jokes aside, most of my comparing since moving back to South Africa, has left me profoundly humbled. The have nots or have -less(es) are in plentiful supply.
And Danni remembers that. And them. She’s a blessing counter. And when I’m with her, I count mine more.

My hope for 2019? That yours may be transformed with joy.

First prize? Joy come easy. An ease of joy. When the kids are home I will sometimes hear, from within the bowels of the house, a little giggle start, then stop. Then another crescendo; topped with a tiny air hiccup. And so it re-loops. And if you tiptoed with me to find the giggle – source, we’d no doubt come upon my son Jesse, gearing himself up for a good ol’ guffaw. A movie moment for every occasion. He pulls up a mind reel; presses play, and off he goes. Play, chuckle, rewind, stop, play, chuckle. Once, his younger brother, chatting close by, was shut down with a, “SHOOSH Joseph, I’m trying to laugh my head off!” Just because it’s more fun to laugh.

What if it don’t come easy? Whatshisface …Chungking … Su Wu Chu…. that Chinese warlord guy…. nailed it. Warfare is about surprising the enemy. I am woman. Hear me roar… with laughter. Stumbling turned to learning. What I wouldn’t accept , to what I now do. Weakness, to resolve. Hope framing today’s sorrow.

So, here’s to comparison- to treasuring what I’ve been given; never forgetting to give it away again.

Here’s to surprising the enemy.

Here’s to those who shine with hard won radiance – the old lady at the traffic light selling her lilies, the dancing Big Issue seller. Tell me your secret please, for your joy is a beautiful thing.

To you Dan – your joy never fails to change and challenge me.
And to you, Rare Reader – may you also find a Danni to laugh your head off, and your tears away, with.

And to the One in Whom perfect joy is found .
Jesus. Joy of my joys.

Joy transforms all things.
Joy to the world.
Beautiful stuff.