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Baby Nappies, Formula & Accessories

Wholesale & Direct to the Public

ENQUIRE ABOUT THE NAPPY B4 PACK FOR GREAT SAVINGS

www.mordan.co.za • info@mordan.co.za079 069 5609

WE CUT PRICES SO YOU CAN HAVE QUALITY

PREGNAVORTM

A completely natural pregnancy and lactation

supplement with omega 3, 6 & 9

Prevents morning sickness/nausea

Available from your pharmacy and on-line from www.tara.org.za l Nappi code: 7102350001

helpline - 086 111 8272

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Brooklyn Montessori Pre-primary

358 Brooklyn Rd Menlo Park

TEL. 012 4609626 CELL.083 959 5466

www.brooklyn-montessori.co.za

Your Growing Child

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14PA

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SIMPLE PLLANS EDUCATIONAL TOYS

SKIN SCRIPTS

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from birth to ve yearsi h vevi h ve

Order v ia the interne t or contact your ne are s t agent.

Vis i t our webs i te for f urther de tai ls .

w w w.dla lami la .co.zainfo@dla lami la .co.za

PRICE:on ly R290.00 (RSA ONLY)

A nalist in the 2008 FNB Enablis Business Launchpad: South Africa’s biggest start-up and smme competition

R490

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Enough with the Cell Phones, TV

and Internet!! Get your kids

excited about reading by making

them the stars in our hard

covered FANTASY BOOKS!!

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6573

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PART

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JUMPING CASTLE

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WATER SAVING TIPS

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Mossel Bay - Garden Route Rare Heavy Draft Horses

Adorable Self-Catering Cottage : Sumptuous B&B

25m long Swimming pool : Children’s Playground

Touch Farm : Pony Rides : Cart Rides : Hiking Trails

Great Food : Relaxing Atmosphere

TEL - O44 631 0093 : MOBILE - 082 564 9782

WEB: www.outeniquamoon.co.za

E-MAIL: watt99@telkomsa.net

SUGAR AND SPICE

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Crocodile Farm

Come and see some of the biggest crocodiles in South Africa!

You are given the chance to HOLD a croc hatchling, pythons and other fascinating reptiles. We have tea garden, curio shop and large play area for the kids. Phone us for more info on kids birthday parties. Crocodile feeding session

every Saturday & Sunday @ 14:00

Location – Travel north on William Nicol drive, turn left onto Witkoppen Road.Turn right into Cedar Road, go straight until you get to a T-junction, turn left,

300m on the right hand side:Croc City Farm

Open: Monday - Sunday 09:00 - 16:30Contact Details: Tel: 083 657 7561 Cell: 083 321 1016

E-Mail: info@croccity.co.za www.croccity.co.za

GPS location:S25° 58’ 39.5” E027° 56’ 40.5”

Come and enjoy a close encounter with Prehistoric Creatures in Joburg

Come and enjoy a close encounter with Prehistoric Creatures in Joburg

"Bring this advert to qualify for a discounted rate on your entrance."

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I’m a bit schizophrenic when it comes to cars. On the one hand I see them merely as a meansof getting from A to B, but I have to admit to a definite feeling of bitterness when forced todowngrade from the level of comfort to which I’ve become accustomed.

This is the dilemma I find myself in at the moment. Having spent the last ten years working myway up the corporate ladder, I’ve successfully graduated from a third hand 19-footsack studenthatch back to 2L of Turbo Diesel power complete with electric windows, air-con and all thetrimmings; not to mention the seven seats…'but this is where the problem lies. Since givingbirth to our fourth child last year, my wife has been quick to point out the inadequacies of herbasic bucket of bolts, complete with two missing door handles, duct tape to cover the rust holes,one working speaker and most significantly, only four seat belts.

I could have another seat belt put in the back, but with two baby seats either side even a midgetwould feel claustrophobic and at least one of the boys usually has a friend to play, making it evenmore cosy, so for the last year I’ve had to make peace with the fact that, as a considerate, loving,chivalrous father, the least I could do is trade my own comfort for that of my wife and children.I know it’s the responsible thing to do, but I can’t help feeling a little bitter as I pull up at a trafficlight and gaze nonchalantly at the foxy blonde in the next lane. In the old days I used to get asmile back and maybe a playful rev of the engine, but now I get the cursory once over and thatknowing look that says “LOSER!” I’ve also taken to parking around the corner when going tobusiness meetings and I have to make extra sure I always have my driver’s licence with me asI’m inevitably the first car to be pulled over at a road block.

Of course on weekends I get to drive my car, but then I’m with the wife and kids and I gaze overat the foxy blonde in the next lane at my peril.The only other time I get to drive it is when Ihave to take it in for its regular service and here I have become somewhat of a celebrity at thelocal agent as not once, not twice, but three times I’ve had to have the radio sent away only forit to come back with a variety of plastic toys, coins and pieces of paper retrieved from the CDplayer.

I usually do my best to clear the car of visible debris prior to taking it in; using one black refusebag for toys, clothes, etc and another for rubbish, but I can’t help noticing the look of disgust asthe service manager inspects the car, like a CSI complete with white gloves and clipboard, touchingonly the smallest extremities of the vehicle so as not to disturb the evidence of beach sand,bubble gum and unidentified mouldy objects under the baby seats.

Collecting the car is an absolute pleasure. It looks and smells as good as new and the longforgotten toys retrieved from various parts of the cars are carefully presented in a zip lockedevidence bag. On the short drive home, I slide my window down with the flick of a switch, turnup that awesome stereo sound and give that finely tuned 2L turbo engine a healthy rev. My handhesitates as I hang the keys on the rack by the door, knowing that tomorrow I’ll be wrestling myway to work in the slow lane, straining to hear the one working speaker over the irritating screamof the 1.1L engine, knowing that my car is about to be turned into another sand pit scienceexperiment.

By Andrew Clark

SURVIVING FATHERHOODSURVIVING FATHERHOODFA

MILY

FU

N

31PA

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I’m a bit schizophrenic when it comes to cars. On the one hand I see them merely as a meansof getting from A to B, but I have to admit to a definite feeling of bitterness when forced todowngrade from the level of comfort to which I’ve become accustomed.

This is the dilemma I find myself in at the moment. Having spent the last ten years working myway up the corporate ladder, I’ve successfully graduated from a third hand 19-footsack studenthatch back to 2L of Turbo Diesel power complete with electric windows, air-con and all thetrimmings; not to mention the seven seats…'but this is where the problem lies. Since givingbirth to our fourth child last year, my wife has been quick to point out the inadequacies of herbasic bucket of bolts, complete with two missing door handles, duct tape to cover the rust holes,one working speaker and most significantly, only four seat belts.

I could have another seat belt put in the back, but with two baby seats either side even a midgetwould feel claustrophobic and at least one of the boys usually has a friend to play, making it evenmore cosy, so for the last year I’ve had to make peace with the fact that, as a considerate, loving,chivalrous father, the least I could do is trade my own comfort for that of my wife and children.I know it’s the responsible thing to do, but I can’t help feeling a little bitter as I pull up at a trafficlight and gaze nonchalantly at the foxy blonde in the next lane. In the old days I used to get asmile back and maybe a playful rev of the engine, but now I get the cursory once over and thatknowing look that says “LOSER!” I’ve also taken to parking around the corner when going tobusiness meetings and I have to make extra sure I always have my driver’s licence with me asI’m inevitably the first car to be pulled over at a road block.

Of course on weekends I get to drive my car, but then I’m with the wife and kids and I gaze overat the foxy blonde in the next lane at my peril.The only other time I get to drive it is when Ihave to take it in for its regular service and here I have become somewhat of a celebrity at thelocal agent as not once, not twice, but three times I’ve had to have the radio sent away only forit to come back with a variety of plastic toys, coins and pieces of paper retrieved from the CDplayer.

I usually do my best to clear the car of visible debris prior to taking it in; using one black refusebag for toys, clothes, etc and another for rubbish, but I can’t help noticing the look of disgust asthe service manager inspects the car, like a CSI complete with white gloves and clipboard, touchingonly the smallest extremities of the vehicle so as not to disturb the evidence of beach sand,bubble gum and unidentified mouldy objects under the baby seats.

Collecting the car is an absolute pleasure. It looks and smells as good as new and the longforgotten toys retrieved from various parts of the cars are carefully presented in a zip lockedevidence bag. On the short drive home, I slide my window down with the flick of a switch, turnup that awesome stereo sound and give that finely tuned 2L turbo engine a healthy rev. My handhesitates as I hang the keys on the rack by the door, knowing that tomorrow I’ll be wrestling myway to work in the slow lane, straining to hear the one working speaker over the irritating screamof the 1.1L engine, knowing that my car is about to be turned into another sand pit scienceexperiment.

By Andrew Clark

SURVIVING FATHERHOODSURVIVING FATHERHOOD

FAM

ILY F

UN

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