Yesterday the fourth little traveller was home with a “funny tummy”. He was perched on the ailment fence, one leg on the slightly unwell side, the other leg dangling on the probably good enough to go to school. It was his fast talking and the conviction in his voice over the long term psychological scars that would follow an “accident,” that had me agreeing to a day at home. We negotiated him spending the day in bed with a book, math to be done on the computer, and homework to be collected by siblings. He clutched at his stomach, winced and slowly walked back to his bed.
Within the hour he was out of bed, had eaten 2 bowls of Cherrios, and when he squealed with excitement during our 4th game of Word Search I realized I’d been played.
“You seem to be much better?”
He immediately clutched at his stomach with a wince again and said with a pained expression “it comes and goes”.
We decided to watch a movie. With my laptop open, we both lay on the bed cheek to cheek. I could see his reflection in the screen, the features I’d studied when he was born, it had taken me so long to place him. I couldn’t work out who he was going to look like. Sure, he was uniquely him, but I couldn’t see into the future, him as a boy. And now here he was, 7 years old and the spitting image of me. We played together the entire day, at one point I asked for 20 minutes.
“Can I just have a go at writing something”
“Oh sure, I’ll just sit here” he said as he perched himself on a chair next to me.
I’d been writing for about 4 minutes when he asked if he could smell my breath.
“Why?”
“I just want to see what it smells like?”
“It smells of coffee.”
“Okay, can I smell it. Just blow. Just blow on my nose so I can smell.”
“I’m not going to get any work done am I?”
“Probably not Mummy, probably not. Now c’mon, just let me put my nose in your mouth”
We played 4 more games of Word Search.
This morning it was the first traveler’s turn. There was no need for a performance, I’ve watched her cold get worse over the past couple of days. After I’d dropped the others off we sat together over breakfast, just us. A luxury for a family of six. The conversation somehow moved from American History to Economics and Universities in Australia. We speak to each other differently now, I have to constantly remind myself to listen more, less opinions, more conversation. I find myself gazing at her face, losing track of our conversation, she is exquisitely beautiful, bee stung lips and eyes like a cupie doll. I see her as my baby, my three year old, and then regain focus to hear her ask if it would be better to go to University in Melbourne or Adelaide? She is 13, marching onwards.
It occurred to me yesterday that our relationships with our children have the blind intensity of young love, a fresh romance. They begin with the same explosion, an acute and heightened sensory overload. While we talk about our heart, chemical reactions are igniting in our brain.
Our love begins like any romance: little tiny fingers, eyes locking, intense gazing, nights spent listening to or maybe for a faint breath laying next to us. We discover the things we both like to do, what makes us happy, what we can’t bear.
As time goes by, we sing together in the car, have our first goodbyes, give big hugs and promise to come right back. We hold hands and touch noses.
And like any great romance, there are fights. The standoffs, the tantrums, the lies we tell each other. The last chocolate biscuit that was eaten, the smirk that was caught. The unfinished homework, the bed that wasn’t made. The irrational arguments.
And as the relationship matures you realize there’s a space. You are cheek to cheek less often. You begin to consider the impossible. An empty bed, a spare seat at the table.
Not yet, but one day you will have to let go. Perhaps finger by finger, but one day you will have to let go.
Blind intensity, hearts exploding.
This one made me cry! And mine are only 5 and 7!
Thanks for the tears – beautiful as always but this one got me as MissM asks to ‘blow on her face’ sometimes. I used to do it when she was a bub, to catch her attention and make her giggle – it still works x
First born starting Kindy tomorrow….argh terrible timing to read this, beautiful as it was lol 🙂
Watch out, tomorrow you’ll wake up they’ll be 13 and 11. I swear it goes that fast! xx
awww, that’s gorgeous. xx
Good luck with tomorrow xx
Ms-havachat I will ALWAY be indebted to you for putting me on to Kirsty. She makes me laugh, she makes me cry (lots, both happy and sad) but most of all, she makes me realise that my experiences are valid and in a world where many don’t understand the expat life, it’s a godsend. Thank you Kirsty.
Oh my gosh, your comment has really made my day. Thank you so much. It really means a lot. Yes, our experiences are valid. Thank you again. xx
You are so welcome skwirrell 🙂
Feel the same about you, and Kirsty xo
Thank you, Kirsty. Such beautiful words that make so much sense in the middle of toddler chaos!
What a touching post!
A lovely post. It does go fast, but oh what wonderful memories you are creating. I just spent the weekend cleaning out a closet and came across a box marked “Special things” Tons of tears were shed as I read a letter my 13 year old daughter wrote to me when she did something that made me unhappy, cards she made for me in elementary school, stories she wrote, report cards etc. I’m glad I let her stay home sick once in awhile so we could just be the two of us.
oh don’t! I just had a sad drop off at childcare and am missing her to the point of distraction today. So beautifully written and I am so glad of your little reminders.
I loved those ‘sick’ (i,e,, not quite well enough for school, but not incapacitated) days with my boys when they were in grade school, and always secretly rejoiced when one of them needed to stay home and required my undivided attention. Now they’re almost 17 and 20, the only thing I regret is that we didn’t have even more of those days. It *is* sad and difficult when they go(especially for us as expats), but we have absolutely loved watching #1 spread his wings and navigate his own flight quite successfully. It’s one of the best things about raising kids – when you realize that they’ve grown up into people you would absolutely choose as friends, even if they weren’t your own children.
I love your comment Caroline, enough that I just want to save it so I can return to it every now and then. When we were in Sydney visiting friends recently Ms 13 threw out a one-liner to a friend of ours that had me both in hysterics but insanely proud of who she is growing up to be. “When you realize that they’ve grown up into people you would absolutely choose as friends…” I love that sentence. xx