Fourteenth of August. A special day for two reasons: Jacob and Maya's birthdays. Today, I added at least one more reason to that list. Taj's first day at daycare.
Let's start at the beginning.
A very anxious mother, who, despite having mentally prepared for this day for quite a while (he was meant to start almost a month ago, when he turned two) trepidatiously got her unsuspecting baby ready for his first full day away from mummy. I fully expected him to be okay for the first hour or two, because he'd been there many times before when we go to drop Jacob off, and he's always reluctant to leave (too much to explore, not enough time!), but once he'd be directed into anything other than free reign, he would be demanding his mother.
So, after dropping a very happy boy off, and hanging around to see if he'd come looking for me (he didn't), I decided to stay local, just. in. case.
I went to the nearby marketplace with another mum, we sipped coffees and talked children, then I bought a bunch of new books to add to the collection that still await completion. I can never help myself where books are concerned. Its my one impenetrable consumer vice.
When I said goodbye to my friend, I sat in the car, watching the phone. I'd already tried ringing the school 3 times. No answer. Surely they must call soon.
I stared out of the window, my mind wandering to my darling 5 year old, Jacob. He'd been so affectionate towards his baby brother, so excited to be his caretaker at daycare. Even though this should be his day, being his birthday and all, he just wanted to talk about Taj. He's always been such a gentle soul, so loving.
I wondered what Maya would be doing. This was a milestone birthday, after all. She's a fully-fledged teen now, 13. Barely out of childhood, and already a young lady in so many ways. She towers over me, but that's not at all surprising- she always did take after her dad in that regard (her mother is about my height). She's really matured these last couple of years, and is beginning to come out of her shell. It appears quite pronounced, perhaps because of the time between visits. Such a delight to watch the transformation.
Today was also a vitally important day for another reason: my sister would be having surgery to repair her broken ankle. I phoned my brother-in-law for an update- she was still in theatre. Surat Yasin.
Then, I made a decision. I would stay put. I would read, in silence and lunch in the restaurant, alone. I wouldn't heed the burgeoning guilt, and reached for the first book I could get my hands on: Trains and Lovers, by Alexander McCall Smith.
Immediately, I was intrigued. It was at once clumsy and eloquent, incoherent and
dotted with profound observations.
'The heart has its fair share of ghosts, and these ghosts may be love, in any of its forms' (p7)
...
'Journeys are not only about places, they are also about people, and it may be the people, rather than the places, that we remember'. (p8)
...
'Trains are everyday, prosaic things, but they can be involved in, the agents of, so much else, including the part of our human life that for so many far outweighs any other- our need for love- to give it and to receive it in that familiar battle that all of us fight with loneliness' (p10)
I was hooked.
The phone rang.
Taj was refusing to nap.
Just as I'd expected. Direction, refusal. Of course he wasn't going to sleep. It's his first day in a foreign environment. He would just observe. He will quickly learn what the routine is, surely they didn't expect him to get it from day one. A little bit of reassurance and a lot less expectation please. And Jacob.
We agreed. I would be updated in an hour.
I went into the restaurant.
'Are you waiting for someone?'
'No, its just me (smile).'
I sat down, ordered, and continued to read, taking breaks to people watch, as you do.
It was the first time in a long time, I was completely in my own company. It felt incredible.
Text: Rayanne is in recovery. The surgery was a success. Visiting hours: 12-2, 4-8.
Alhamdulilah.
Time flew by, almost surreally. I skulled the last quarter of piccolo, and rushed off to collect Wafa from the station.
Then, home to cook and resume normal 'home maker' transmission. Before I knew it, it was time for school pick-ups.
My heart was racing as I entered the daycare doors. He was hiding, on the slide, his chocolate-covered face beaming in delight when he saw me.
He ran over for hugs and news.
'I eat cake!'
I was beyond relieved. After more reassuring feedback from his teacher, we collected the birthday boy from his room, and headed over to 'big school'. It had been a success by all accounts.
Alhamdulilah. I will, God-willing, be spending much of my day with my baby sister tomorrow, knowing that Taj will be okay.
Then, the afternoon rush. Cake buying, dinner, homework, soccer-training, birthday celebrations, bed-time routine.
Coffee. Book.
'People talked of the wrench of parting, and that, he felt, was exactly what it was. Take a metal object off a magnet and one would experience that - there was the draw, the tug, the flow of the bond even through the air, and then the sudden detaching as separation occurred. That was what it was like. That was human parting. You felt it; you felt the separation, just as you would feel the rending of tissue being pulled apart'. (p72)
Blog.
Bon nuit.
Let's start at the beginning.
A very anxious mother, who, despite having mentally prepared for this day for quite a while (he was meant to start almost a month ago, when he turned two) trepidatiously got her unsuspecting baby ready for his first full day away from mummy. I fully expected him to be okay for the first hour or two, because he'd been there many times before when we go to drop Jacob off, and he's always reluctant to leave (too much to explore, not enough time!), but once he'd be directed into anything other than free reign, he would be demanding his mother.
So, after dropping a very happy boy off, and hanging around to see if he'd come looking for me (he didn't), I decided to stay local, just. in. case.I went to the nearby marketplace with another mum, we sipped coffees and talked children, then I bought a bunch of new books to add to the collection that still await completion. I can never help myself where books are concerned. Its my one impenetrable consumer vice.
When I said goodbye to my friend, I sat in the car, watching the phone. I'd already tried ringing the school 3 times. No answer. Surely they must call soon.
I stared out of the window, my mind wandering to my darling 5 year old, Jacob. He'd been so affectionate towards his baby brother, so excited to be his caretaker at daycare. Even though this should be his day, being his birthday and all, he just wanted to talk about Taj. He's always been such a gentle soul, so loving.
I wondered what Maya would be doing. This was a milestone birthday, after all. She's a fully-fledged teen now, 13. Barely out of childhood, and already a young lady in so many ways. She towers over me, but that's not at all surprising- she always did take after her dad in that regard (her mother is about my height). She's really matured these last couple of years, and is beginning to come out of her shell. It appears quite pronounced, perhaps because of the time between visits. Such a delight to watch the transformation.
Today was also a vitally important day for another reason: my sister would be having surgery to repair her broken ankle. I phoned my brother-in-law for an update- she was still in theatre. Surat Yasin.
Then, I made a decision. I would stay put. I would read, in silence and lunch in the restaurant, alone. I wouldn't heed the burgeoning guilt, and reached for the first book I could get my hands on: Trains and Lovers, by Alexander McCall Smith.
Immediately, I was intrigued. It was at once clumsy and eloquent, incoherent and
dotted with profound observations.
'The heart has its fair share of ghosts, and these ghosts may be love, in any of its forms' (p7)
...
'Journeys are not only about places, they are also about people, and it may be the people, rather than the places, that we remember'. (p8)
...
'Trains are everyday, prosaic things, but they can be involved in, the agents of, so much else, including the part of our human life that for so many far outweighs any other- our need for love- to give it and to receive it in that familiar battle that all of us fight with loneliness' (p10)
I was hooked.
The phone rang.
Taj was refusing to nap.
Just as I'd expected. Direction, refusal. Of course he wasn't going to sleep. It's his first day in a foreign environment. He would just observe. He will quickly learn what the routine is, surely they didn't expect him to get it from day one. A little bit of reassurance and a lot less expectation please. And Jacob.
We agreed. I would be updated in an hour.
I went into the restaurant.
'Are you waiting for someone?'
'No, its just me (smile).'
I sat down, ordered, and continued to read, taking breaks to people watch, as you do.
It was the first time in a long time, I was completely in my own company. It felt incredible.
Text: Rayanne is in recovery. The surgery was a success. Visiting hours: 12-2, 4-8.
Alhamdulilah.
Time flew by, almost surreally. I skulled the last quarter of piccolo, and rushed off to collect Wafa from the station.
Then, home to cook and resume normal 'home maker' transmission. Before I knew it, it was time for school pick-ups.
My heart was racing as I entered the daycare doors. He was hiding, on the slide, his chocolate-covered face beaming in delight when he saw me.
He ran over for hugs and news.
'I eat cake!'
I was beyond relieved. After more reassuring feedback from his teacher, we collected the birthday boy from his room, and headed over to 'big school'. It had been a success by all accounts.
Alhamdulilah. I will, God-willing, be spending much of my day with my baby sister tomorrow, knowing that Taj will be okay.
Then, the afternoon rush. Cake buying, dinner, homework, soccer-training, birthday celebrations, bed-time routine.
Coffee. Book.
'People talked of the wrench of parting, and that, he felt, was exactly what it was. Take a metal object off a magnet and one would experience that - there was the draw, the tug, the flow of the bond even through the air, and then the sudden detaching as separation occurred. That was what it was like. That was human parting. You felt it; you felt the separation, just as you would feel the rending of tissue being pulled apart'. (p72)
Blog.
Bon nuit.
