RL, Paris

RL, originally uploaded by Soyy.

It's been awhile since my last post. It's all got to do with Facebook, I guess, among other things that got in the way of this sort of narcissism.

It's also got to do with fear. I am preoccupied at the moment with writing in a very specific form and a first-person narrative/descriptive style of writing is just at the opposite end of that spectrum. And so the hesitance of continuing to post here.

But here I am!

Soon, I'll be visiting yours too.

when such mundane thing as going to school becomes extraordinarily momentous... so be warned; you'll fall asleep after reading this title.

lew first day at pre-school, originally uploaded by Soyy.

I thought I should mark my 3-year-old's first day at pre-school as momentous. I wasn't as anxious as I was when his big brother started nursery. Maybe because I knew what to expect. Or that I just have too much on my plate at the moment that Lew's first day away from me was celebrated with a general clean-up of the house.

Either way, he made me very proud. His teacher's first comment was that he sat through a long story. I just smiled. I didn't have to say that we eat books at home, that for him to sit through a long story-time was just snacks for him, or light lunch. Didn't she know that we recite the words in the Oxford Dictionary as bedtime routine? Or that we sprinkle old newspapers in our porridge, because that's how you eat words!

Anyway. I also feel a bit of guilt, in that I feel a little bit of liberation. For 12 hours a week, when I am not at work, I am not a mother. Not that I cease to be someone's parent, but for those precious hours of staying at my desk, writing or reading my books, nobody would say, 'mummy, milk please!'. Now, somebody else would be fetching that milk and I could do what I want with my time, aside from doing the housework, of course.

And yet, when I went to pick him up from school, I felt like I just wanted to grab him from the teacher's arms and put him back in my womb. Just like that. I missed him but I just shifted that feeling and boxed it in.

So when I took him back home, I didn't let go of him. I cuddled him. I kissed him. I carried him around the house like a little baby. Because tomorrow, and after that, he will already have his own little world that I am not part of. And that world will grow bigger and bigger until I become just a mother in name and affection.

My dream-come-true

"Mummy, what's your 'dream-come-true'?" my 6-year-old asked me off-hand.

I said, 'You. You were my 'dream-come-true'.

He smiled. Then he ran after me and held my hand.

hundreds and thousands

hundreds and thousands, originally uploaded by Soyy.

K still can't get over the fact that if ever I have a little bit of spare time nowadays, I bake. He still can't believe that I now stay in the kitchen to create something that's edible.

So while munching through fresh choc buns that I made, he asked. Why are you baking a lot lately? Is there something I should know? (We always have a ready supply of buns and cakes from his mum.) I said, well, mum has been making lemon buns since 2003. I want something different, like chocolate, with hundreds and thousands in them!

He said, so what do you call a single hundreds and thousands? One hundreds and thousands?!

I said, I don't know. Shall we just call them 'bits'?

Conspiracy

After a long day out, we were welcomed at home with music blaring from our next door neighbour's garden. I thought it was too loud for comfort, but hey, it's nice and warm and we could do a little bit of jig anyway while trimming the hedges.

My 6-year-old said, hey mummy, that's Michael Jackson's song!

I said, yes, that's right.

He danced around and exclaimed, Michael Jackson is singing next door! He's not dead!

hot summer

This week, at least. It's particularly warm and the nights are sticky and restless. I could hear the crickets in the early evenings and the birds singing at breakfast time. It's beautiful to be outside (in the shade, of course).

This morning, we woke up an hour early because someone fiddled with the clock. No wonder I felt very tired. Nevertheless, I went straight to my paperworks waiting for me at my desk. I have a deadline to beat. K went outside and called me out. Come on, he said. Feel this. He stretched out his arms like he'd just come out from political imprisonment. It's warm. It's humid. It's like the Philippines! But I've only got my knickers on, I complained. It's fine. So I came out, and indeed it was warm. Fresh. Lovely. And after a second, I went back inside the house again, closed the curtains, and went back to my work.

This afternoon, the boys will be outside again, chasing each other, in their pants. Cold England is already forgotten.