Early morning skirmishes

When I pictured the first morning back at school, I'd pictured teary goodbyes, with Mo having to pry my claws off my kids as they walked to the car dragging their clingy deranged mother along while she screamed , '' My babies! Don't leave meeeeee!!''

I'd pictured us all speaking to each other lovingly all morning, as we enjoyed our last few moments in one anothers' company.

But no such luck.

The kids were irritable. They had awoken tired because they had, probably owing to first-day nerves, lain awake until really late.

They had gotten into bed at their usual time and performed their beginning-of-term ritual of recording a message for their cell phone alarm (in the hopes that waking up to something funny and outrageous would be more pleasant than waking up to the usual beeping of an alarm clock). After a few takes and numerous arguments over whose voice was the funniest in their morning-greeting alarm message, they settled down, satisfied at last that this message was so hilarious that it would have them leaping out of bed joyfully each morning (but probably knowing full well from experience that, by next week, the very sound of their excited happy voices alerting them to the need to leave their warm beds, would make them want to toss the phone into the toilet).

So from about 20:00 they had lain in bed, but sleep was elusive. Fortunately, Nuha (7) managed to fall asleep by past nine, but the other two tossed and turned for another hour and a half (at least).

Last night Aisha (2), as if sensing that something stressful was happening, had been really clingy. At 22:00 she was still sitting on my lap demanding that I read her favourite books, when Shakeel (13) jumped out of bed, rushed to us and flung his arms, first around me and then his little sister, telling us how much he loved as and would miss us. I was touched by the sentiment - and the fact that he had inherited his mother's dramatic nature.

But this morning expressions of warmth and love were nowhere to be found. They snapped at each other rudely and argued incessantly. Shakeel bossed Tharaa (10) about, while Tharaa did the same to Nuha.

Until I stepped in and reminded them about how important it was to be kind and respectful to each other - especially since we would not be spending the day together and anything could happen. And how the tone for one's day could be set in the mornings, which means that a stressful morning could result in an unpleasant day.

After this they wandered about their business more quietly (though still sombrely). The fact that Shakeel's school shoes are nowhere to be found, we took in our stride. I simply wrote a note to the teacher apologising for him wearing sneakers to school and promising that his shoes would be found during the course of today. (Which could be a virtually-impossible task with Aisha's new game of hiding our belongings in unusual places, like car keys in the grocery cupboard).

So we said our goodbyes mournfully, with each child giving me a long lingering hug. But ashamedly, I have realised that the drama of our goodbyes and the sadness of our separation from one another should be kept in perspective, especially after Elizabeth, our domestic worker returned yesterday, after having said teary goodbyes to her children (aged 14 and 7), whom she will only see in December again, since they live in the Eastern Cape.

At least I still have little Aisha to fill my days with joy - or distress - depending on her mood.

And now, as I wait for her to awaken, I say a little prayer that she does so happily, that all my kids have a wonderful day (and term) ahead and, most importantly, that none of them inherit their mother's wimpish clinginess.

Making the most of the last few moments

It's the last night before the first day back at school. Mere hours before the end of a lovely holiday. The kids are a trying to squeeze every last bit of enjoyment out of the remaining minutes (before bedtime).

Shakeel (13) and Tharaa (10) have indicated that they're a bit nervous for tomorrow. I must admit that I am too. Being left alone with 2-year old Aisha will not be easy.  

Right now, we're all cosying up in front of the TV, watching old comedies and munching on hot buttery popcorn.






Simply savouring the moment.

I am really going to miss these guys tomorrow.

First day back at school blues (mine)

Once again, as many stay-at-home mums heave a collective sigh of relief, I sit here sniffing into my tissues; missing my babies.

I've brushed hair, handed out lunches, checked signed reports, given giant bear hugs, planted a million kisses on cheeks - and waved a sad dramatic good-bye.

I miss them so much.

Last night I brought up the topic of homeschooling with Mo. What if we hire a retired teacher to assist me with the classes? Wouldn't we still be saving money if taking into account school fees and transport costs (I was grasping at straws; trying to convince him). Why subject them to potential peer pressure, bullying and negative influences?

Why couldn't they just stay home with me?

I miss them. I miss them. I know it's pathetic, but I really miss them.

Despite the constant bickering during this holiday that had me pulling at my hair; despite the constant mess that had me yelling and screaming.

I'm a sad pathetic mommy - whose life is way too wrapped up in those of her kids.

Not to mention a scared mommy - as I wait for two- year old tantrum-throwing Aisha to awaken. No Shakeel (12) to rush into the room first thing in the morning to marvel at his little sister, no Nuha (7) cause her first morning giggles and no Tharaa (10) to help her and comfort her like a little mommy. But fear of dealing with Aisha's moods alone is not the reason I'm missing the other kids so much.
I swear its not. Okay, maybe it is - a bit.

I step into their rooms which they have tidied all by themselves this morning. (They had taken my growling and threatening of last night seriously). My sweethearts!

Okay, I know that this is probably the most annoying post to which I've ever subjected anyone - so I'll stop. While I chew on my nails waiting for Aisha to awaken.

A morning of tears, anticipation and four-letter words

So the kids have left for school on their first morning back, and I have been weepy ever since. What is wrong with me? Many stay-at-home moms are viewing today as their first day of well-deserved freedom; the restoration of peace in their homes- why can't I feel that sense of relief?

Possibly I'm just suffering the after-effects of a really stressful morning- only made so by twelve-year old Shakeel's anxiety about being late. We live about 15-20 minutes away from school, which starts at 07:55; but if they cannot leave the house by 07:00 (07:10 for the latest), he considers them to be late and starts becoming anxious. This anxiety he manifests by becoming bossy with his sisters; and even a bit aggressive.

He'll follow them around saying things like, "Get done! Move faster- if you don't move faster, I'll punch you" or "Did you have breakfast yet? No, now it's too late- you'll have to starve!"

It is terribly stressful having to break up arguments- in order to prevent them from turning into full-blown fights- so early in the freakin' morning.

But there are advantages to living with the Punctuality Policeman. He's the one who announced bedtime last night- at 19:45 they were all in bed- uniforms had been laid out and stationery neatly packed away and labelled.

But even he was so excited that by 20:30 there was still giggling and play-fighting coming from the bedroom. Then came a bloodcurdling scream from Shakeel which made my blood run cold. I ran to the room wondering what I would do if I encountered a snake or spider in their bed.

"What happened?" I yelled in panic. "Is anybody hurt?"

Shakeel, with a horrified expression on his face pointed at a butt-naked Aisha (2) who had, as she tends to do these days, decided that she had had enough of her nappy and panty.
"She's crawling all over my bed with her gross bum and vagina. She's disgusting- get her away!!!"

This had Nuha (7) and Tharaa (10) in stitches. I had to step in before a fight ensued, as I knew that Shakeel would feel as if they were mocking him.

For the umpteenth time, I told them to keep quiet and sleep- or else.

There was silence- then the beginning of what sounded like a play-fight. I left them, waiting for my irritation to subside before I would re-enter the room. But then there was a shriek, followed by Nuha bursting into tears.

Shakeel came running out of the room, tears running down his cheeks- with laughter! I was livid, no longer interested in explanations, I would punish him for whatever he had done to Nuha. But then she came out of the room, half-crying, half-laughing to offer an explanation.

Aisha had made her way back into the room (Barney was not doing a very good job of baby-sitting her last night, while I prepared lunches). When she had tried to get onto Nuha's bed, Nuha had shoved her off in irritation. Aisha had then landed a punch on Nuha's cheek with one fist, and then another with her other fist. I was horrified. I blamed them for teaching her such violence. And why the heck did they find that funny?

Nuha then explained that after her two-year old little sister had landed these punches, she'd bowed at Nuha- as she had watched them do at karate.

Again, with more threats of punishment, I sent them back to bed. By 22:00 I heard the last of the whispering.

Thanks to Shakeel, this morning everything was completed timeously. Until I realised that none of them had bothered to eat. They were too excited, they claimed. Before I could launch into a lecture on how breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Tharaa dashed off to make everyone a slice of toast on which to nibble in the car.

Then, as they were leaving, Mo asked if their report cards had been signed and packed in. Crap- I had completely forgotten about that. Tharaa's and Nuha's were found, signed and packed. Shakeel's has been misplaced, which added to the poor thing's anxiety. I shall spend the day looking for it.

When greeting them, I whispered in Shakeel's ear that everything would be okay. I felt completely inadequate at providing such assurances, since I am exactly the way he is- and I still don't know how to calm myself or put myself at ease. So how was I supposed to do it for this poor child, who has undoubtedly acquired this unfortunate trait from me?
"You just don't understand," he responded. "It's the first day of school- you just don't know what it's like."
If he but knew that if there was anyone who could understand his feelings- it would be me.

Today is the first time I shall be fetching the kids at school by myself. It is also the first time I shall be driving in the city centre by myself. There will be no Mo to tell me when to change lanes; which could become problematic on the N1. I'm told that if one does not turn off at all, but continues straight along the N1, one will end up in Johannesburg; so I'd best remember to pack extra cash and some light snacks.

Nuha finishes at 13:30, and plays in the foundation phase playground until the rest of the school is dismissed at 14:30. I asked her if she would like me to come onto the playground and spend some time with her while we wait for the older kids (the way I've seen other mommies do). At first she looked horrified, then just plain uncomfortable.

"Mommy, why don't you charge your laptop at home and then just stay in the car with your laptop. But you can bring Aisha to me on the playground".

Tharaa was amused. "Does Mommy embarrass you?" Clearly uncomfortable, Nuha just gave an awkward smile. Tharaa was enjoying this, so she continued, "If Mommy were to make herself pretty, can she then come onto your playground- just to sit there and watch you play?"

Poor Nuha looked as if she wanted the ground to swallow her. "If Mommy makes herself pretty she can come and sit on the playground- and I'll go and sit in the car," she responded, clearly utterly miserable at having been placed in that position.

Shakeel, shaking his head, again muttered, "You just don't understand Mommy. You don't understand".

So that was my morning. I learned that I am too ugly to be seen with my kids in public and too stupid to understand anything. And yet I still miss them so much. I'm counting the hours before everyone's safe return home (albeit via Johannesburg).