Do you know how bloggers often start off their blog posts by apologising for neglecting their blogs for days/weeks and then offering an excuse which usually includes work, ill health or family obligations. So here goes ...
It's been 4 years since my last blog post, but I've been so busy watching and re-watching Downton Abbey that I just couldn't find a moment.

Truthfully though, I haven't really felt the inclination to write - at first, because I had been going through a tough time when I last posted and I really didn't feel like recording that period of my life.

Blogging had always served a purpose - it helped me process my feelings and thoughts. Often, I'd start a post in a state of emotional turmoil and then gradually, as I wrote, I'd start to make sense of what I was feeling and even find some sort of resolution - a process which, more often than not, filled me with a feeling of calmness and serenity.

Which is what prompted my return to blogging after a ridiculous 4 year hiatus. This morning I found myself emotionally overwhelmed. I had returned from dropping the kids at school and found myself alone at home with only my sadness for companionship. I paced up and down the house, not knowing how to stem the wave of grief threatening to engulf me. Then, quite by chance, I happened upon my old blogging laptop where I sat down to write my sadness away.

"Today is my boy, Shakeel’s last day in school uniform and I’m sad. Really, really sad. Ridiculously so. My kids know how sentimental I am, so we’ve all been anticipating this day for months already – Shakeel viewing it with nervous dread, as today we also attend the valedictory assembly, which promises to be a rather emotional experience for even the most emotionally healthy parent (a category in which I obviously don’t find myself).

He recently watched in horror as I bawled my eyes out to the episode of Modern Family where Luke graduates from high school. He descended into near-despair as he watched me snot-sobbing to the episode of The Middle where Axel graduates and heads off to college. (Yes, I may have a comedy-series addiction, but that’s a problem for another day.)

But I assured him that I’d keep it together today. I would not embarrass him, I promised. But then my recent behavior hasn’t exactly inspired confidence.  On more than one occasion this week, he has caught me sneakily snapping pictures of him from the car outside his school when I dropped him off or picked him up. Let me tell you, I have new respect for the paparazzi. It’s not easy sneaking pictures of a young boy outside a school without looking like a pervert. And his anger was real – reminding me of Justin Bieber’s violent altercations with the paparazzi back in the day. (What? I may be a middle-aged aunty, but I still know stuff.)

Looking back in angrily when I ordered him to stop for a picture after getting out of the car this morning

Being photographed by a stalker in a car as he walked off to school yesterday morning

All 4 of my babies together in uniform for the last time 😢😢😢

So when he told me this morning that he’d forgotten something at home that I’d have to drop off at the school's front office this morning, I did not yell at him for being irresponsible (as I had done on the 40 previous occasions I’d had to do this for him.) He looked confused as I smiled gratefully, as if he’d given me a gift. I was pleased that I’d get to do this for him for the last time. I’d better not forget to take my camera along to capture the moment."

A period of terror and joy - and an interesting case study

Yesterday morning I arose with butterflies in my stomach. As usual I tiptoed about the room, choosing my clothes for the day - so cautiously, so stealthily and so fearfully; as if afraid to awaken a sleeping bear.

But there was no bear. Oh no, this was so much worse. So much more terrifying. The sound of its shallow even breathing alone was enough to turn my insides to jelly. My shaky hands lifted my shirt off the dressing table - I froze with dread as one of its buttons knocked gently against the dressing table surface. I fought back tears of relief - there was no movement.

And then, suddenly -from a dark corner of the room, I heard it. My pulse quickened. It couldn't be. Again - movement. I prayed silently, '' Please let it be my imagination!''

Then - silence. My prayers answered. Or so I'd thought...

''Mommeeeee!'' came the voice. Two hours earlier than her (two-year old Aisha's) usual waking-up time. Guaranteeing her exhaustion and hence, a day of tantrums and ill-temper.

''Hello, my darling!'' I said, a cheerful smile plastered to my face. Only the beads of perspiration on my brow revealed my inner terror.

She stared at me for an unbearable few seconds. Time slowed to a torturous pace. I waited, not knowing what the mood would be. Hoping. Praying.

She smiled. Again, tears of relief. Short-lived relief.

''I want my panty and my 'going clothes'. (She sleeps in a nappy, but wears a panty during the day. Her 'going clothes' are her day clothes, i.e. not her pyjamas - her clothes for going places).
''Okay, darling, '' I said, a bit too cheerfully.

I did as commanded and returned the items to her bed. (She will not get up until I've dressed and changed her).

My hand brushed her tummy. She giggled. My heart filled with hope. I touched her tummy again. This time - laughter.

Then, becoming braver, I leaned down, pretending to chew her tummy with my lips.
The laughter stopped. But no anger followed. Just, it seemed, disappointment at me having ruined the game.

''Mommy, be sensible,'' was her vexed rebuke.

''Er, excuse me?'' I asked, not sure if I'd heard correctly.

''Please be sensible,'' she repeated.

And so began another day of ill-tempered tantrums and tirades, interspersed though, with delightful laughter and ongoing surprises at all she is learning. Her broadening vocabulary never ceases to amaze me, especially as she throws my words back at me (as shown above). Her clever comments have me dumbfounded and excited. The loving way in which she comes to hug me and plants kisses all over my face, melts my heart - even when, after allowing me to plant a few kisses on her chubby cheeks, she will abruptly pull away, saying, ''That's enough,'' and then walk off.

So, do I wish this tantrum phase would pass? Do I wish that I could fast forward to an easier time ahead? Surprisingly not. Because along with all the tantrums, she also provides us with so much joy. So much surprise. I cannot tell you how often I just observe her with wonder - the way she reasons, the things she says, the jokes she makes. Her ability to comprehend; to express herself. Her vocabulary. Her clever humour.

But mostly her loving nature. I will miss the way she lies next to me at night, touching my face. How she'll throw her arms around me, saying ''I love you''. How, out of nowhere, she'll say ''Thank you Allah (God) for my mommy and my daddy and my brother and my sisters''.

So yes, I shall spend the next few months suffering her tantrums and tirades, but - at the same time, I am so thankful that I am able to experience every moment, pleasant and unpleasant, with her. I wish there was a way to capture every moment of awe and wonder which she brings to our lives. And I definitely don't wish that this time would pass faster.


Camouflaged as a harmless little girl:

 

　
Before the event triggering the transformation (No one knows what could trigger this event - this phenomenon is still subject to much research - conducted by her cautious, yet diligent siblings)

And - a few minutes later:

But the transformation has also been known to work in reverse

Before:

Utterly spent from a tantrum, she refuses to get up onto the seat and falls asleep on the floor of the car

 And - a mere half hour later

 

  Fascinating stuff.

Aisha and ''friends''

The kids were snuggling up to one another on the sofa, getting ready to watch 'Annie' when Aisha (2) gushed happily, ''Mommy, see my fwiends (friends)'' (referring, lovingly, to her brother and sisters).

[How I wish they could always get along this well!]

 

 

 

My darling tormentor

Aisha (2) had been carrying on for about 15 minutes. She lay shrieking and screaming; while writhing and contorting her body.

I stood and stared at her for a long while , then sat down sighing a mournful sigh. Which is when she abruptly stopped her tirade and said apologetically, '' I'm sowwy (sorry) mommy''.

I went over to her and lay my head in her chest. Seeking comfort. From a 2-year old. (Because my own mother was nowhere nearby to comfort me and tell me that this is all normal and that I am not the worst mother in the world.)

For a while, she tousled my hair and rubbed my cheek lovingly. Reassuringly.

''I love you, mommy. You are a cute girl.'' she murmered.

Right back at ya, my terrifying little darling.

Mommy-daughter time....special moments with my mother

For a while now I've been grumpy about the fact that I don't get to spend alone-time with my mother. There are always other distractions in the form of kids or visitors - my mum is quite a popular lady.

The last time we went to the movies or out shopping together was probably just after Tharaa's birth ten years ago. Since then we only really get to speak to each other in company or while dealing with kids demanding food or nappy changes.

Which is why Friday night was so very special to me. Mo went to watch a movie by himself, while my mother and I were to watch what he assumed would be a girlie movie. I think he was just relieved not to be forced to sit through a movie of my choosing. So, spitefully I chose to watch the thriller ''Gone'' instead.

I so enjoyed being alone with my mother. The movie, though not fraught with the most memorable intrigue and mystery, provided sufficient suspense and stress to my delicate disposition to cause me a stress-headache. I could relate easily to the annoying neurotic nature of the heroine, but not to her stupid bravery. Her audaciousness, as she ventured into the obvious trap set by the villain, had me swearing at her - under my breath though, since I am far too respectful to expose my mum to the vile utterances that sometimes emanate from my foul mouth in times of stress. But once the climactic (albeit predictable) moment of the movie arrived, my efforts to contain my vulgarity, resulted instead in me grasping my mum's poor arm in a vicious grip, which tightened progressively as the suspense increased.

I cannot wait to have another such mother-daughter evening. However she feels that, should we watch another suspense thriller, we need only pay for one seat, since I spent the entire movie practically on her lap. Always so thrifty and clever, this mother of mine.