The room had all the colours, brownish-green, orangish blue, glitters, sparkles, some shiny shimmering cut outs, palate full of muddy water half spilled on the mopped up floor and I all soused in frustration imprudently muttering constantly, one hand picking those teeny, tiny pieces and the mouth doing the task of jabbering “Just now I cleaned your room and now look what have you done.”
Retiring to just have a sip of tea and indulge in my own world I galloped in the other room, suitably finding my own space, whispering “wow, this is what I wanted, a hot cup of tea and my time.”
The bed I had made did not look exactly like what I had prepared in the morning, it was just a rummaged area… with pillows losing their pair, bed seemed to have embraced its arm to every miniscule, teeny, teensy character impeccably placed, arranged flawlessly or wonderfully aligned to evoke a certain expression or emotion which I hardly recognize (This syndrome has started after my daughter’s birth) A gush of sudden emotion which arouses a typical paradoxical state. I longed to plant a sweet kiss on her forehead for being so utterly messy, making that well-tucked bed so topsy turvy and squeezing my “own sweet time” into “a de- cluttering task rewinding time”. Irony of a mother. Don’t know what term to use when one is hugged by such sensibility.
My moment of “my time” was kept on those shelves for the time being, though it was not an eternal plan, I had designed something better. The night seemed young.
That day I had murmured a thousand times “Now it’s enough , she better eat her food independently.”
And she starts putting some morsels in her mouth and that little bite takes a long ardours journey inside the mouth exploring every little corner of her jaws, tongue and counting her teeth infinite times. Looking at her I fumble “Is this the way you waste time yours and mine?”I take the plunge, take a whole bite, and push all the ingredients into her mouth. Forcing seemed to do wonders on some kids but here it was a blunder.
The chances of my “my time” was gradually becoming bleak I regained my strength and said “Today do your studies independently without mumma.”
I was sitting and feeling quite elated while she was happily doing her work with her frequent questioning outbreaks (I have realized one thing, making questions are difficult than giving answers) sometimes irked, sometimes amused at her silly questions which would surely make Google shed some tears, I had already lost my energetic bubbles looking like a balloon who had been punched, the phone rang, I had unconsciously slipped into the other room returning back I found her with the small pair of scissors cutting all the tiny bits of paper and creating all those unwanted (well beautiful pieces) of boats, aeroplanes and fanciful delights.
The room had again taken the very look of a ransacked camp, colourful chart paper flying all over, glue stick with its open lid scatterd, soft toys bumping their heads, dazzling visual treats having a gala time. Homework was pushed to the waiting platform.
Me – “Did you finish your work?” Innocence radiated from that dove eyes wrapped with bubbles of mischief saying “I was waiting for you mom”. I wondered “Will she grow up?”
And by the time I had coaxed her to sleep, my dream land had opened my visual treat and I was sipping my tea and having my “my–time”.
Another day, another story…
Ronita-Maitra Bhandari is a free-lance creative writer who writes for various sites and blogs. She has also done a certified course in “Positive Parenting” from U.K. She is a mom to a 7-year-old and loves nurturing her greatest resource, her daughter. Apart from writing she is a nature lover and gets energised wandering around green patches. She believes family is a treasure chest and children are those precious jewels in the chest who sparkle to illuminate lives. What else would one desire to live a rich life?