~ 5.30 am : question time ~

5.26 am (or thereabouts)

Heavy footsteps.  Down the hall, down the stairs, right to my bedside (he's inherited the elephant like tread of his father and sister)

Mama?  Mama?  You wake?

(wee interlude.  heavy footsteps back to beside the bed)

He wriggles in.  
Moves into the spooning position for a "pwoper" cuddle.  
Shuts his eyes briefly.  Opens them again.
 
And the questions begin:

Where does the wind come from?

Why do volcaneys send out ash clouds?

Can ash clouds get in the house and kill you?

Why is a tree called a tree?

How will I know when I'm big?

How many days until Christmas?

If we get a dog and it eats the cats what will we do?

Why does the rain decide to fall?

Do dragons set fire to themselves?

Why is Christmas called Christmas?

What's the best way to fall down a mountain?

How many sleeps til Christmas?

Why are they called nostrils?

I know how the flower made ET die.  Do you?

Do you know what baby Jesus did?

How do bricks stick?

What is 55?

How do waves work?

What does just mean mummy?  I just don't get it.

So when is Christmas?

I'm not at my best at 5.30am but these are our best conversations.  In the warm fug of a snuggly doona, as sleep slowly loosens its grip, we chat. About anything he wants, wherever his questions take us.  

For an hour he has me all to himself while the house slumbers on.  

The responsibility, the privilege, the sheer wonder of parenting does not escape me.



♥

~ 42, Douglas Adams and the meaning of life ~

Yesterday was my birthday

I love birthdays.

I love the rituals and the celebration, the giving (and receiving), the planning, the cake, the dinner, the spoiling.

I'm not so big on the numbers.  I don't feel 42.  Or what I thought 42 would feel like when I was (much) younger.  I thought forty was ancient, sensible and grown-up;  a holding pattern, if you like, for the rest of life.  And yet here I am  - mum to 3, one still in nappies with occasional thoughts of what a fourth would do to our lives (that's really only idle speculation - I can hear the screams of the Doc, my obstetrician and my absent abdominals already).  Not sorted, not mature, not always sensible.

In my heart I'm still in my 20s.  Still believing anything is within reach and possible if I put my mind to it.  I catch myself scanning the uni students milling around wondering if I'll see anyone I know.  I get shocked when I don't recognise the movies showing at the cinema or the songs in the top20.  I feel betrayed when my body aches and screams if I push it too hard or if I stay up too late, or have too many bubbles.  I still have to pinch myself that I am responsible for 3 small people - that they rely on me for food, shelter, love and knowledge.  I still feel like the world is out there waiting for me to come and explore and wonder.

Denial?  For sure.  I'm not one to gaze in the mirror checking for wrinkling and aging.  I have no list of what I need/want to achieve by this age, or that.  Sometimes, in those moments when I let myself think about aging,  I feel paralysed with fear that I'll be too old to play with my grandchildren (imagine if our kids wait as long as we did...), that genetics will catch up with me or the Doc and we'll fall prey to those health demons that lurk in the family histories.

So I live for the here and now.  For the little moments, the wonders, the sheer mundanity, the joys, the disappointments of the everyday.  Where the numbers are irrelevant and I strive to make each day count. 

Yesterday was a good day, I hope there are many more of them.

♥

{disclaimer:  That is not yesterday's cake.  The Doc made 3 cakes (best not to talk about the first two unless you have great tips about what to do with a cupboard full of crumbled chocolate cake) and finally cracked it with a heart shaped, chocolate extravaganza.  HRH LLJ had been wondering all day "where's the birthday?" and it wasn't until he saw the candles that he was convinced it was a real birthday.  In all his 2 year old excitement at cake and candles with the accompanying jumping and screaming I actually forgot to take a photo.}