A time once travelled

Me: Good Morning David, you know today is my birthday!
David, reluctant at first, after muttering leave-me-alone-i-want-to-sleep-i-hate-centre-de-loisir, opened his eyes wide and popped himself up off the bed: Hmm, good morning mama, happy birthday, what’s your gift?
Me: You always go direct to the point don’t you?
David: What? What’s your gift?
Me: Nothing. I don’t want any gift. I already have all I need.
David: What’s your gift?
Me: Well, I already have the two nicest gifts. You and papa! David and papa, I don’t really need anymore than that.
David: Ben, you can have transformers if you want. You know papa and I went to this big toy store and they have plenty of toys there. I like robot transformer, so maybe you can have one.
Me: Well, I don’t need any transformers. As I said I already have you and papa!
David: But I am not a toy!

So the day went by without so much ado! I grew up without big bangs on each birthday and somehow on days like this, it does suit me. Less fuss the better.
Hubby anyhow wanted to celebrate. “Well okay, maybe just a bottle of champagne and that’s it!”

By 7 pm in the metro, sandwiched in the crowded car, the groovy sound of my phone rung loud. “I got bad news, hubby said; someone tried to break in the house, the door lock is completely broken!”
 
Lola picks up David from school. Today is no ordinary day. It’s my birthday. Someone tried to break in the house.
Lola and David couldn’t get in so she called the top-listers of France’s emergencies. The pompier to force-open the door, which failed so they took a really tall ladder that could reach our fourth floor and forced open a window to open the door for lola and David; police, to investigate the “crime” scene. No dead bodies, or “I -know-what-you-did-last-summer letter, you see, still burglary is a crime, so; SOS (emergency) doctor, for lola, who got a panic attack that shoot her blood pressure faster than they launch a rocket out of the outer space; and a locksmith, to repair the broken lock so we could pretend to sleep peacefully tonight.
900 euros lang naman!!!

Hubby, thoughtful as he is, still opened a bottle of champagne, when our little world seemed back to its normalcy. After two glasses and a half, I read my corners on the net. Read some really deep thought-provoking message, I thought it was excellent. But I somehow know the person writing the message, so I highlighted a few words, googled it inbetween quotes and the origin popped on my screen.
Reading someone’s writings, making it sounds as their own. Bugs me. I spent four fucking years in university to learn not to plagiarize. You don’t get D on the net. But no one calls the police when someone plagiarizes on the virtual world either.

Some free world!

Some birthday huh!!!

Oh ok, thanks to my bosses and colleagues who sweetened up the day

Happy birthday to cousin Grace and Kuya Linsu.

Blog, my son is into it again.

 

We cuddled up for a night’s sleep. Cheek-to-cheek, his right arm wrapped around my neck, fingers gingerly caressing my ear. This is his favourite cradle before sleeping… and mine too.

“David, you know poor papa is celebrating his birthday alone with no birthday cake and candle to blow.”

“Il est où maintenant maman? Il n’a pas de cake et cadeaux?”

“He is sleeping alone in a hotel somewhere in the
UK. No cake and no gifts.”

“Mais tu m’as dit que il a déjà acheté buzz l’éclair pour mon cadeau.”

“Ah, that he did. But it’s his birthday today and we should get him something special. What do you want us to give to papa?”

“Ben, on va donner à papa de caca, de pipi et de poot-poot!” Laughing his heart out, as if he just said the joke of the century.

“Ok then, that would be easy to do. You do caca, pipi et poot-poot tomorrow and then we wrap them with a special paper!”

“And you, what do you want for your birthday!”

Still laughing: “Ben, lola va m’acheter un bateau de pirate!”

“Ok, what do you want from papa and mama?”

“Je veux un bateau de pirate, c’est tout!”

“Well, mama wants to give you something, papa wants to buy you something. Each of us will get something; you’ll have to tell us what you want.”

Thinking hard…. “Ben, papa peut m’acheter une voiture de “Lightning Mcqueen”.

“You already got that one, you can’t have the same. And please no more cars, you’ve got plenty already!”

“Oui, mais je veux “lightning mcqueen” en bleu!”

“Ok, so we’ll tell papa about it.”

“Et toi maman, tu va me donner quoi?”

“It’s really easy David, on your birthday I’ll give you caca, pipi and poot-poot, just like what you will give to papa!”

He sat up so quickly (which surprised me!), turned his body towards me and shouted:

“Je vais te donner un coup de pied!!”

It was my turn to laugh so fucking loud!

Serves you a lesson coquin!

I feel whole again.

Hey blog, after a week in silence, the walls are filled with laughter again. The mess, the toys scattered everywhere, little accidents, sudden gasps of pain as I would walked limping after stepping on some tiny soldiers, dinosaurs and plastic cars. Oh, I did miss all that.

Saturday Night.
Before I inserted the key in the keyhole, I paused for a moment pressing my left ear on the door. Listening. Expecting little giggles, the ones that engulf my heart with so much warm and ecstasy. Nothing. Silence. I stooped down, hesitating, checking the gap of the door at the bottom. The light is on. I smiled excitedly and opened the door.
I saw him sitting on the sofa, having dinner at our coffee table. “Hellooooo, my little David! Wow, look who is here! Welcome back!”
He threw his head backward, arching his tiny back, spraying some pasta off his mouth, and laughing. The happy laugh. The kind of laugh that betrays oh-I’m-so-happy-to-see-you. It was more than I expected. I turned around to close the door, and I heard papa came, “hello mamou!”
I threw my arms around his neck and gave him a huge smack on the lips. It helped with two-inch hills to hold him like that. At least I reached up to his eyes. He was hesitant, kind of surprise. He held my shoulders in place, few inches from his face, “wow did you miss me?”
 ”Kiss me again” I answered. He smiled a wicked smile and we kissed, long, hard and wet. The kind of kiss known only to lovers.
After a forever, he pulled my face back gently but purposely, I heard a suppressed giggle coming from his chest, his naughty smiles reaching up deep into his eyes now filled with fire. “You behave girl, your son is just a few feet away!” I untangled my fingers off his hair, gave him one quick kiss and said “I missed you papa!”

After I put on my happy clothes (jogging pants and loose t-shirt), I sat next to David eating while watching Tom and Jerry. “Oh I see, you found the gift I bought for you”. He laughed again. I notice that he runs out of words when he is happy and excited. I gave him a big hug and kissed the top of his head. “You eat and we’ll talk later. I got so many questions for you!”
He perked his head on papa’s direction who was standing few feet away from us. He leaned to me, and whispered “You know mama, I ski better than papa. He fell many times, but I fell only once!” Then threw out a big laugh. He was making fun of his own father! Papa stormed in, “whaaa,I heard that, you are lying!” “What a crook this one!”
I felt my heart did a somersault! Ah, it’s good to hear their catfight again!

“So sweetheart, did you miss me? Because boy, how I missed you two!”
“C’est quoi miss me mama?” (What is miss me mama?)
I smiled. Now back to familiar questioning….
“Hmm, miss me means, hmmm, let’s see… (I was drumming my brain for the right answer, how can I explain it to a five-years old)
“Well, see baby filou here (his favourite toy, the one he never sleeps without). It’s like you went to
Chamonix
and you left baby filou here in Paris. You go to bed and you found out he is not there. That’s when you missed baby filou….  Or missed me.
He shrugged his shoulders off casually and said “but I didn’t forget baby filou, he was with me in Chamonix. I didn’t miss him.”
“Yes you are right, but I was not there. You must missed me…”
He looked at me intently, like I was some kind of lunatic and said “Bah, not really, I was skiing all day!”
I laughed out loud in my head. “Why are you smiling mama?”
“Well, I’m happy to know that you didn’t really miss me. That means you really had a great time skiing!”
Then he went into his litany of what happened during the one-week break.

After a while, he grabbed my hand and planted there a million kisses. I laughed a happy laugh. Warmth engulfing my soul.
“Mama, will you hold me tight tonight when I go to bed. And don’t leave me until I’m sleeping!”
I looked at him adoringly and said, “of course I will hold you tight, just like always!”
(In my head, I heard: yeah, like you didn’t miss me at all little coquin!)

 

Dear Blog.
I meant to sleep early the other night, around 10 pm, to give justice to the dark-hallow shadows beneath my eyes. I watched Dracula, after watching Wuthering Heights. Didn’t realize it was Wuthering Heights really, I bought the DVD on amazon France, it was called Les Hauts de Hurlevent. Ralph Fiennes. The English Patient guy. More beautiful than Brad Pitt when he plays Vampire.

So after that I watched Dracula, Anthony Hopkins, one of my faves!…turned the TV off half-way. I got scared. My imaginations have the tendency to scare the shit out of my own self. I’m alone. You see. Father and son gone skiing on some snowy mountains called Chamonix. They’ll be back next weekend. I’m alone. The silence in the apartment is so freaking loud, it’s almost deafening! And watching Draku is not such a good idea. But the women. Gosh, they are HOT!

Anyway, I checked amazon.fr again, see what is interesting. According to my budget….
I have to see the Notebook… slept at quarter to 2. Got carried putting on some stuff on amazon’s wish list. For future expenditures!

Woke up today, squinting my eyes to check the red numbers on our digital clock, 5 meters away. 7 A.M. Closed my eyes back, dragging the quilt up to my ears, listening to the footsteps of our neighbours upstairs and running down in my head the-to-do-list-today. Can it be so boring? Forced my eyelids back to sleep.
When I woke up again, the sunlight told me it was way already late. Got up quickly, googled my eyes to the digiclock. 8:45 am. Hmmmm. That’s something. I never woke up so late… unless when I’m sick. And today. I.am.not.

Spent a good 10 minutes looking for my eyeglasses. I keep on losing them these days! Grrr!
While hunting for the bloody glasses, my brain cells were already doing the marathons. Got to pick up the package in the post office, do sewing on few new pairs of jeans, run the rest of the laundry, God why can I never see the bottom of the basket-for-clothes-to-be-ironed! Have to do the groceries, or I’ll starve this week! Should I go to Tang Freres for my asian cuisine? Not important. This week is a microwave week! Need to get an rdv for my eye check! Need to cut my nails! Blah blah!

I on my pc. As soon as the power is on, the humming started, signs of aging, all the antivirus crap pop up, making the machine slower than phil post. I went to the kitchen to make myself coffee and grab a pain au lait. I went back, the pc is still straggling to open a window. God, I need a new pc!

Checked my emails, finally. Shit! Bad news from unknown people in the Phils. One email after another. Bad news after another. Requesting some files. Okay. This is going to be a promising day!
I on hubby’s pc. I needed to scan some files. His pc is privileged to be attached to a printer/scanner. This is discrimination!
Well, he’s got his pc password protected. I would like to think he’s got some kind of secret.
But I know better.
Little hands do wonder from pc to pc these days. Everything has to be proofed. I tried all that came to mind, nothing works. My hubby doesn’t love me anymore; he doesn’t use my name to protect his screen! Howaboutthat!

I emailed his blackberry to get his magic word. Waited for my phone to ring. Tick-tack-tick-tack. Nothing. Email. Nothing. I let out a big sigh and went rummaging my bag to find my celly. Can’t find it. I picked up the fixed line. Dial my own phone. Busy tone! Land line doesn’t work! Bloody orange! When can they ever fix their stupid livebox to make everything works! I rebooted the shittybox, cut off the internet line. Everything went dead!

Dear Blog, from now on, I shall rebaptize the livebox, DEADbox!

No choice, I went for mobile hunt. Why do women’s bags have so many pockets? And inside THE bag, there are more smaller bags!
Found it. Off. Hmmm, no wonder. I called hubby. Can I have the password please? “Well, I’ve been trying to reach you, your mobile is off, and you know, the land line doesn’t work, you need to reboot it!”

Aha, really!?

His pc is worst than mine. I could have reached London by plane, and his pc would still be trying to open a pop up messenger! We both need new bloody pcs!

Scan. Convert jpeg file to pdf. Scan. Convert jpeg to pdf. Scan. Convert jpeg to pdf.

While waiting, I did some productive stuff on the net. Such as accepting an invitation (note dated one month and two days) from T to join Shelfari. (I thought it was a girl’s name!).

Then I filled some dire documents. Must-return-date already overdue.

Then did a quick grocery list.

By the time I’ve done all that it was already past noon! I rushed to the post office, came back, and took the shopping cart. Spent a good 70 euros. The only food bought were two frozen pizzas, and four microwaveable food for my lunch. Then realized I got nothing to eat for dinner this coming five nights! I rechecked my grocery list. Where the fuck the 70 euros went! Why do they have so many kinds of cleaning-wipes and liquid soaps! Liquid soap for the hands, liquid soap for clothes, liquid soap for the toilet, liquid soap for the dishes, liquid soap for tiled floors! You know, from where I grew up, we used only one. You buy a tide bar. It cleans everything! And like we didn’t die from it!

Anyway, I had a pizza for lunch. Catching up with hubby and David while munching.
By three pm I attacked the bloody basket! Trying to forget the misery of ironing clothes, I put back on Dracula. Watching it on broad daylight is different from watching it at night. It was less scary. Or maybe because I was just so miserable trying to reach the bottom of the basket, I didn’t really notice the whole vampirish thing!

Then I put on Hannibal Lecter, the Red Dragon to finish off my ironing.
Okay. I’m not really into gory stuff these days, blog. It’s still a combo of Ralph Fiennes and Anthony Hopkins, after all. Plus, there’s Edward Norton. It’s like having a good lamb chops and red wine!

So now, it’s like 10:00 pm. Tummy has been asking dinner. I just don’t know what new “single” people eat! Maybe.pizza.again! Well, at least there’s wine to wash it down!

I’m going to pretend that time didn’t pass by this fast! That Christmas didn’t come and that it’s not really a new year I’m in! It’s not difficult to think about, considering that I was rather totally unconscious in bed for two fucking days on the 23^rd and 24^th of Christmas. I could have died on the 24^th and had the taste of what hell is like, what with the sharp knives dug every inch of my skin down to the tips of nails. I must have died and hell must not only be about eternal burning fires. There must be long-sharp knives out there too!

The only thing I was subconsciously aware of that my heart had not stop beating, and brain still functioning, was the fact that in the span of 24 hours, I could hear from the very distant the door of the bedroom carefully opened and closed, the quiet tiptoes, the gentle touch of tiny hands on the thick blanket wrapped around me and the silent whisper “mama, are you still awake?  “Are you going to wake up for our noche Buena?”

He is an angel! Angels are not scared to go to hell and whisked back to good earth lost sick soul! Like mine!

The physical and mental recovery dragged on until the end of January. I.take.that.back. until the end of last week, when gastro bid farewell from our butts! Literally.

I have amnesia of the 24^th. And wondered how I managed to have photo with happy faces around the Christmas table. I think I ate a prawn or two, but no memories of what happened thereafter.

And yet obviously I can’t avoid the fact that Christmas came without me and that I’m really now in 2009. I’m bitter about it and feel like I’m a total jerk!

I tried to keep self-preservation. Survival of oneself. What energy left were used to pull a happy face at work, and the rest used to keep the clothes washed and ironed, house liveable.

It had been a rollercoaster ride. I hate the real rides, how much more this one. The weather does not help either! Hubby has stopped complaining of how I successfully killed-joy the festive season. David seemed oblivious about it. Maybe because I managed to pull an excited happy face on boxing day. Or maybe because Santa did not forget a thing on his list!

…. Up until now, I have had maddening days. Happy days. Exciting Days. Low days. Boring days. Shitty days. Promising days…

…. At the moment I’m preoccupied of finding satisfying answers to these questions….
- mama, where do nightmares come from?
- mama, do nightmares come when I close my eyes?
- Maybe I should not close my eyes so that they won’t come?
- Mama, you know you are having a nightmare when you open your eyes and you see yourself sleeping on the floor, the bed disappear, the computer, the table, the drawers, the books, the clothes, everything disappears… and you see nothing but walls on your back, walls on your right, walls on your front and walls  on your left. When you see that you know you are in a nightmare! (That totally creeps me out! What no hideous monsters? Why freaking walls?)
- mama what should I do when I have a nightmare?

Children are a great instrument to test your patience!

One Sunday night after taking his bath, the toll of the play-all- day hit the nerve and David was in his worst tantrum of the year! I was cooking, panicking, going back and forth kitchen-living room, heart pumping, ears ringing!

In the living room David was screaming his lungs out while papa at the back was preparing his luggage for a three-night trip. It was a horrible ping-pong of “calm down, stop screaming” vs. whaaaa…whaaaaaaa.. whaaaa!

Who could pack neatly in that situation! Papa was all furious. And there was no talking down to the kid. The second we opened our mouths, he shrieked and shrieked and shrieked. He was totally fatigued.

I went back to the kitchen, slammed the door and tried to imagine paradise in its splendour and serenity! Buff! I couldn’t see it in the spaghetti sauce I was stirring!!

Papa: “Ma, can you please do something, this kid needs discipline! He does that when you are around! He never does that to me!

Me, trying so fucking hard to ignore the last bit: Yeah, I’m coming, I have to finish cooking so that he can eat and sleep! (Fuck who has the appetite with this scenario).

Papa: Yeah, yeah, you need to calm him down!! If he doesn’t I’m really going to spank him! Calme-toi David!!!

At the end of my wits, I grabbed the stick that David found at the playground later that day. Rushed to the room and whacked the cushion next to him! They both were surprised by that meanness!

Me: If YOU do not stop this minute this stick will end up on your bottom!!! You know how it is when mama gets angry, and you do not want me to get angry I promise you!!! So you calm down little boy! I do not want to hear you screaming!! One more scream and you are punished!!

I turned to papa and said: And you too, I do not want to hear any words from you! Stop both of you! Pointing the stick at both of them!

David was surprised and tried to suppress the sob that ended him almost choking! I went back to the kitchen. Papa followed suit, seemingly infuriated. Kid still sobbing to death!!

Me, lowering down my voice so that it doesn’t wander off to the next room: Just let him be for a minute. He is so tired and he needs to let it all out! He will stop eventually! Just let him scream! Just one minute, ignore him!

Papa: I can’t! I have things to prepare and I can’t think with this mess!

Moderator. It’s one bloody career I’m sure I will never succeed.

I let out a long breath! I went to the living room, David clutching the cushion, all wet and slimy! A horrible moment like this, spanking is your worst option.

I sat next to him sideways, sitting on my folded legs, looking at him. Just looking at him. He was still sobbing, throwing me sidelooks and unsure of what to do. At least, he stopped screaming. I gave him a full three minutes.

Three.minutes.passed.

I took him up and made him sat on my lap. Papa behind us re-assumed the packing.

I caressed his newly-bathed-orange-scented head, now covered with sweat. And coddled him with gentle but firm words.

Me: I know you are really tired. Just give me a minute and food is ready and then we go to bed ok??!!

Uhuuuh, huh,huuhhh!!!

Me: I’m sorry I got angry. I’m sorry cheri, it wasn’t really nice of mama. You are really tired, furious, sad and hungry. Wow, that’s so much emotion for a little boy like you ha?

See these fingers? (I stuck out four fingers with thumb folded down the palm). Right now you are those four fingers!

Between sobs he replied: What are those mama? (looking intently at my hand)

Me: Well, this (touching the index) means you are angry, this one means you are very tired, then you are hungry, and then you are sad. Look at that, four different emotions! That’s a lot to have at once, and it’s ok! I’m going to stick these four fingers like these until they are finished.

David, contemplating, dalang singhot, touching my folded thumb: What about the thumb, what is it, why is it folded?

Me: Well, the thumb means happy. He is hiding because right now you are not happy. But as angry, tired, hungry and sad are finished, then we fold them away and mama will stick the thumb up. Like this? Show me your thumb up! A hesitating but promising smile began to unravel on the soaked face!

We’ll wait for a minute, and then you tell me when you are happy so that I can ask all the four fingers to hide away ok? Nod. Pensive. Hiding the lower half of the face in the cushion, but I caught a glimpse of a smile.

In less than a minute, he began to move. One by one he folded my fingers away. And pulled out the thumb. He likewise put his thumb out and we did the ok sign silently. One little thumb against mine.

Me: What does it mean now sweetheart?

David: C’est fini (it’s finished) angry, hungry, tired and sad. C’est fini. Now I’m happy. He stood on the couch and sticks his thumb out to papa, eyes still wet with tears “Papa look, I’m now happy!”

Papa enthusiastically said: Bravo! (then stuck his thumb up)

 

After a while when it was safe to tread on my toes alone, I went to the kitchen. Look glaringly at my stupid thumb, my insides still in limbo. The fingers have saved the dinner, and I wondered where that idea ever came from! Certainly not from the spaghetti sauce!

Just so he stops pestering me while I was doing household chores…

 

Me: Sweetheart, why don’t you go to your room and find some toys that you can give to cousin Seth (my nephew in the phils who is almost as the same age as him). You know, I think he does not have as many toy as you….

He rushed to his room, and I could hear drawers being opened, plastics and rubbers flying… squeaking, ringing, growling weird sounds gone off as batteries were on and simple touch is enough to blast out the lungs of these plastics.

Oh fucking bad idea, now I have more cleaning up to do…

 

Two minutes later he appeared at my side holding out a teeny-weeny thing.

Me: Oh, already found one? That was quick, so what is it that you are going to give to cousin Seth?

David, so proud and enthusiastic, holding out his hand: Here mama a really nice racing car!

I look at it with dismay.

Me: Really? Are you sure about that? It’s so tiny and the back wheels are broken!! I don’t think Seth will be happy to get that! You can’t give something that’s broken, it’s rude!

David: Si mama, I like this one, so he will like it too…

Me: Well, that’s not really very generous. You should give something a bit bigger and not broken. Besides, Christmas is coming soon and I’m sure there’s a little boy in this house who will get plenty of presents from Santa… you should give some to your cousin in the
Philippines.

David, now very engaging and serious: You know mama, there’s no Santa Claus in the Philippines…

Me completely kicked off in the butt: What!!! What makes you say that?!

David, shrugging off his shoulder the French way: It’s like that. There’s no papa noel there!

Me: So where do you think Santa is?

David, tips his head on the side, eyes on the ceiling, thinking: Papa Noel? Ben, he lives in Frejus (his summer vacation place, plenty of toys o.c.), he lives in Paris, he lives in New York (where he gets really nice walking-growling dinosaurs that even I fell in love with), in Washington (more souvenir toys), in Martinique (where grandpa lives, so more toys) and London (again toys)…

Me, trying to suppress the humour: That’s quite discriminating David! Well, ok may be that’s true, but it’s not quite right… You know Santa can still go to the Philippines or any other places, not just the places you’ve been too…, you’ll see, when we arrive in the Philippines you will see one…

David: No mama, he can’t go there! It’s very far!

Me: Of course he can. He can take a big plane like you, papa and mama if Santa wants to…

David: Ah non c’est pas possible!!!

Me: And why is it not possible?

David: Because if he takes the airplane, he will scare off the people!!!

Hand in hand going to David’s School

Me: David il faut vraiment mettre ton pull quand tu vas jouer dehors. Il fait froid aujourd’hui!

David (looking up): Quoi maman?

Me: J’ai dit tu mets ton pull quand tu joues dans la cours de l’école!

David: Quoi maman? Je mets mon poule? Comme, comme poulet?

Me (yanked his hand unintentionally, surprised): I didn’t say chicken, I said pull! You can’t wear chicken, can you now?

David: Ben, si maman t’as dit pull comme poulet! C’est pas ça heh?

Me: Ok, so how do you pronounce it?

David: Pull (pronouncing it so easily like a true French).

Me: Ok, pull (sounding like pyull)

David (laughing out loud): Non, c’est pull! Pas poule, pas pyul, mais pull! (pyl – according to a french dix)

Me: Ok, ok, stop lecturing me with the pull. I am telling you when you go play outside do not forget to put on your jacket! Ok, ok David?!

David: Oui maman… et tu parles pas français avec moi! T’es nulle! Tu parles English seulement!

 

My French language lesson is so fucking starting oooveer! This time with a pre-schooler teacher!

After a three-week vacation without the parents

David: Lynneth, Lynneth viens ici (come here)! Manu, manu regarde (look)!

Me (shock): Oh la, I think I picked up the wrong boy in the train station! Pa where is David?

David (looking confused): Mais, je suis la Lynneth!

Me: I’m not sure, I might have picked up the wrong David!

David: Pourquoi?  (Why?)

Me: Well, three weeks ago my little David calls me mama, he calls manu papa. Then now here’s a little boy calling us by our names! What happened to our David? You are not my son, are you?

David (giving me a stupid smile, then laughs): Mais non maman! Je blague! Je suis ton fils! Tu es ma maman, et manu mon papa! (I’m joking mama. I’m your son, you are my mama and manu is my papa!)

 

English:

Me: David, I know you understand English. When I ask you a question can you please answer me back in English!

David: Completely ignoring me.

Me: David, I’m talking to you!

David: Yes mama!

Me: Ok, so what did you eat in the canteen today?

David (hesitated, search the words): Oui, J’eat des poisons avec des rice!

(I ate fish with rice!)

 

I was never an egg, and you are not a toilet!

Pa and I were watching a film, then David suddenly appeared in time to see a flash of a woman’s face all twisted while giving birth!

David suddenly looks so concerned and started running us down with a marathon of questions: Ma, pourquoi elle fait ça? Pourquoi elle pleur? Elle a mal maman? Pourquoi?

(ma why is she doing that? Why is she crying? Is she hurt? Why?)

I tried to give him an honest answer (papa next to us listening):

“Well the woman is hurt because she is giving birth. You know there’s a baby inside her tummy, and the baby wants to go out, so she really needs to push hard, that’s why she makes that face. It hurts a little bit because the baby is big. And when the baby is out she cries because she is happy. You know sometimes we cry when we are happy….

(I guess I should have stopped there but I didn’t)…

You know like you, you started really, really tiny like the size of an egg, and you were here inside my tummy. Then you started getting bigger and bigger, until I heard you shouting “mama, I want to go out, I want to go out!” So mama pushed really hard like the woman, then you came out, then I was so happy, papa also was so happy to see you!

David, creases forming on the forehead: Mais, maman, je n’étais pas an egg! J’étais un bebe, mais pas egg! J’étais dans ton tummy maman? Pourquoi?

(But mama, I was not an egg, I was a baby but not an egg! I was in your tummy mama? Why?)

I was lost. Somehow I could not find the right words. Papa to the rescue!

Papa (with much enthusiasm): Parce que avant, papa a fait un petit pipi dans mamans, et puis David était formé! Il était petit, et après il a grandi, grandi!

(Because before papa did a little pee inside mama and then David was form)

David is now shock: Quoi papa?! Tu fais pas pipi dans maman! T’es fou! Tu fais pipi dans les toilettes là-bas Pas dans maman!  (What papa? You don’t pee inside mama, you’re crazy, you pee in the toilet!)

We burst out laughing!

David didn’t get the joke, poor thing: Maman pourquoi j’étais an egg? (Why was I an egg?)

Me, completely lost of what to say: Well because it’s like that David. You see the dinosaurs, they started as an egg, then they grow bigger and bigger, they have to go out!

David, pulling his t-shirt up, caressing his tummy: Mais maman, je n’ai pas de bébé dedans!  Turned to his papa and asked: Papa t’as un bebe dans ton tummy?

(Mama I do not have a baby inside! Papa do you have baby in your tummy?)

 

My mother instinct was right when more than four years ago, I said to myself I may stop doing David’s website one day due to a simple reason that I would be trespassing his privacy. I thought then that I had to make a border line of trumpeting his progress, achievements and anything in-between for fear that he won’t be happy about it once he is all grown up.

That grown-up came earlier than expected. Much to my surprise. I mean for heaven’s sakes he is only 4 and a half!

Last summer in the South, we met Haze and her lovely kids, Hilda and her princess and Makis. The picnic mat was already spread on the ground and the kids were already playing around when we arrived. After the bises and introduction, and me settling down, David grabbed my arm purposely and whispered something in my ear. I did not understand what he said first and asked him to talk louder. I sensed that he was being extra timid and wanted to tell something for my ears only. I gave all my attention, bowing my head to listen to what he had to say.

“Maman, tu parles pas de moi, d’accord?” (Mama, you do not talk about me ok?) I did not see it coming. I raised my eyes to his with full of silent surprises and questions. When he did not get an answer, he shook my arm once more and said “d’accord maman? D’accord?”. With such intensity. I said ok, automatically, not yet fully recovered of what my son has just said. When he still was looking at me seemingly unconvinced of my answer, I whispered to his ear that I won’t talk about him…

It made me wonder that whole afternoon up to the night. I could not shake off the negative feeling. Why would he say that? Why did he say that with anxiety written all over his face? Did I say that when I was his age? Is that why he gives me inquisitive look when I talk to his teacher in front of him?

I surely am bubbly when I’m with my friends who are probably yawning behind my back when I talk because the only topic of the conversation is David. Lol! I don’t really mean it. It just comes automatically. And I love talking about his progress, the humours in-between and all. I’m proud of him. And now I have a feeling my son finds it demeaning to talk about him. Sheyt, and now I’m posting it! Grrrr!

Pa complains that I don’t update David’s website anymore. He loves it dearly. I love it. We like to re-live the special moments when he was a baby. Videos and pictures are ok, but re-reading our impressions and describing the moments in words make it closer to that special time. But there’s no question that David is growing and the level of self-consciousness is sharper. He even gets annoyed when we take pictures of him. There’s a limit to all these and to define that is very hard to do. At what point he personally feels intruded by my writings, our conversations, is left to my own mother-instinct. And this mother-instinct loves to record anything she can grab! One day my son will crucify me and marks: your mother instinct sucks…. then goes to lie down on the famous couch, talking to some weirdo shrink! Ha ha ha…

 

I know it’s no laughing joke, but I hope this is a passing stage he goes through…

Does your child go through similar stage?