Late night musings.. and the reaffirmation of motherhood
For some reason I have been too busy to write these past few weeks. Excuses are aplenty: kids, holidays, groceries, friends, work etc. etc. But the truth is actually a lack of discipline. And discipline is something I have always prided myself on. And when I lose it I lose a sense of myself.
This evening I decided to turn my phone off and spend a little time with myself.
Funny. After I typed that last line, I was at a loss for words for a few minutes. Thing is, I am not sure where I misplaced "me" and whether that is a definable entity. So, moving on, I was disciplined and wound up the evening as it should be: all things in their places, children tucked in and a story read. And I decided to be good and go to bed too. After all I do need to be up early. But try as I might, sleep is not forthcoming. Eyes wide shut, I do breathing exercises, I meditate, I listen too some old Mohd. Rafi songs in my head, and suddenly I find myself in a trance-like state.
I am a little girl spending the night, as I often loved to, with my grandmother. I can see her room (now gone over twenty years ago) just as it used to be down to the green and pale yellow striped bedspread. The windows stained and grimy, the room cluttered with too much furniture including the big cot that I used to sleep in, it was a small obstacle course. I can see the tape recorder from which Suhani Raat was melodiously pouring forth. I could see my grandmother as she was some thirty years ago, gently tapping her foot as she lay back reading the latest novel in bed. The goose-necked lamp with its light-green lampshade throwing a mellow yellow light onto her pillow and face. This to me was the essence of contentment. It has been many years sicne I have reached back so vividly to that moment in time, so preciously etched in my memory. Tonight I must be in need of that same sense of solace and security that I had in that little room with my grandmother.
I snap out of the trance suddenly and stare wide-eyed into the darkness. For a minute I cannot distinguish whether that was reality or this. There is a slight panic as my surroundings filter through into my consciousness and I recognise where I am - on so many levels.
I turned thirty-seven yesterday. Nothing in my life is as I had ever envisioned to be, except perhaps that I love my children and they are everything to me. And - touch wood - my parents are healthy, supportive and going strong. My beloved grandmother is still around; she turns 90 this December.
I think of my children and I try to see them in the future. I see my daughter, still bratty and with her naughty smile; my son, tall and strong, a pillar of strength and wisdom. I want to go talk to them as they are then and ask for advice for whom I am now. Sometimes I forget these are adults in the making. Other times I am so aware it frightens me, this responsibility of shaping two young souls. But then it comes home to me that if I never become anything else in this life, if I am their mother - in every meaning of the word - then that is all that is required of me.
I must make peace with myself. With the world around me. I send prayers out into the universe. I pray that somehow I will make it through and give the world two excellent human beings to take on its challenges and lead. I think of the world around them, and realise how hard it must be for them with me. I don't give them "screen time" as much as other parents do; I insist on physical activity; I insist on politeness; I insist on reading every day; I insist on conversation; I insist on eating everything that is served on their plates. I also insist on telling them how much I love them, and how absolutely lucky they are to have each other. I try to sensitise them to the good around them, socialise them with all sorts of people - mostly good, and have them aware of the not-so-nice things around them too.
I try to step out of myself and look at me. I am thirty-seven. My most important goal is to be a good mother. Some would scoff at it, but I believe in it completely. This is the one role that I have been given that will last a lifetime, whatever else comes and goes. I decide I must make the most of it.
Tomorrow I will be up again with the sun, rising before the little ones, getting things organised so they can sleep a little bit more, dream a little bit further. I will watch them sleep for a full minute before I have to wake them. I will coax them into the morning and on forward through the day and all its challenges. I will cheer them on even if they can't see or hear me. And I will be waiting for them, always, when they come home.
This evening I decided to turn my phone off and spend a little time with myself.
Funny. After I typed that last line, I was at a loss for words for a few minutes. Thing is, I am not sure where I misplaced "me" and whether that is a definable entity. So, moving on, I was disciplined and wound up the evening as it should be: all things in their places, children tucked in and a story read. And I decided to be good and go to bed too. After all I do need to be up early. But try as I might, sleep is not forthcoming. Eyes wide shut, I do breathing exercises, I meditate, I listen too some old Mohd. Rafi songs in my head, and suddenly I find myself in a trance-like state.
I am a little girl spending the night, as I often loved to, with my grandmother. I can see her room (now gone over twenty years ago) just as it used to be down to the green and pale yellow striped bedspread. The windows stained and grimy, the room cluttered with too much furniture including the big cot that I used to sleep in, it was a small obstacle course. I can see the tape recorder from which Suhani Raat was melodiously pouring forth. I could see my grandmother as she was some thirty years ago, gently tapping her foot as she lay back reading the latest novel in bed. The goose-necked lamp with its light-green lampshade throwing a mellow yellow light onto her pillow and face. This to me was the essence of contentment. It has been many years sicne I have reached back so vividly to that moment in time, so preciously etched in my memory. Tonight I must be in need of that same sense of solace and security that I had in that little room with my grandmother.
I snap out of the trance suddenly and stare wide-eyed into the darkness. For a minute I cannot distinguish whether that was reality or this. There is a slight panic as my surroundings filter through into my consciousness and I recognise where I am - on so many levels.
I turned thirty-seven yesterday. Nothing in my life is as I had ever envisioned to be, except perhaps that I love my children and they are everything to me. And - touch wood - my parents are healthy, supportive and going strong. My beloved grandmother is still around; she turns 90 this December.
I think of my children and I try to see them in the future. I see my daughter, still bratty and with her naughty smile; my son, tall and strong, a pillar of strength and wisdom. I want to go talk to them as they are then and ask for advice for whom I am now. Sometimes I forget these are adults in the making. Other times I am so aware it frightens me, this responsibility of shaping two young souls. But then it comes home to me that if I never become anything else in this life, if I am their mother - in every meaning of the word - then that is all that is required of me.I must make peace with myself. With the world around me. I send prayers out into the universe. I pray that somehow I will make it through and give the world two excellent human beings to take on its challenges and lead. I think of the world around them, and realise how hard it must be for them with me. I don't give them "screen time" as much as other parents do; I insist on physical activity; I insist on politeness; I insist on reading every day; I insist on conversation; I insist on eating everything that is served on their plates. I also insist on telling them how much I love them, and how absolutely lucky they are to have each other. I try to sensitise them to the good around them, socialise them with all sorts of people - mostly good, and have them aware of the not-so-nice things around them too.
I try to step out of myself and look at me. I am thirty-seven. My most important goal is to be a good mother. Some would scoff at it, but I believe in it completely. This is the one role that I have been given that will last a lifetime, whatever else comes and goes. I decide I must make the most of it.
Tomorrow I will be up again with the sun, rising before the little ones, getting things organised so they can sleep a little bit more, dream a little bit further. I will watch them sleep for a full minute before I have to wake them. I will coax them into the morning and on forward through the day and all its challenges. I will cheer them on even if they can't see or hear me. And I will be waiting for them, always, when they come home.
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