Moments In Time

Today’s #bloganuary prompt: What is something you wish you knew how to do.

There are so many things I don’t know how to do, but I know that with a little practice, a little effort, or a little study, I could do pretty much anything I set my mind to.

To say things like, I wish I could snowboard, I wish I could make a Yorkshire pudding that doesn’t remain flat as a pancake, or I wish I could publish a book, all seems a bit like whinging. I can do all of those things with a little bit of practice, motivation and opportunity…

So upon reading this writing prompt, I sat down and really thought about all the things I wish I could do, which really are quite impossible.

I wish I could fly … yeh there’s that but to be quite honest, my arms would start to hurt and I’d probably plummet to earth in mere moments. So probably not that…

I wish I could see the future … but there’s the whole “If you focus too much on what lies ahead, you’ll miss what’s happening right now” thing.

I wish I could surf… yep, sounds like one of those “with a little practice and opportunities” thing but let’s be real… the ocean is terrifying, I hate being underwater and I’ve got the upper body strength of a kitten. So…definitely not that.

To be honest, I wish I could travel through time.

I wish I could revisit those moments that I took for granted, thinking things would always just be the same and that the people I love, and loved, would forever be there. And I wish I could drop in every so often for a cuppa with mum, Sunday dinner or a visit with friends, and be back in time for work on Monday.

I firmly believe that the moments, the people, the mistakes and the embarrassing things that have happened are all part of the fabric of my life. Regrets are not worth the trouble. I wouldn’t be where I am today, if all the things I’ve said and done had never happened. And for the most part, I wouldn’t change my life at all. My wee family is my world and every decision I’ve made to this point, has brought me here, to this moment, with them.

So let’s imagine for a moment, to when would I go?

Gazing up into the bright blue eyes of the man holding her in his strong arms, humming “Hey, Jude” and giving her some warm milk to drink. This man, was her everything. Her heart knew she was home as he rocked her in the wee hours of the morning, fighting to stay awake and to not drop her onto the cold bathroom floor. This man would love and protect her for all of his days.

I obviously don’t remember those times with Dad. After all, I was just a wee bubs. But oh how I wish I could just have a glimpse of those early moments in our lives.

The soft morning sun warmed the kitchen. She eagerly picked up her thick slice of toast slathered in butter and brown sugar. Only Nanny would ever let her have toast with brown sugar for breakfast. She listened as her grandmother wove stories of growing up in England, living through the London Blitz and risking it all for a better life in Canada.

Her stories were full of unique characters and humour that made what must have been some very difficult times, seem warm and entertaining. Whether at the kitchen table, or on the front porch, Nanny always had a silly song or entertaining story to tell. I cherished those times and it never occurred to me that one day she would be gone and those stories would fade over time; the details hazy.

The wee Colt hatchback shivered and shimmied it’s way up the icy roads, it’s back seat weighed down with skis, poles and boots. Katrina and the Waves were walking on sunshine and butterflies were dancing in her stomach. She was always nervous before a ski lesson, but Dad insisted she had a real talent that she should build on… and he’d buy her a hot chocolate and fries in the chalet afterward.

Some of my best conversations were with Dad as we rode the lifts together. At the time, it never occurred to me that one day we wouldn’t be able to anymore. Now as I drift down the hills, I find myself listening for the whoops, hollers and cheers of my biggest fan, but they too have faded into the past.

Gosh it disturbs me to see you Gaston,
Looking so down in the dumps.
Every guy here’d love to be you Gaston,
Even when taking your lumps….
She and her mum could hardly continue the silly song because she had snarfed her tea out of her nose, and they ended up doubled up with laughter, while Dad looked on in bemused bewilderment.

I miss my mum. I’d give anything to be doubled up with laughter, singing silly songs, having fisticuffs over baking Christmas cookies and making what we thought were hilarious comments during the newscast and whisper-giggling while Dad glared at us from the couch.

There are so many memories, so many people and places that I would love to catch a glimpse of once again, like Ebenezer Scrooge looking back on his Christmas past.

Please bear with me as I just wipe the tears from my cheeks as I drift down memory lane for a few minutes…

All of those memories and more are what colour the landscape of where I’ve been and have shaped who I’m becoming.

It’s the little moments that I continue to miss being so far away, and now being held back by current world events, that I really need some time travel skills for.

Our life in Japan is good. My kids are healthy and happy. Hubs and I still deeply love each other and have become a team in raising these wee heathens. We have good jobs and are adulting really well.

But jeez I’d love a roast beef dinner followed by sitting around the dining table, sipping after dinner likeyooouares with Uncle Geoff, mum and dad.

I’d love a pub night with my brother and sister.

I’d love to give my best girls the biggest hugs and then get really drunk together, reminiscing about old boyfriends in Donald Duck costumes and no parents allowed camping trips.

I’d love to drop by Mum and Dad’s for a cuppa. Dad’s not so good now. I’d like to be there to ease my Mum’s burden and to catch the moments of lucidity with Dad, which are becoming fewer and further between.

And when Thing One and Thing Two start asking me to take them to Nanny and Grandpa’s house, I would love to be able to say Get in the time machine and put your seatbelts on.

And I’d like to be able to do all that, and be back in time to put the kids to bed.

The Magic of Friends

Todays #bloganuary prompt: What was your favourite toy as a child?

I had so many toys as a child. Each one of them came with their own unique personality and each served such an individual purpose, that it’s difficult for me to name just one as a favourite. Each one was a favourite at some point in time.

Looking at today’s writing prompt, there’s only one thing from my childhood that stands out clearly in my memory.

It was not a toy. It was my People Blanket.

A People Blanket? you ask. What in the holy hell is a People Blanket?

The People Blanket was not just any ordinary blanket. It was MAGICAL!

By day, People Blanket looked just like any ordinary doll’s blanket but the magical powers it possessed were immeasurable.

I remember the day People Blanket came into my life. At least, I think I remember. The memory is clear as day, but how much of that memory is just bits and pieces of experiences cobbled together in my mind? No matter, the memory is real, therefore it must have happened.

I likely would have been at least two years old. I was at the park with my most favourite babysitter I’d ever had – Lenore. There could not have been a more lovely woman to take care of me in the world, aside from my own dear mum. I absolutely loved her…

The sky was blue. The summer sun beat down gently on the golden haired child playing in the grass. Birds were chirping happily in the trees. Dandelions and daisies bobbed their heads playfully in the warm summer breeze. Children were running, laughing and playing all around.

Hearing her name, the little girl looked up to see beautiful Lenore coming toward her. In her arms she was carrying a yellow doll’s pram. Inside was a dolly wrapped in a blanket that had a pattern of little orange people printed on it.

Gasping with delight, the little girl picked up the doll. Feeling the softness of the square of the cotton blanket in her hands, she dropped the doll in the grass and pressed the soft blanket to her cheek. From that moment on, the wee girl and her People Blanket were inseparable.

As I’ve mentioned, People Blanket had magical properties. It had the power to keep me cool on hot days, and warm me on cold nights. The people in the pattern kept my secrets and soothed my worries. People Blanket wiped my tears when I was sad.

But most importantly, it had the power to heal. It eased my tummy aches and brought down my fevers. I suffered terribly with eczema as a child and with People Blanket wrapped firmly around my sorest, itchiest finger or pressed against the most inflamed patch of skin, I would feel soothed and the itch would disappear.

But not only did People Blanket have the power to heal me, I also believed it had the power to heal others.

Mummy? Are you sick?
Mmmrrrmmmgghgghh….
Here Mummy. You can sleep with People Blanket. It will make you feel better.

People Blanket stayed with me through the years until it was nothing but a thin scrap of cotton. As I grew, my need for its comfort lessened, but it remained in my sock drawer for many years. Every so often, when I was feeling down, I’d notice it laying there, neatly folded. In those moments, I would pick it up and feel the softness pressed against my cheek for just a moment or two. For even then, the magic of People Blanket hadn’t faded.

In fact, I’m certain that somewhere in the depths of a box locked away in a storage space under mum and dad’s stairs, People Blanket still waits for me.

The memory of my People Blanket and the power it had for me as a child, allows me to understand just how important my own children’s favourite toys are for them.

Thing One has Larry, the reindeer and Old Lion. They came to us when Thing One was just a baby.

Larry and Old Lion

Six years down the track, they are worn, stained and even tend to pong a bit (requiring a bath in the washing machine). Larry’s ears and tail are worn down from Thing One’s habit of rubbing Larry’s ears and tail between his fingers until he falls asleep. Old Lion is matted and his glass eyes are a bit chipped, making him look like he’s got cataracts. But they are so loved.

Thing Two has Gordon, her teddy bear. He also is matted and a bit grey around the edges, but he is her faithful companion. Larry, Old Lion and Gordon are the best of friends, much like Thing One and Thing Two are.

Gordon

They literally go everywhere with us.

I often feel like I have more than two children. One can often hear me calling out “Thing One, Thing Two! Get Larry, Lion and Gordon! It’s time to go out!” I know exactly where all of my children are at all times – including Larry, Lion and Gordon. That’s my job as a mum, it seems.

Then one day, Larry disappeared….

Hubs had picked up the kids from school. Larry, Lion and Gordon were transferred from my car to his. They left the school, visited a friend, went to the beach to check the waves and did some shopping. By the time they got home, Larry was gone.

Thing One was inconsolable. Hubs called the school and convinced the staff and some parents to search the parking lot – no Larry.

He inhaled his dinner and went out driving to see if he could find Larry – no Larry.

It seemed Larry was gone. The heartbreak in Thing One’s eyes that night broke me. His best friend was gone. I just couldn’t bear it.

Jumping into the car, she wheeled out of the driveway at top speed. A woman on a mission. She was going to find that bloody reindeer, if it took all night.

She drove like a demon through the night, holding her breath and saying a prayer that Larry would just be laying to the side of the parking lot.

Arriving at the school, the lights were out, the door locked. Everyone had gone home for the day, oblivious to the heart wrenching pain her son was going through tonight.

She searched and searched. By the light of her headlights and a flashlight, she searched every centimetre of that parking lot – no Larry.

Getting back into her car, shoulders slumped in defeat, she laid her head against the steering wheel and sobbed. Where the hell was Larry? How was she going to explain to her son that Larry had gone away forever?

Driving home, tears still streaming down her face, she realised she just couldn’t give up. Though Hubs had driven over to his friend’s place to see if Larry had fallen onto the side of the road, she instinctively felt like she also needed to look.

Making a sharp left, she turned towards Hub’s friend’s place. Determination and desperation written on her face.

In a spray of gravel she came to a stop on the side of the dark beach road. Grabbing the flashlight, she scoured the roadside, kicking aside rocks and peering into the tufts of long grass – no Larry.

Looking towards Hubs’ friend’s place, she noticed the lights were still on. With nothing to lose, she marched up the stairs and knocked on the door.

“Nope. Haven’t seen a reindeer toy laying around” was the answer. Turning to leave, tears shining brightly in her eyes she thanked him, steeling herself to give her son the bad news… “Ah! Just a minute. Thing One was playing over here….. Wait! There it is!”

Those words were the most beautiful words she’d heard in a very long time. There was Larry! A little dusty from playing hide and seek under a shelf, but otherwise as happy as Larry could be.

Getting back into the car she hugged Larry close and cried a few tears of relief. What would they have done without Larry!? Larry is family!

She tiptoed into Thing One’s bedroom. Even in sleep, his face was the picture of sadness. As she tucked Larry into his arms, his fingers found Larry’s ears and began to rub. A small smile flashed across his face, and he rolled over, cuddling Larry close.

As close as I am to my kids, and hope to grow and build a relationship where they feel comfortable coming to me with their worries or troubles, I know how important it is to have a special friend you can tell your deepest secrets to, knowing for sure that the friend will never judge you and will never ever be able to tell anyone else.

Mummy? Are you sick?
Mmmmrrrrggggfffffgghhhh…
Here Mummy. You can sleep with Larry, Old Lion and Gordon. They’ll take care of you and make you feel better.

All of my kids

In Search of My Comfy Zone

Today’s #bloganuary prompt: Write about the last time you left your comfort zone.

Being somewhat of the shy and introverted type, exiting my comfort zone is a daily occurrence. A trip to the supermarket, a day at work, heading out for a night with friends all spark an innate fear or knee-buckling anxiety that does it’s best to encourage me to just stay home.

They’ll probably hate me for being a foreigner.
The boss will decide I’m not worth keeping and finally fire me.
Hasn’t anyone noticed that I don’t actually know how to teach English?
They probably only invited me because they felt sorry for me. I probably shouldn’t go.
I’m a terrible mum. Surely everyone will see that.
They’re probably wondering what Hubs ever saw in this old schlub.

As a little girl, I would refuse to take off my jacket when arriving at peoples’ houses. The whispered admonishments to “Remember to say hello, and for god’s sake, take off your jacket!” still ring in my ear. To this day, I don’t often remove my jacket when I first arrive. I guess, unconsciously I know that if I need to escape quickly, at least I won’t have to stop and put on my jacket…

Over time, I’ve come to realise that in order to experience life to it’s fullest, there are times when I simply must force myself into situations I would prefer to avoid.

With that in mind, I spoke up when the popular girl in my college class asked who wanted to go to the pub. She and I became fast friends for a number of years …

With that in mind, I applied for teaching jobs in Japan. And I actually went….

With that in mind, I went along on a road trip to a rave in the mountains, even though I didn’t really know anyone in the car, or at the party. Turns out the driver was to become Hubs…

I’ve discovered a persona within myself that tells an amazing story, is absolutely hilarious and can have a chat with just about anyone…. Just don’t ask her to take off her jacket. She’ll do that when she’s good and comfy.

Today, horror of horrors, we were invited to a beach barbecue with one of Hub’s yoga students and his family.

By all accounts, he seems to be a stand up person. Hubs has nary a bad thing to say about him. But I wasn’t so sure.

Perhaps he and his family are nice, but surely they won’t like me. Everyone loves Hubs. Hubs is friendly, talkative, interesting and giving. I’m the antitheses of that. I am the standoffish, dark and twisty princess lurking in his shadow.

I woke up this morning, inexplicably anxious. My head was thumping. My stomach was in knots. I felt shaky…. Maybe I’m getting sick. Maybe I should just stay home.

What are you anxious about?

That question from Hubs had me scrambling to hide what was obviously going on.

Nothing! I’m probably just low in iron.

So I buried myself in barbecue preparation.

Upon our arrival at the beach, I was introduced to a lovely man and his wife, daughter and mum. All of them welcoming. All of them very friendly. None of them speak much English.

And there we are – The chatty, witty persona that I can so easily don like a jacket to hide my shyness in social situations, simply can’t shield me this time. How can I entertain others and distract them from my shortcomings, if I can’t even speak to them?

My guard up, I helped set up the barbecue. I immersed myself in preparing our meal, ensuring everyone was well fed. I found a temporary comfort zone that allowed me to quietly observe the situation. Overtures of food were made, but I was too nervous to eat.

They hate me. They must think I’m so rude to keep turning down their offers of food. What is wrong with me!?

I was in a panic. I retreated to my comfy zone behind the barbecue once more. Thankfully Hubs understands my weirdness and is able to cover it with his outgoing and entertaining wit.

After the meal, marshmallows were offered to be roasted over the fire and suddenly I needed to find my voice. Thing One counts on us to make sure that everything he eats is safe for him. In spite of assurances that the marshmallows were okay, I needed to check for myself. So in my broken Japanese, I nervously asked to check the package myself, explaining that I’m always worried about Thing One and just need to be sure.

I met the eyes of the wife and I could see the understanding and compassion of another mother looking back at me. There was no judgment, only kindness.

I moved my chair closer to the fire, and endeavoured to participate in the conversation more fully. There I was, firmly outside of my comfort zone.

I pulled my jacket a little bit closer around me, not because I was anxious, but because it’s bloody January and I’m sitting on the beach.

Finding comfort in the warmth of new friends

The Next Chapter Begins

The clock changes to 12:01am… Gazing down at Thing One, snoring softly with his beloved Larry and Old Lion firmly tucked under his chin, I am overwhelmed by emotion. I lean down and softly kiss his forehead. He’s all gangly with long legs and arms, and huge feet. Where did this big boy come from? It seems like just yesterday he was a tiny baby kicking in his crib.

Wee bubs

“Happy birthday” I whisper softly and quietly tip toe out of the room.

Every birthday hits me in the heart like a speeding truck. My chubby cheeked little baby girl is now a sassy 4-going-on-15 year old princess-diva … how did that happen?

But this day… this day knocked me sideways. Thing One is six. Six. How? He has officially crossed over into a time in his life when huge changes begin to happen. It was a time in my own life that I can remember like it was yesterday. The moment when time sped up, friendships were made and lost, feelings were big and started being easily hurt. Everything was new and seemed really important for some reason. The moment when the person I was meant to become was born.

We are standing on the precipice of a whole new chapter in our family life, and quite frankly, I’m terrified.

One of the biggest milestones we are facing is Thing One’s entry into elementary school. As I looked into his eyes for the first time six years ago, I knew this day was coming, but I had no idea just how much of a speeding train time was going to become.

When the letter arrived, inviting us to the first step of elementary school registration, I was relieved … excited… apprehensive… despondent. Basically, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over me.

On one hand, I wanted to scoop Thing One into my arms and shield him forever from the outside world.

Ever since he was born, all we’ve ever been is together. He attends daycare…but I work there. We’ve never been apart and I’ve always been there to protect and nurture him.

In the past year we’ve been on a roller coaster ride fighting for his return to health. I’ve had the fortunate ability to advise his caregivers, ensure his meals were not going to harm him, and have been able to intervene when things have gone off the rails, simply because I have been there.

By sending him to elementary school, I am relinquishing that control to people I don’t know. I am placing my trust in them that they will protect him from harm.

I know it is not an unusual feeling for a parent to experience. I can almost hear the eye rolls at what could be considered my being overdramatic. Those that know me well, would not be knocked over by a feather at the thought of me being a smidge overdramatic. But it’s important to remember that we’ve not had the opportunity or benefit of having grandparents or extended family nearby ever. We literally are all we have, and this will be the first time in six years that we will be apart for longer than it takes to walk from one room to another.

So when Hubby suggested that perhaps homeschooling our children was the way to go, it gave me pause.

The thought of keeping him safe from pandemic restrictions, schoolyard bullies, treacherous food and the Japanese curriculum was enticing. It had never occurred to me that we would still be living in Japan when Thing One was ready to start school. Keeping him at home would allow me to continue protecting him and to provide an education that would make a transition into a school in Canada or Australia much smoother.

Homeschooling isn’t a widely accepted method of education here, but it would be possible to do if we managed to jump through all the required hoops to get special permission.

On the other hand, the thought of sending him to school filled me with excitement.

Raising kids isn’t easy. There have been many times over the years when I’ve fantasised about putting them on a school bus, and cheerfully waving goodbye as they went off to terrorise other people for the next 6 to 8 hours.

Sending Thing One to school would give him the independence he needs to find out who he’s going to be in life. A chance to make friends and learn things we aren’t able to teach him.

Mummy? How do airplanes stay up in the air when gravity is pushing down on them?

After much back and forth, the decision was made. Thing One would go to elementary school. We’d roll the dice and if it turned out to be the worst decision we’d ever made, we’d revisit it and change course.

We entered the gymnasium. Thing One had a tight grip on my hand. I’m not sure which one of us needed the reassurance more but I was so happy to be holding his small hand in mine.

As we stepped through the doors, every eye turned in our direction. There was a brief moment of silence and then a burst of loud chatter met my ears.

The foreigners had arrived.

Ever since we told Thing One he would be going to elementary school after all, a new strength has enveloped him. He is finally able to participate in the conversations with his friends at school about going to school next year. He has a renewed interest in learning and often starts his sentences with “Next year at shogako (elementary school)…”

He is excited and happy.

We lined up with the other parents and future elementary school students to complete the medical and dental exams, the hearing test and the eyesight test. I was relieved to see a couple of familiar faces – the little girl from next door and a former classmate from daycare – in the crowd. Finally, we shuffled into a classroom to sit and wait. The prospective students were called one by one to line up at the door of the classroom. They were being taken to complete an IQ test.

Thing One hurried excitedly to the front when his name was called. As I watched him line up, my eyes began to burn and my nose started to itch.

With tears welling in my eyes, I waved frantically at him as he filed out of the room. He didn’t even look back.

Every day, my wee boy is a little taller, a little bigger and a little more independent. I’m so damn proud of the person he is, and who he is becoming, but at the same time I’m sad that the time when mummy was the centre of his world is too quickly coming to an end.

Me: Who’s crying!?
Thing Two: Its Thing One. I simply cannot sleep with all this noise carrying on.
Thing One: Muuuummmyyy! I don’t want to be six. Six year olds have to do so many things by themselves and I don’t know how to do any of it! Waaaahhhh!

I cuddled my gigantic wee boy as he sobbed and worried about what the future holds, and I realised that no matter how big he gets, my arms will forever be a soft place for him to fall.

Off he goes

And so… the first of many huge milestones is looming and getting a little bit closer every day. I’ve secretly shed quite a few tears at the thought of Thing One growing up. I’m going to be an absolute mess when April rolls around and he’s actually off to school.

I know he needs this. I know it’s the natural order of things. I know I’ll never be ready for it. And when it’s Thing Two’s turn, I’ll probably be even more of a weeping mess.

So as I kiss their sleeping foreheads every year at exactly 12:01 am on their birthdays, I hold the memories of the babies they’ve been close in my heart and make wishes for the best of everything life has to offer them. I shed a tear for the time that has passed and smile at all the possibilities of who they will become.

Best Laid Plans….

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions…

A fluffy white cloud scuttled across the blue sky, providing a brief respite from the hot August sun. The excited laughter and squeals of Thing One and Thing Two as they raced in and out of the waves lapping at the sand was music to her ears.

She glanced up from her book, making sure the kids weren’t venturing too far out into the water, only to find them engrossed in building a sand castle with Hubby.

Picking up her icy cocktail, she sighed happily at the cool streak of condensation running down her arm. She took a sip, turned her face to the sun and smiled happily. This was turning out to be the perfect family holiday.

We set out with the car packed to the roof with everything we could possibly need to ensure our comfort while camping. A surf board, secured with ancient bungee cords, hung precariously above Thing One and Thing Two’s heads.

An hour later we pulled over for a toilet stop and a bit of lunch. I sneaked off to the convenience store to get a minute to myself before the long part of the drive began. As I came down the stairs, I stopped dead and took in the chaos playing out before my eyes.

Thing One was looking wobbly and stunned, and Hubby was staring in horror at the ground. Thing Two was off to the side dancing wildly to the music in her head.

As she ran to Thing One, dodging the steaming horror on the ground, she heard Hubby say, “Thing One threw up.”

And then, a shaky voice added, “Mummy? I pooped too.”

A crack shot through the image of the perfect beach holiday in her mind.

Oh god. Gastroenteritis? A bad reaction to something he’d eaten? We didn’t know. After several trips to the toilet, several buckets of water to wash away the mess on the ground and a change of clothes, we sat down to figure out what to do.

Should we go home?
Or do we we carry on?
We should go home. Look at him. He’s white as a ghost.
He’s not feverish. Maybe it was something he ate.
But…It’s our holiday. He’ll be okay. Look. His cheeks are getting rosier.
But what if it’s gastro? That would be a nightmare. We should go home.
Buddy? How’re you feeling? Do you want to go home?

Mummy? I want to go to the beach.

Decision made. We’ll soldier on, come what may.

***

As we crossed the bridge on the way to our destination, a large raindrop splashed across the windscreen. The rainbow coloured lights of the bridge rippled on the other side of the glass. A sudden sense of foreboding rippled through me.

A friend had arranged for us to stay the night in a 茶室 (chashitsu: Japanese tea house) on his friends’ property. We arrived to a warm welcome, warm beds and some delicious Mexican tacos. Thing One was still a little wonky but he’d seemed to have bounced back. Maybe it had been something he ate after all.

Feeling warm, cozy and ready for bed we opened the door to head out to the tea house. The drizzle of rain had become a steady pour.

***

Waking up the next morning, the steady roar of rain pounding on the roof, I realised that camping was going to be a truly awful experience. I had been the one who had suggested, no, insisted, we camp. I had wanted a holiday free from the pandemic, free from work stresses and full of fun, laughter and family time. But, for someone who loves not camping though, this was pushing it.

A very rainy afternoon

Thankfully our very kind hosts offered us one more night in their tea house.

Thing One seemed better. Unfortunately, we were not only dealing with the stomach flu on this trip, but also a very bad and prolonged reaction to some soy I had mistakenly given him the weekend before. Navigating the highs and lows of Thing One’s moods and the inevitable sibling rivalry that comes from being cooped up inside for two days, was bloody awful.

Thing One was currently bashing away at a set of drums, while Thing Two accompanied him on the piano. The cacophony of noise, the drumming of rain outside and a few rounds of boozy elephants had her starting to unwind.

Discovering new talents

Hubby had gone for a surf. I sat with Thing Two, colouring pictures in her colouring book together, when four chilling words came from behind me. “Mummy, I feel sick.”

Two hours later, she had finally managed to scrape the last of the vomit from between the very old wooden floorboards.

Another crack shot through the image of the perfect holiday in her mind.

Thing One appeared to bounce back after a long nap. After a meal of jello for him and a hearty pasta dinner for the rest of us, we had a confirmed reservation at a guest house for the next night. This put me back into good spirits.

I love not camping.

***

She snuggled down under the quilt, the steady sound of rain on the roof lulling her back to sleep. A noise had woken her. And there it was again! A sort of strangled gurgle… Her eyes snapped open.

NO! NOO! NOOOOOO! Ooooh no.

Thing Two had vomited all over her futon.

The image of the perfect beach holiday smashed into a million pieces.

The next morning, with a careful eye on the two barfy people, and safe in the knowledge we had a private guesthouse arranged, we said goodbye to our kind hosts and headed off on the second half of our holiday.

***

As they wound around the curves of the mountain road, her phone was buzzing and jumping in the drink holder where she’d tossed it. Emergency alerts. Mudslides. Heavy rain. Flooding. Evacuations. They could barely see through the rain as it blasted against the windscreen; The heavy rain of a typhoon, but without the wind. For that, they counted themselves lucky.

Arriving at our guesthouse, we settled in. We had a quick dinner of udon, and kept our fingers crossed that it wouldn’t make a reappearance. Perhaps the rain would stop overnight, and we could still make a go of this trip.

The splashes and screams coming from the guesthouse bathroom were deafening. Worrying that they would be asked to leave before they’d even been there one night, she tackled both children to the floor in an attempt to smother their screams with the bath towels.

***

The morning found both Thing One and Thing Two feeling better. Unfortunately, Thing One’s leaky gut was making being in such close quarters, pretty damned difficult. As I physically restrained him to prevent him from harming himself and his sister, I prayed that we would be able to salvage what remained of our vacation.

The rain continued to pour. We were starting to fear it would never end. We hopped into the car. Come hell or high water (so far, we had both) we would make the most of this holiday.

We battled the elements and saw some of the natural sights around the town we were staying in. Soaking wet and umbrellas blown inside out, we all felt a little bit rejuvenated being outside after days of driving and being stuck indoors.

A cold and rainy day.

Making the most of our holiday.

One of the places they visited, claimed to grant wishes. In desperation, she shouted “I wish this bloody rain would stop!” and for about fifteen minutes, it did.

***

A good day for a surf. Not so good for sightseeing.

Hubby had gone for a surf. She and the kids were basking in the hospitality of friends. New toys and books for them to discover, and a couple hours of peace and quiet to read for her. In the past few days, she had only managed to read the same page about forty six times.

Thing One’s appetite had returned and so he was busy inhaling a quick meal of rice and natto. He was just about to also enjoy Thing Two’s natto as well, when he paused, looked up at her with huge, round eyes and said “Mummy? I think I’m going to be sick”.

***

An early night found us all feeling a little better and we set out for a day of sightseeing. The rain had eased to a steady pour and eventually a drizzle.

High water from the days and days of rain.

A sacred place

The area we had chosen to visit claims to be a very spiritual place. Walking among the trees, listening to the roar of the river swollen to its limit from the days of rain and stopping to feed some ducks and fish, I finally felt a glimmer of the relaxation I had so desperately been craving.

Wandering around the grounds of the temple, her eyes were drawn to a very tall tree. There was nothing overly special about this tree, other than its height and some interesting knots in the bark, resembling a face.

But there was something about this tree. Her attention was entirely focused on the tree standing before her. The sound of Thing One and Thing Two’s chatter faded to silence and a sensation of being pulled forward enveloped her.

In a trance, she slowly walked toward the tree. As she got closer, the humming in her ears enveloped her and she reached her hands out and placed them on the bark. Like a shot of lightning through her body, images of her dad flashed through her mind. She saw him as he was when she was a small child and the images progressed through the years to the present day.

Two words rang through her mind: GO NOW.

Connection to the natural world.

A feeling of peace descended upon me. The decision was made. For the past week or longer, I had been wrestling with indecision and resentment at not being able to go home. I realized now, that the struggles of this holiday were a test to see if I could manage a long period on my own with the kids. I could handle whatever came my way – pandemic restrictions, travel requirements, leaky gut reactions, sibling rivalries and a long separation from my partner in crime. Myself and the kids should head home as soon as possible to spend time with dad for as long as possible.

A weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Even though the rain continued to pour outside, the sun was shining.

We all felt more relaxed and at peace following that excursion. The car ride home to Tokushima was peaceful and full of happy chatter.

Family is everything

It was good to be home.

Looking at her husband as they sat back on the couch after lugging two tired children to their beds and unpacking the week’s worth of unneeded camping supplies from the car, she laughingly said, “This is the most relaxed I have been all week. Maybe we should just stay home for our next holiday.”

Is This Goodbye?

My kids make me laugh. I thought maybe they’d make other people laugh too, so I started writing this blog. At the very least, these mythical creatures who live in the far away land of Japan would suddenly be real to our loved ones at home.

My blog would be light. It would be amusing. It would earn me a book deal that allowed me to work from home in my pyjamas…. A girl can dream.

But I’m not always so light. My children are not always amusing. And unfortunately I still have to take my jammies off, get dressed and go to work every day.

Quite frankly, bad shit happens. So these stories aren’t always light and entertaining, but they’re real. And one thing I always strive to be, is unapologetically real.

Those who have stuck with me and read and possibly re-read every word (thanks mum) have had a window into our world. I appreciate every kind comment and the words of encouragement that have been sent our way. It brings me closer to home.

Home.

Where the hell is that now? My “home and native land” has become a dark and twisty place (in my mind, at least) over the past year and a half. The comfort of knowing I could always go home is gone.

If it were just me on my own, I’d roll the dice and go. But, my little family is my world. The fear of taking them away from the only home they’ve ever known and thrust them into a world that is so tumultuous, uncertain and …wrong in so many ways, is positively terrifying.

Not to mention, the risk that a move like that could break up our family. Our children need both mummy AND daddy. I cannot ask them to settle for less. Because of the pandemic and the very real possibility that spousal visas could be difficult, if not damn near impossible to obtain, is a reality we could face if we were to accidentally on purpose get deported…. erm, I mean choose to leave.

So what’s the option? Stay here. Stay in a country where no matter how hard we try to assimilate and respect the culture, we are still, and always will be, outsiders? Even though Thing One and Thing Two were BORN here, speak the language almost fluently and are surrounded by Japanese people every day of their young lives, they will never know what it’s like to truly belong; to not be different in almost every way.

Instead, they are subjected to kids at the playground who shout “This park is for Japanese only. Foreigners go home.” Except… Japan is the only “home” Thing One and Thing Two have ever known.

They are told they’re “not cute enough” to play games based on popular Japanese anime characters. Or, are completely unfamiliar with popular Japanese characters so the “rules” of the games on the playground are a mystery.

They’ve been denied a haircut because they are not Japanese.

They’ve had teachers – TEACHERS! – treat them like they’re garbage, bad children, not worth the trouble of getting to know.

Every day my heart is breaking, witnessing these slights, insults and intimidation directed at my children. My gorgeous, funny, brilliant and pure children. My children, who are so kindhearted that they love everyone and don’t understand why some people don’t love them.

Thing One does not want to go to daycare. A teacher there is positively horrible to him. We’ve complained. I’ve physically stepped in to protect him. Her job is on the line. And yet, she continues to think negatively about him, treat him abysmally and terrorise him.

This same teacher, through her “compliments” regarding Thing Two’s physical appearance has sparked behaviour that can only lead to an unhealthy focus on food and body image. The compliment “You’re so slim!” has sparked a fixation on not eating too much because she “doesn’t want to get fat”. This teacher so rarely compliments anyone, that to be praised by her makes one want to not disappoint her. Thing Two often asks “Mummy? Why does A-sensei not like us?” To earn the approval she so desperately craves, my four-year old will deny herself food and make herself gag to avoid finishing a meal.

Every damn day it’s a battle to protect my children. Every. Damn. Day.

I’m so, so tired. I’m so full of rage. I’m so desperately sad.

This pandemic has cost us some of our freedoms.

Okay, sure. Our day to day lives are more “free” than that of our family and friends at home, who endure lockdown after lockdown. That freedom is a choice we make to ensure our children grow up with a childhood free from fear. It is our choice to remain as free as we can. It is our choice to keep the fear and the mistrust that is so prevalent in today’s world out of our home and away from our children as much as we possibly can.

Nothing can stop us.

That freedom comes with a price: Unspoken conversations with friends and family. Ostracism by strangers and coworkers. Fear of being physically and verbally assaulted. “Jokes” that we are conspiracy theorists. Being asked which one of us is “mentally ill”. Online threats and intimidation for simply voicing a slightly dissenting opinion. Silence in response to our cries for discussion, connection or support.

The biggest price we pay is that we cannot leave here. Not without facing huge financial and emotional obstacles and in all likelihood we would not be allowed to return here. And so we stay. We wait.

The waiting is killing me. I’m losing everything I’ve held close to my heart all these years. The very things that made me strong enough to pack up, move halfway around the world, and make a life for myself are slipping away.

I’m losing my father. I dare say I’ve lost him. All I want in this world is to hug my dad. Listen to his ramblings and just rejoice in the fact that every so often his true self will bubble to the surface and I can treasure that brief moment of connection. I want my children to know what’s left of him. The only time in the past year that I’ve seen my dad come to life, is when he’s talking to his grandchildren.

Dad has always been a fantastic storyteller.

It’s not enough.

I’m scared to speak my mind to my friends and family for fear of the repercussions – pacification, dismissal, anger, abandonment. So I try to remain quiet, respectful, passive. I suppress my true self in order to not make anyone else uncomfortable. Therefore I am uncomfortable.

The discomfort is starting to chafe.

We’ve begun creating a community of people around us here that can support each other and work together to survive whatever is thrown at us in the next few years. Or at the very least, be a support for each other as time passes.

For me, it’s not enough. It’s not family.

Gone, are the dreams of creating a magical childhood full of love and laughter for my children, that I experienced as a child.

Grandparents. Cousins. Aunts. Uncles. Big plastic cups full of ginger ale or Coke with ice and a fistful of nanny’s cookies. A quarter placed in your hand just as you get in the car to go home – Grandpa’s money, we called it. Cups of tea and sitting on the porch, listening to stories of days long ago or quietly taking in the latest family gossip. Hiding among the trees, walking through the garden. Weeks at grandma and grandpa’s house spent learning to make dill pickles – which no one ate because grandma always made them too salty – lawn bowling and being taught how to spot a storm approaching. Lawn darts. Barbecues. Pool parties. Roast beef dinners. Christmas, Boxing Day, New Year’s Eve…

Everyday of my childhood was sunny. Everyday was Saturday.

Afternoons in the sun

I have not let go of the dream I have for my children to have all that and more. But each day that dream seems to fade a little bit more. Each day, everyone I know, everyone I love, is further away.

And so here I am at a precipice. The determination that I would not die here in Japan, now seems pretty unrealistic. The choices I make now will effect not only my future but that of my little family.

I look over the edge of the cliff; my toes keeping me from plunging over. I can envision a future where I can offer my children the hope for a carefree childhood, full of sunny days, family and laughter.

While at the same time, offer them lockdowns, discrimination and fear.

Or…

I back away from the edge and embrace my life as it is. I can choose to be here. I can remove my foot from the doorway I’ve propped open for over sixteen years and let it slowly close behind me. I can fade away from the minds of friends and family and be that long lost cousin or friend that lives in Japan.

Thing One and Thing Two are nothing, if not resourceful. I know they don’t need all the things I envisioned they’d have, to grow up strong and healthy.

But why can’t they have it? All the kids around them have grandparents, cousins, friends who speak their language…

And so it goes. Around and around.

So is this goodbye? Do I fade away into the distance? Do I say goodbye to all that has brought me to this point in my life? Or do we step off the cliff into the unknown and risk everything we’ve built?

This week we’re going on holiday. Those who know me, know I love not camping. But I’m yearning for peace. I’m yearning for space to clear my mind. I don’t want to be anywhere near anyone for any reason, other than Hubby, Thing One and Thing Two, of course. So… we’re going camping.

Maybe, with luck, there will be a few more stories to tell of the adventures of Thing One and Thing Two. Maybe, I will find the strength to hold the door open a little bit longer.

The Nail That Sticks Up….

The nail that sticks up gets hammered down first.

This phrase aptly describes Japanese society where conformity is encouraged and those deemed “different” are often firmly educated in how to be just like everyone else.

I’ve spent my life feeling like Big Bird in a crowd of people, and never has that been more obvious than since I have moved to Japan.

Instead of hiding from my awkwardness, I’ve chosen to embrace it and have proudly declared myself a weirdo.

Upon having children, we have also encouraged them to think for themselves , question everything and be true to who they are and what they believe. They are my own tiny weirdos:

Hello! My name is Thing One. I am from Canada, Australia, Japan and Fraaaaance. I am a dinosaur. I am 150 000 years old and I like to eat hamburgers.

Thing One likes to entertain his classmates regularly. As his English teacher, I not only condone it, I encourage him to express his creativity. I also encourage his classmates to do the same. As a result, I have a class full of confident, entertaining and imaginative weirdos.

Embracing his weirdness

Unfortunately, not all of my coworkers celebrate the individualism of our students.

Her head flew up at the sounds of screaming coming from the classroom. It had been ages since she had heard such rage and anguish, but it was too familiar and too upsetting to ignore.

All the students were lined up waiting to start the morning circle time. They were staring, mouths gaping at the calamity they were witnessing.

Searching the room she spotted Thing One, red in the face, breathing heavily with tears streaming down his cheeks. The teacher was chasing him around the tables with a mask dangling from her fingers.

Finally managing to block him, the teacher grabbed him by the arms and shook him.

The teacher angrily shouted at Thing One. “I found this in your bag. Why do you think you don’t need a mask?”

“BECAUSE. I’M SUPERMAN!”

It is ingrained into the Japanese culture to accept what you are told without question, and do as you are told. Voicing opposing opinions can be construed as disrespectful, and one can expect to be reprimanded for doing so.

Principal: Your comments during the staff meeting yesterday were construed as threatening…..

I wasn’t threatening you. I was merely stating my opinion, as I don’t agree with the new policy.

My parents didn’t raise us to blindly follow the crowd. We were taught to question everything, consider the outcomes of our decisions and do what we thought was best.

Sensei? Why are you wearing your mask on your forehead?

Because. I was told to wear a mask.

In school we were taught to think creatively and collaborate with others to complete tasks. We were taught to work together to find the best and simplest solution to any problem.

In my experience, schools in Japan are very different to the collaborative environments of western schools. Desks are lined up in rows, facing forward and often times the information is learned by rote, with minimal opportunity for questioning or discussion.

I’m sure we will have many meetings with future teachers, should we decide to enter our children into the public education system. I look forward to turning the Japanese education system on its ear.

Ever since he could talk, Thing One has always been that kid who will do as you ask, as long as you have a reasonable explanation as to why he has to. He also relishes the opportunity to do things not only in his own time, but in creative and imaginative ways, so that he can feel like he is not just following orders. This can be extremely frustrating and I often wonder which parent he inherited this particular trait from…..

Well… from his Daddy…… obviously.

Not the Same… But Equal

Do you love me, as much as you love the baby, Mummy?
Of course! I love all my children exactly the same.

Though I knew in my heart that my mum meant what she said, I felt in the deepest, quietest part of my heart that that couldn’t quite be entirely true…

At five, I wanted nothing more in the entire world than to have a baby brother. I was insistent I would not accept a sister. A sister would have to be returned to the baby shop immediately.

Dear Santa,

For Christmas, all I want is a little brother. I have been a good girl this year…

On the day The Boy was born, I remember standing frozen with excitement in the centre of my grandparents’ living room listening to the excited chatter coming from the front hallway. I held my breath, crossed my fingers and prayed that my wish had come true.

My dad walked into the room beaming from ear to ear:

You got your wish Jodes! You’ve got a little brother!

I had never been so happy …and pissed off… in my entire young life.

My whole world had changed and I was not prepared for the overwhelming emotions that washed over me: happiness, excitement, love… but also fear, jealousy and sadness. I had finally got the little brother I’d always wanted, but at the same time my place in the world, and in my parents hearts, had been forever changed.

Everyone adored The Boy…. and if you ask him to this day, he’ll tell you people still adore him.

The little girl stomped sullenly around the racks of clothes, banging her balloon against the racks.

They’d been in this boring store forever. Mummy wasn’t even buying anything! All these ladies wanted to do was squeal about how cute her baby brother was. He wasn’t that great…. all he ever did was cry and poop anyway. Sometimes at the same time!! Mummy had promised her some chocolate, but no one even remembered … or cared… that she was here.

As she rounded a rack of clothes, her balloon making a satisfying thump on the hangers, a beautiful young salesperson smiled down at her.

Stopping short, the little girl gazed up at the lady as she knelt down and leaned in to whisper:

If I see you bang that balloon against the clothes one more time, I’ll pop your balloon with this pin.

She smiled coldly and held a large silver safety pin in front the trembling girl’s terrified, tear-filled eyes.

I remember resenting The Boy and I’m sure I made a right pain in the arse of myself for my poor parents. I don’t actually recall being horrible, but can probably assume correctly that I was awful a lot of the time.

The little girl sat on the floor of the family room, playing with her toy cars and Barbies, while singing along with Big Bird and the gang on television:

I’m just going to leave The Boy here on a blanket. Call me if he starts to cry.
Her mum turned and went back upstairs.

Ugh… he ruins everything!
She waited, fuming at the injustice of it all, until she heard her mum’s footsteps moving around upstairs.

She creeped over to the blanket and peered at her little brother, smiling and cooing on his blanket, kicking his chubby legs in the air. She reached out and pinched his chubby leg. Hard.

Muuuummmyyyy! The Boy is cryyyyying!

As time went by, I got used to The Boy being around.

When he was about twelve, I found myself on a family holiday and my only playmate was my brother. Resigning myself to playing baby-ish games for a week, I happily discovered that he wasn’t so bad…he had potential…that one day he might even be cool.

I’m pleased to say that as we grew up, we became good friends and even with this distance between us, our love for each other is strong.

Siblings

Upon finding out that Thing Two was on her way, I was anxious. How could I possibly have enough room in my heart to love another child, as much as I love Thing One?

And so, I set about finding a way to bring this darling little girl into the center of my world, so she could stand side by side with her big brother. I loved them exactly the same… didn’t I?

I have discovered that it is impossible to love my children exactly the same. At first this bothered me. What kind of horrible mum doesn’t love her children exactly the same!?

Please do not misunderstand me: words cannot describe the depth of my love for both kids. ‘To the moon and back’ is not nearly enough.

Each of them is so unique and so individual that I couldn’t possibly love them the same way.

Thing One is studious, kindhearted, shy and clever, among many other good and not so good qualities. He is generally the source of my concern and worry and can push my buttons like no other. He is temperamental and sensitive. He is my first born.

Thing Two is outgoing, confident, outspoken and creative. She bowls her way through life, letting nothing stand in her way. She is sensitive and kind. She so far has not caused me great worry….she’s saving that for her teenage years, I suspect. She is, and always will be, my baby girl.

They are both imaginative and absolutely hilarious…bordering on inappropriately cheeky at times. Both of them are terribly dramatic … no idea where they get that from…..

These faces fill me with joy

I do not love them both exactly the same. I love them equally, but not for the same reasons.

I know now that that is exactly what my dear mum was trying to say all those years ago.

Time Out

The sounds of the latest tantrum, still ringing in her ears, she flopped onto the couch. Thing One snuggled in for a cuddle, his heart still thumping, his bright red cheeks still wet with tears.

A profound exhaustion pressed her into the cushions. It was only nine in the morning and the whole day still stretched out before them.

Did you really wanna go to judo today?
Thing One: …..not really.
Yeh… me either. Wanna go to the beach instead?
Thing One: Yeah!

Living in Japan is like being generally invisible…. while at the same time standing in a spotlight so that everything you do, every blunder you make, turns everyone’s attention on you.

Being foreigners, we can’t help but upset the societal norms at least once a day….. at least that’s been my experience. I’m caught between not wanting to offend everyone around me, while at the same time resisting conformity and staying true to my own culture and beliefs.

More often than not, I offend. At least I’m fairly certain of it. Everyone is just too polite to say so, I’m sure.

I know people that have their wee ones involved in a variety of activities: violin lessons, piano lessons, martial arts, cram school, swimming lessons, gymnastics, baseball … the list goes on, and that’s just one family. All this while still working and going to school full time. I honestly don’t know how, or why they do it.

We’ve had Thing One involved in judo for what? 6 months or so? It’s literally the ONLY extracurricular activity we do. It’s one hour every Saturday afternoon and it’s bloody exhausting. I really don’t get how other people do it. Early morning practice, games… Hockey Moms, you have my respect.

Each Saturday, with threats of never ever leaving the house ever again, and general screaming and yelling, a rather large dustball with arms and legs sticking out of it bounces down the street and makes the long trip to the judo gymnasium.

Though it’s a children’s class, and is generally chaotic, there is still a structure to the lesson and a nod to cultural norms. After sixty minutes of watching my children run amok, roaring and scratching the floor like lions, growling like angry rabid dogs, laying on the mat weeping or smelling each other’s “hoofies”, the lesson comes to an end with a routine steeped in tradition. The children line up, kneeling in front of the sensei. First they bow to the teacher, then the Japanese flag. Then they bow to each other and finally, they turn to bow to their parents. While all of this is going on, the parents have scrambled down to kneel along the edge of the mat, and bow along with their children.

The first time this happened, I was completely oblivious. I looked up from burying my face in my hands in frustrated embarrassment to see that I was the only parent still seated on the bleachers.

The next week I was feeling pretty anti-Japan, so I defiantly sat in the bleachers, embracing my non-Japanese-ness. But a slight twinge inside my cold dead heart made me feel like perhaps I should participate.

The next week, the twinge in my heart grew stronger as the searching gazes of my children looked for me in the line up of parents prostrating themselves on the mat. So now I drag myself off my bleacher seat and bow with the rest of the parents. My kids work hard at their roaring and hoofy smelling skills. They deserve acknowledgment for that.

But there are times after a long hard week of trying not to piss off every Japanese person I encounter, when I feel like I just can’t face sitting there in the bleachers. I cannot face the experience of whisper-screaming admonishments at my children, smiling politely at people who will not, or cannot, talk to me and then scrambling down to the mat to bow to a flag that is not mine, in a tradition that is uncomfortably awkward and quite frankly, makes my feet go numb from sitting on them.

Hubby: Are you guys going to judo this afternoon?
Gah! Do we have to!? Ugh… I guess so.

So on this day, the latest temper tantrum being the icing on a the cake of a long hard week, the thought of sitting on that hard wooden bench watching my children not do judo, was more than I could bear. It was possible that I may prostrate myself on the mat and promptly burst into floods of hysterical tears.

The decision was made. No one wanted to go to judo. So, we weren’t going. The freedom and relief that flooded over me was epic. We needed a break. We can’t physically leave Japan, but we can distance ourselves from it as much as possible.

After a long lazy lunch, free from the echoes of “EAT! EAT! We’ve got to leave in twenty minutes!”, we packed up our sand toys and snacks and headed off to the beach.

With all the windows rolled down, music thumping we wheeled into the parking lot of the local beach. The sun was shining, the breeze was blowing. We found a spot, sheltered by the sand dunes, away from everyone else and we just let ourselves be.

Best friends

It was exactly what we needed. We laughed, we chased birds, we dug holes to Canada, made sand mountains, found seashells and generally enjoyed the freedom of being free from the spotlight and unbothered by any cultural blunders we could make.

Getting a well deserved break from everything.

That day on the beach, I came to a realisation. I had been falling into that trap of thinking I needed to make sure my kids were involved in things. I needed to make sure they were getting opportunities to experience everything…and while I still believe it is good to make sure they get to try things, I also have realized that we also need to give ourselves time outs.

Thing One and Thing Two are never going to be blackbelt judo masters, but hopefully they’ll look back on their childhood and feel the warmth and love that came with being together as a family and will have happy memories of singing along to music in the car, “playing fetch” and digging escape holes to Canada.

Playing fetch…we don’t have a dog.

Smell My Hoofy!

The echoes of children being flung about on the judo mat reverberated through the gymnasium. The judo lesson was in full swing and I was settled in the bleachers with my coffee and a book. Safe in the knowledge that for the next hour, my children were being kept occupied by someone who was not me.

The giggles of excited children rolled over me unheeded until a piercing shriek drowned out the sound of the judo lesson and the words “Smell my hoofy!” echoed around the room.

They struck me because those words are so not Japanese, and are oh, so familiar.

I looked up to the sight of Thing One and Thing Two in some sort of bastardised version of a judo hold, laughing their heads off as they took turns shoving their feet in each other’s faces.

Mr. Judo: Thing One! Thing Two! Come on!

The Judo sensei’s cheerful calls to rejoin the lesson went unheeded, and my whisper-screamed admonishments from the bleachers were drowned out by my two heathens’ screams of laughter.

Fortunately, the teacher announced a tea break at that moment and with cheerful skips my children ran toward me to get their water bottles, the Smell My Hoofy game on temporary hiatus.

Me: If you two don’t knock it off RIGHT NOW, then I will pack up our things and we will leave, and not come back to this class ever again.

Thing One: I don’t want that, Mummy.

Me: I don’t bring you here to play games with each other that you can play for free at home. If that’s what you would prefer to do, fine. We’ll go home. Otherwise, I brought you here to study judo and that is what you will do.

Thing One: Okay, Mummy. I’ll listen to Mr. Judo now.

Me: Thank you.

I settled back on the hard wooden bench and sighed. The echoes of my own childhood filling my head. How many times had mum and dad expressed frustration that they’d brought us somewhere to learn or have fun and we’d just goof around, or cry and scream the whole time?

The screams of the little girl in the shallow end of the swimming pool reverberated off the tiles. The desperation in her instructor’s voice was beginning to sound somewhat more like pissed off:

Please…PLEASE just put your face in the water!!

NOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAGGGGHHHH!

The screams suddenly silenced as the instructor placed his hand on the back of the little girl’s head, shoved her face into the water and held her there. Her screams became the soft gurgle of bubbles on the surface of the water.

The parents sitting in the bleachers looked relieved as they removed their fingers from their ears, muttering “Whose child is that!?”

Her own parents, feigning similar looks of indignation, looked around, nodding in agreement with the other parents:

Yes…WHOSE child is that?

They never went back to swimming lessons at that pool ever again.

I guess it’s just a natural part of parenthood that your child is always the loudest one in the room, screaming their head off. Your child is always the one who’s teacher is forever redirecting them back to the lesson, while all the other children are sitting at attention. Your child is always the one pinwheeling madly around the room giggling like a madman when he’s supposed to be sitting quietly…no? Just me again, eh?

I have mistakenly imagined that my children would always be the most well behaved children in the room. Other parents would envy me at not having to deal with the meltdowns and ridiculously frustrating things that small children inevitably do. I would be free to sit back, sip my coffee and smile lovingly at my two adorably polite, exceptionally clean and well-behaved children ….. pffft yeh right. Thing One disabused me of that delusion early on in our adventure through life together.

So I take solace in the infamous words of my grandfather, uttered through gritted teeth on a joyous family holiday:

I brought you here to have a good time. Now bloody well have a good time!