The Impromptu Pool Party

It’s been particularly balmy in Mauritius lately. The air hangs heavy, thick with the incessant buzzing of mosquitos. The sun glares down on this tiny island, daring its inhabitants to brave the bright blue ocean.

All this heat causes tempers to flare, especially pint-sized tempers that feel hot and irritable when the temperature rises above 30 degrees Celsius.

At four, o’clock in the afternoon, escape to the beach was not an option, the sun was still too high and neither Papa nor Mummy had the energy to pack for the beach. But an irritable child is a force of nature in itself and cannot be ignored. So the inflatable pool was hauled out to the shade of the backyard and an overjoyed Shabd, clapping his hands in glee, gingerly climbed into the pool.

All the commotion and excitement roused Dada out from his afternoon nap, drawing him outside to enquire as to all this hullabaloo. His smile widening as he catches a glimpse of Shabd reclining in his pool, box of juice in one hand and his penguin boat in the other – this is the sweet life!

 

“Have you’ll had tea as yet?” he enquires. Receiving a negative response, he quickly jumps into action, doing what Dada does best, organizing a fete!

We overhear him inviting his elder brother to come over and have tea by the pool with Shabd. “Tea by the pool?” the puzzled ‘other’ Dada responds, “Aller right, mo vini la” (Alright, I’ll be right there).

Dadi has been tasked with brewing tea and having retired the previous day, she graciously provides delicious chocolate cake as well. Papa is in charge of brining the table and chairs by the poolside. It would be defeating the purpose of having tea by the pool, if seats were not arranged by the pool. What a fete this is turning out to be!

 

And Shabd, oblivious to all but his rubber ducky and plastic animals, lies in his teensy pool, cooling down. He comes out occasionally; to have a sip of his freshly brewed rooibos tea, or a bite of retirement cake. Alternating between cooling off in his pool, swinging under the olive tree and watering his Dadi’s potted plants, all bare bummed of course!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ah, another pearl of happiness for my necklace of joy; sitting by the pool, enjoying a cup of hot tea, a slice of chocolate cake surrounded by family.

 

 

The air is light, a breeze cools the air and laughter rings in the yard as a content Shabd gets up to his usual and always entertaining antics.

Mummy on a Mission

When mummy returned from SA, she was on a mission. A mission for a swing, not just any ordinary swing, no, that would simply not do, she, uhm, I was on a mission to get a tyre swing hung in the backyard.

After weeks of dropping gentle hints and suggestions, leaving bookmarked pages open on the iPad on “How to make a tyre swing” and downright nagging…the evening finally arrived when Papa had just had enough of the sighing and the moaning and the “wouldn’t it be nice if Shabd had a swing!”

Out he strode, a man on a mission, straight to the garage to procure this prodigal tyre – and swing it would become, come hell or high-water!

It took 3 men (2 granddads and a Papa), 3 days, 2 jigsaws and a drill to get the swing made. And what an exciting time the men had, gathering in Chacha’s workshop in the late evenings conferring on the best way to cut the tyre, weight distribution, optimal cut length.



On the eve of the 3^rd night, Papa and Dada secured the swing onto the branch of the majestic olive tree. Shabd, not understanding what all this fuss was about, obligingly scrambled onto the swing and said “Swing-swing. Swing-swing” while mummy clapped furiously, wiping a little tear away.



The swing is beautiful. Dada, the ever cautious safety inspector has ensured that it’s been padded for extra protection - to ensure little hands are not chaffed and the backs of little knees are not hurt. Papa, a stickler for independence has ensured the swing is just the right height so that Shabd can get on and off on his own. Mummy and Dadi, are content pushing Shabd on the swing.

Shabd got onto the swing again this afternoon; he laid his head back on the swing and stared up at the green canopy, listening as the leaves gently whispered the secrets of the universe to him. There was so much peace and tranquility in that moment; it felt as if God himself was holding his breath.

It’s the little things that make a childhood what it should be, carefree. I want Shabd to think back on childhood and know that he was loved so much that Papa made him a swing which hung from an old olive tree. 

 



Lessons from Tigger

It's close to midnight on the eve of chemo round three. I'm not nervous or anxious, I know what to expect and I'm prepared, yet I'm wired. I have to keep reminding myself to pause and take a deep long breath. There is no fear. What will be, will be.

I'm scared of little things; like not spending enough time with my little boy. I feel so tired lately. I'm afraid of time passing by too quickly; of me missing out on him growing up. He says a new word every day. He grows more and more perceptive with each passing week. He grows more mature and more understanding almost too soon.

How I wish I could smash all the clocks so time would stand still, then Shabd and I could cuddle in bed and read the Tigger story over and over and over again. These are the moments when I feel most alive, the mummy moments. Each smile, each tear, each wink, each nod, each dance, each song, each new word; like precious pearls, I parsimoniously collect these memories and string them around my heart.

How will cancer change all this? In every possible way and not at all! I've become obsessed with wanting to mark the passing of each chemo. A sort of earning of a merit badge of sorts I guess. I've thought of buying a special Kroll or Pandora bead with each chemo, or scrapbooking, or mosaicing, or painting, or beading, sadly nothing quite fits my objective.

So here I sit, on the eve of chemo 3 and still no chronicling done. And as I type these words, it hits me! As Tigger said; "Maybe I've been goin' about this all the wrong way, upside down." And that's exactly it! I have been going about this the wrong way upside down!

Instead of focusing on each chemo cycle, i should be focusing on my string of pearls. I should make my memories and not sit on the sidelines waiting for someone to bounce with me. I should do what Tiggers do best, bouncin and act real tiggery! "Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!"

Shabd and I can be quite good at b-b-b-b-b-bouncing. I didn’t realise that. We donned our animal ears tonight, and had a good laugh at how silly we looked. Shabd was in a fit of giggles seeing mummy with her smart black cat ears meowing quite kitten like. I even go a "encore" from him!

Sometimes we cannot see the wood from the trees. I already have a lustrous string of beautiful memories, and being in a very tiggery mood, I'll share some with you. When next you're in the Hundred Acre Wood, come bounce with Shabd and I, we'd love the company and can't wait to add another pearl to mummy's beautiful necklace.

 



Shabd and mummy enjoy a day at the beach

Papa let go! I can swim on my own, really!!

Le petite lapin!

I love sitting on mummy

Family self portrait

Nosey-nosey!

Oww!

Cuts and bumps and bruises form part and parcel of being a boy…or so I’m repeatedly told by rough and tough Papa.

Being the ever efficient, one should always be prepared, slightly over protective mummy that I am, I come armed with Purity all natural antiseptic spray and baby arnica gel in my first aid arsenal. I also have little green teddy bear plasters, courtesy of kind Dr. Thancanamootoo, in case the cut or scrape is serious! For all my preparation, I’m thankful that I’ve not had to break out the plasters.

Shabd, in all his earnestness runs with a devil may care attitude. He happily skips over rocks and clambers up anything that offers either a better vantage point or there is something interesting to be gained from scaling it.

He often trips with hands flailing out to brace his fall. And more often than not, his hands, like little Michelins break his fall, stabilizing him quickly. “Oww!” is the only word you’ll hear…no matter how hard the fall, “Oww!” This is my cue to go to Shabd, sympathize that he fell, rub his hands while all the time saying “Shabd is a strong boy,” quick kiss and whoosh he’s off again!

Shabd is at the ‘clingy’ phase right now. So having mummy or papa in line of sight is of paramount importance. If he falls, bruises, scrapes or bumps himself, it’s only mummy or papa who has the magic kiss to make his “Ouch!” disappear into a distant memory.

The sweetness of any word uttered by Shabd is comparable to hearing the soft melodious voice of a child like God. “Oww!” is a word especially reserved for me. It tells me that I’m needed. It reminds me that I’m unique and while I know that Shabd means the world to me, when he says “Oww!” he’s saying to me that I mean the world to him too. Some cares, only a mummy can soothe.