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.

100 Happy Moments - will you take up the challenge?

Recently, my friend Girija sent me a link to something called “100 Happy Days” – the challenge being to find just one happy moment every day and record it by describing the moment or placing a picture of the moment on Facebook or Twitter on Instagram or any of these fancy social media we’re all so addicted to.

She and I had a long conversation about this topic. While it principle, we "know" that we must be having at least one happy moment a day, the thought of capturing that moment for 100 consecutive days seemed like too much work, too much commitment. And the dreaded unspoken thought arose in my mind, what if I don’t have a happy moment every day?

So quite logically, after some debate on the topic of happiness versus the trouble of trying to capture happy moments, we agreed to shelve the idea. Well, Girija was wisely going to go for bite-sized chunks of maybe one week of happy moments to begin with. I declared out loud that the idea would be shelved. Or so I thought.

The concept kept buzzing in my mind like an insistent little bee, and given my recent diagnosis, well, the buzz was becoming louder and louder. I discussed the concept with Akash and being the great thinker that he is, he hummed and hawed finally declaring that having to capture this moment every day was too much commitment for him. I wondered if the same silent thought had arose in his mind too; was he afraid he too might not have a happy moment each day.

I discussed this unique and by now quite intriguing idea with a group of friends known simply as the “Lunch Mummies". Why not, one mum said, but what constitutes a ‘happy moment’? And maybe in that little question she had hit upon the thorn that was causing so much discomfort – what qualifies as a happy moment? Can something be too small, too insignificant to be declared a happy moment? Do happy moments have to be the big stuff, like a new car or getting married or having a baby?

The Lunch Mummies, a group constituting of largely very logical and practical mummies decided there and then to put forward some examples and some rules of engagement.

Some examples of what constitutes a happy moment:
• Enjoying being able to finish a cup of coffee while it’s still hot.
• Spending quiet time reading to your child.
• An unexpected hug.
• A beautiful butterfly early in the morning.
• A pedicure.

And the rules of engagement, simple:
• ONE happy moment every day to be captured by midnight that day.
• Commit to this for 100 days – no mummy left behind.
• Picture or short description of moment to be shared on private chat group.
• All for one and one for all, we were so doing this!

So there you go. Today is day six, it’s 04:00 am in the morning, and I already have my happy moment.

Due to my recent ops, the first to remove the cancerous lump under my right arm and the second to insert a portacath on the left side of my chest, it’s not been easy to sleep in the same bed as wriggly and cuddly Shabd. So my superhero husband decided to move Shabd into his own room and he’s been camping out there as well. All this to ensure that I get my rest and am able to recover unhindered by little feet that can kick quite fiercely in their sleep. I cannot explain how in awe I am of Akash at his consideration, kindness and fierce love for me.

Tonight, Shabd was having a particularly rough time falling asleep after his 1:00am feed. So at 3:00am when I heard him crying again, I went to relieve an exhausted but brave Papa. Shabd took my hand, and we walked around the house for a bit. Checking up to make sure Buzz and the puppy dogs were asleep, that all his balls were safely in their place.

He searched for his car blanket, Tigger and his favourite book so that they could accompany him to my room for a read and a cuddle. Finally, at 04:00, after reading his four page story book, “Tickle Tickle” for the fiftieth time, he curled up with Rudolf the red nosed dog, who had mysteriously also found his way to my bed and passed out!

Cuddling up to Shabd, reading his favourite story to him at 03:00 in the morning might not be everybody’s idea of a happy time, it’s most certainly not my idea of fun at that hour, normally. But these are strange times for me. I’ve been diagnosed with cancer nine years after I beat my initial battle with cancer, I’ve had two operations in 3 weeks and been poked and prodded at from every which angle.

My household has been turned upside down and inside out as a result of all this. And my ever smiling, ever loving, ever forgiving boys have felt the impact most.

So, at 03:00 in the morning, if my little boy can’t sleep, with the greatest of pleasure, I’ll cuddle up and read to him until his little head feels drowsy and his eyes are droopy. I’ll stay up and watch his chest rise and fall to the rhythm of his breath; because I don’t know how many magically happy breaths I have left on this earth to share with him.

What I do know is that for my Lunch Mummies “Day 6 of 100 Happy Days” post, I’ll write about cuddling and reading to my little boy while the world lay fast asleep.

Cyclone Edilson

Yay the excitement upon hearing that a tropical cyclone is on its way to Mauritius is something else.

Nounou Lysie is a staunch believer in Meteo Mauritius, and watches the weather report every night. Why you ask? Because she believes that Shabd is like the weather. Sunny day equals good day for Shabd. Rainy day equals bad day for Shabd.

Bizarre as nounou Lysie’s reasoning might be, in her own way, she has a point. Shabd is the outdoor type. Sunshine equals many uninterrupted hours of play outside. Rain or windy weather means he’s cooped up in the house having to contend with indoor activities. And let’s face it, compared to the millions of exciting discoveries just waiting for him outdoors, staying in is hardly a treat!

We woke up on Thursday morning to Class 3 cyclone warning – no school, no work, no public transport system operational. In other words, one is to stay indoors and stay safe! I’m very proud to say that we stayed true to the Mauritian way of keeping busy during a cyclone, we cooked chicken curry and foolka (fried puffed bread). Then made some crunchies for tea! What a treat.

While mummy and papa cooked, Shabd played indoor soccer. He read his books. He drummed a cool two beat rhythm on the djembe. He hugged his teddies and took them for a tour around the house. He played in his pirate ship. He lied face up on the floor and contemplated the ceiling…Voila! Half an hour had passed! What in heaven’s name was he going to do for the rest of the day?!

Suffice to say, we survived the day all cooped up together. It was nice. We napped together. We ate together, mostly. We played hide and seek. We played “let’s chase Shabd”. We sang nursery rhymes and clapped our hands to the beat. We read the Tigger story Shabd loves. We sang at the top of our voices. We “woofed” and “neighed” and “quacked” together. We tried to figure out what sound an elephant makes. We danced to the music on radio. We had a fantastic cyclone Edilson.

A Ducky Makes "Bheh-Bheh"

Shabd is quickly building his vocabulary. He seems to love the way the word “car” rolls in his mouth. He also has an affinity for saying “PA!” – with an insistent almost urgent voice when he can’t find his father, or a gentler and lilting “Papa!” when he sees his dad driving up the driveway.

He’s quick to say “mum-mum” when he spots his evening meal and “Dada” when he spies his grandfather delivering the morning bread.

Thanks to a sticker on Kamal mama’s fridge, Shabd has also learnt the sounds of animals and can quite saliently imitate a horsey, a sheep, a cow, a ducky, a pig and the rousing cock-a-doodle-doo of a rooster!

In addition, he’s also learnt to roar like a lion quite convincingly.

Toddlers are amazing. They are born with absolutely no words in their vocabulary. Whether they are born in Spain or Bali or Tasmania, they have no concept of the local language spoken, be it Italian, Ukrainian or Creole. Their amazing brains absorb the incessant stimuli of their surroundings until they first start understanding then formulating until they are capable of communicating verbally with you in your language.

Shabd will be communicating with us in full sentences one day soon. Judging by the rate that he’s acquiring new words, this day seems no further than the new dawn yonder not yet broken free from this night.

While him being able to express himself using words will undoubtedly make it easier for us to understand and respond to his needs and wants, there is a sentimental part of me that already mourns the impending loss of my babbling, gurgling little baby boy.

I love coming home from work to hear Shabd babbling away in his room as he plays with his nounou and his toys. Or when he comes into the kitchen to tell me a long exciting story complete with wild hand gestures, emotionally charged facial expressions and a hearty laugh thrown in here and there for good measure.

It’s the most amazing feeling to hear Shabd singing in monosyllables and being able to recognize that he’s singing to the tune of “Hot Cross Buns” almost seamlessly as if the music is flowing from a special place inside his heart and not memory.

Every day, I’m in awe as he swiftly builds his personal repertoire of English and French nursery rhymes compounding his knowledge at an ever increasing speed. I’ve been told that this is normal, yet this doesn’t take from the awe I feel as his mother witnessing this growth.

I’m happy my home is a musical one. Between Shabd and his Papa, someone is always humming away or making music on the numerous little instruments that litter my home or even the bathroom sink! After all, said that “Music fills the infinite between two souls”.

Maybe Shabd will be a rock star (if rock stars will still exist when he’s twenty) or a talented pianist or even a great singer. A mother can dream!

But for now, rest assured, I’m content to have my little rock star bobbing his head up and down, doing the Madiba jive while Papa plays a rock number just for him!