Archives: June 2003
Wed, 18 Jun 2003
A Christmas Entry
God it was cold this morning. As I walked to the busstop at just after seven this morning, it was dark and the moon was high in the sky. My breath hung in the air, still and heavy. I was glad for my winter coat, wrapped around me, soft leather collar pulled up tight around me neck and ears.
It is mid-June and almost the winter solstice. My northern hemisphere brain still finds this odd, even after all these years. This is Christmas weather. There should be lights stringing the streets and snow and fir trees and holly wreaths. Instead there are just long cold nights and short cold days, and no relief.
The last public holiday for the winter is Queen's Birthday in early June. There is not another one until Labour Day at the end of October. That's almost five months through the coldest time of the year with nothing to break the monotony. At least in the northern hemisphere where I grew up, winter is punctuated with Christmas and New Year.
Some people here try to capture the feel of a traditional Christmas by having a mid-winter Christmas party, complete with presents and ham and decorated tree.
But it's just not the same, a pretend Christmas.
Christmas to me will always be the Christmases of my childhood. Going into the woods with my dad and selecting a snow-laden tree, chopping it down and bringing it home. Decorating the tree, taking special care with the hand-painted glass Christmas decorations from Poland. There was a pink one that was my favourite. Silver tinsel, and at the very top, the old plastic angel which lit up, her blonde hair glowing like a beacon.
I will never forget the absolute child-like awe of sitting in the living room, in the dark, and looking at the splendour and sparkle of the Christmas tree. To me it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
This cold weather makes me ache for that childhood Christmas again.
To my children, Christmas will mean something entirely different. They will have Pacific Christmases — summer holidays, long hot days of playing in the sand at the beach, swimming, barbecues, seafood, pohutakawa in blossom, family gatherings.
It will be no less enthralling to them.
Just different.
A cold winter day on the harbour.
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Sun, 15 Jun 2003
Turning Five
Tonight I am weary. To the bone. A deep aching tiredness. I need... so many things. Mostly, right now, I need a bed, and space, and time — uninterrupted. If I had such, I would crawl in and curl up and sleep. I would sleep until my body had slept off all the stress and exhaustion of the past five years. I would sleep for days, deeply.
Too many hours of looking after two children under five. Never enough time for me. Never enough time to re-energize, regroup, rethink, refresh.
It is times like this that I feel I am one seething mass of need. I crave. Sleep. Sex. Exercise. Time alone.
One day.
This week has been full-on with Matthew turning five. It is so bittersweet, this milestone. He has no way of knowing that after starting school his life will never be as carefree again. Endless hours of playing will be replaced by more structured days — lessons, homework, classes. Even at this young age, he will be required to take work home.
It saddens me, and yet in other ways I am looking forward to the years that are ahead — all the years of discovery that await him.
I am so proud of him. He has grown into such an independent child — friendly, outgoing, bright, inquisitive. At times he is cheeky, funny, and at times so profound that it just makes my jaw drop in sheer amazement.
I was talking with his kindergarten teachers on his last day there. They said that Matthew would be missed, that he was miles ahead of the other children in terms of his intellect. He would ask questions and carry on incredibly detailed conversations about the most interesting things — quicksand, electric eels, mummies.
“He told us all about King Tutankhamen,” one of them said. “And he pronounced it so perfectly. He knew all about it. We couldn't believe it. We were so impressed.” I remembered getting that book out of the library and reading it with him. His memory is almost photographic. He remembers everything. Everything.
I listened to her and the other teachers praise him, and felt so proud, like maybe we had done something right as parents. Somewhere along the line, despite all our failings, we had raised a child who was eager to learn, who was likeable, who had friends, who was well adjusted.
And yes, he does have faults. He is sometimes rude. He is mean to his little brother. He sometimes whines and throws temper tantrums at the most inopportune times.
But he is a good kid at heart. My firstborn. He will always be special.
Happy birthday, Matt. I love you.
My sleeping angel.
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Sun, 08 Jun 2003
My Boys
Life continues.
I was home with a sick Joshua all week. He has had a nasty chest infection and has been on antibiotics. Poor wee fellow. That hasn't deterred him from being up and about and tearing the house apart.
I swear this child is going to be the death of me. He is so very different from Matthew. He is not in the least bit interested in toys or books or videos. He is only interested in wandering around the house opening drawers, pulling things out, turning switches on and off, climbing onto things, playing with things he shouldn't have. Give him an empty wine bottle and a cork, and he has a wonderful time for half an hour, putting the cork in, taking it out, putting it in, taking it out.
I have to fill in a form every term for his caregiver, telling her, among other things, what his favourite songs and books and toys are. How can I tell her that the electric heaters and an empty wine bottle are his favourite playthings? But it's true. It really is.
So, I have been housebound with a sick child for an entire week, and by the weekend, I was beginning to feel a little like banging my head against the wall. Fortunately I was able to get a little me time. Today I had coffee with my friend Sarah. We could spend hours just chatting about this and that. We really click. Female friends are good for the soul.
And yesterday afternoon Matthew went to a friend's house, Michael put Joshua down for a nap, and I went shopping. There is nothing like wandering around shops by yourself to lift your spirits. And I even bought some new underwear to cheer myself up. To hell with chicken soup, new underwear is great for the soul.
I also bought a book of poetry for Matthew, for his fifth birthday. I wanted to get him something special, that he can keep. He likes poems and riddles and nursery rhymes, and this is a big thick book of classic poetry, designed with children in mind with big colourful pictures. I think he will like it.
That's the other thing that has been keeping me busy of late — Matthew turns five in a week. He has his party next Sunday at the local aquatic centre pool, so I have been organising that. Invitations, party gifts, the cake, food, presents. He already has his big birthday presents — a new bicycle from us (because he had completely outgrown his old one) and rollerblades with all the knee and elbow padding from his nana and grandad.
He also has a party at kindergarten on Friday, which is his last day there, because on the Monday after.... he starts school! Here in New Zealand, children start school on the day of their fifth birthday. Which is quite good really. Man, is he ready for it. He is so beyond kindy now, and really needs some structured learning.
Matt is at this age where he talks constantly. Asks questions unceasingly. It is exhausting. Wonderful, but exhausting. This morning, he wakes up, and the first question that comes out of his mouth is: “Dad, do bears eat tomatoes?” Huh? Where did that come from?
And the other day, he asked me a question that seemed almost zen-like. “Mum, what happens if you say 'Timber!' when there is no tree falling?” That left me with a lot to think about, and still no answer to the question.
And I leave you with two recent pictures of my boys.
Joshua, aged 15 months, looking thoughtful while sitting outside at the cafe in our local garden centre.
Matthew, aged almost five, in his pirate gear. Ahoy me mateys. Or something like that.
Thank you all for your thoughts and words of support during this past week. I have appreciated it immensely. You people are wonderful. Okay, this woman is tired, and has work tomorrow. Goodnight, folks.
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