I’ve been on a small Facebook fast. It started out as a cold-turkey thing that eventually evolved into a 5:2 diet.
“What do you want to do?! I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT TO DO!”
Join the club, kiddo.
“The standard you walk past is the standard you accept.”
“The turning point in the process of growing up is when you discover the core of strength within you that survives all hurt.”
One always hears so much about Children, and How They Say the Darndest Things. Arddun is starting to question space, time, and her relationship to it.
“How old are you?” she asks Tony and I every day now. I’ve never been one to get coy about the years God’s given me, and neither is Tony. “Daddy is going to be 40 years old.” “Mummy is going to be 36 very soon.”
“No,” replies the little one each time, with all the certainty and conviction only youth can bestow. “Mummy, you have no number.”
I’m not sure why she’s happy to accept 40 for her dad, but insists I have no age. I suppose I should be flattered, except she is too young to understand the idea of Timelessness. Or is she? Her answer about me not having a number always elicits a small chuckle from Tony and I. Probably because we can’t think of any other suitable response.
Then yesterday, she replied with, “Yes, that’s right, Mummy. You are going to be 36. And I’m going to be 33.”
Perhaps, little one. But not just yet.
“What do you want to be when you grow up, Arddun?”
“I want to be FREE!”
“You want to be free?”
No, Tony mimes behind her. She wants to be three.
And then there’s today’s question.
“Daddy,” I hear her ask in the next room. “How did you grow up”?
How indeed. How did any of us grow up. I’m not sure sometimes that I have. I was bumbling along merrily yesterday when I caught sight of something, and jealousy wrapped its heavy cloak around my shoulders again like I was 13 years old. In a blink, I was insecure, uncertain, ugly, weighed down.
How did I grow up? Will be mulling over that one, along with my NEW New year resolutions. Perhaps more on that later.
“Birth plan? How’s this for a birth plan?
Next Friday (5 December) is when the first Indian test match is playing. Bub’s gonna be a few days late by then. You go into labour, I’ll sit outside with a transistor radio and wait for you.”
~ Tony, loving husband, mad cricket fan.