Last
week my nana gave me a wee lecture.
“Jodi,”
she said, waving the newspaper in her hand. “You know, one of these days I’m
really hoping to read something positive from you. After all, it can’t be all bad,” she said, giving me a
meaningful look.
She’s
right, of course. I had become aware that some of my horror tales could
unintentionally be providing verbal contraception for childless couples.
I
usually start off on a positive note, before it all somehow turns pear-shaped.
A bit like my day really. Oops – there I go again.
Take
two:
On
Saturday Cade (5) scored his first try and I was so proud I cried. I will
probably cry again when he is one of only two kids from his class to deliver a
line in his school production at the Event 33 centre this month, although I
won’t be able to hide behind sunnies this time. Even after his teacher
euphemised that he was chosen partly because it “would make good use of his
loud voice” I was still proud as punch.
And
never was I prouder than when he delivered a speech in front of hundreds of
people at my father’s funeral in June.
Some
say that kids are not meant to be your friends – your role is to be their
parent but this has always confused me. When it was just me and Cade during the
day, he was my side-kick. I can still parent and guide him but he will always
be my little buddy.
Despite
going through the terrible twos in tandem, the joys of watching toddlers
develop side-by-side are immense. Life would be a lot easier if we had them in
separate rooms but I keep them together at their mother’s expense. That’s part
of the fun of being a twin isn’t it?
Occasionally
I stand outside their door and eavesdrop. Their conversation might go something
like this:
“Je-ja,
you awake Je-ja?”
“Shoosh
Jai-Jai, I’m trying to go to sleep.”
“Je-Ja,
Jessie’s on your bed.”
“I
know, Jai. I’m a little girl and Jessie only goes on little girl’s beds.”
“Can
I come and pet Jessie Ja-ja?”
“Only
if Mummy doesn’t catch you. If she catch you, you go in the naughty corner.”
“She
not catch me.”
Footsteps.
“Jessie
purring.”
“Ahh,
he so cute.”
“Yeah,
he brave.” (Word of the week)
“Mummy
coming!”
“Arghhh”
At
this point I walk in as, giggling, they both dive for cover.
I
happened to catch a glimpse of Oprah recently where one wise guest said kids
can tell when you’re not paying attention because you wear a certain distracted
look on your face.
“Kids
are supposed to light up a room,” she said. But it rarely ever shows in their
parents’ eyes. Instead the mother is often looking to see if their trousers are
buckled up right or their face is clean.
From
what I gleaned the message was to live life in the moment and show your joy,
for kids are more perceptive and sensitive than we realise.
Now,
I’m off to find my trio and embrace them in a big bear hug.
