Not bound by honey

Two pairs of feet are pitter pattering along my hallway. My thoughts are all over the place, thinking back of me and my husbands history, our trips across the world all the places in this house where we went down on each other, yet I am still managing to start a bath. I lean down and stir the water here and there, thinking about his touch, his caresses whilst opening and closing the left and right faucets, waiting for it to be just the right temperature.

My daughter comes crashing into me, trying to take cover from her little brother’s terrorism. Frustrated, he tries to wedge himself between us to get her loose. We all tumble down and start laughing. Suddenly he realises he must be a bit more careful with me.

“Mom, are you okay? Did I hurt the baby?”

Seven months along, I wobble back to my feet. “No worries, Timothy. We are just fine.”

Jocelyn makes a break for it and darts to her room, but long gone are the days when she can outrun her brother. I take a deep breath and salvage the rare quiet moment. My thoughts wander again to a distant memory. Just nine years ago, things were very different. I look around the bathroom, remembering where it all began, how far we have come.

Now the world is my oyster. I never knew that I would have to start over at just 28.

I find myself smiling, instantly feeling foolish. I actually have so little, yet so much to be grateful for. No one would blame me for feeling a bit sorry for myself considering the circumstances.

The two kids rush back. The water is just right, and I challenge them to a game of rock, paper, scissors. It is always a fight when it comes to who bathes first, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve.

Jocelyn wins.

Timothy lets out a moan. “How does she always win?”

I give Jocelyn a questioning look.

“What? He makes it too easy. I know his sequence. He does it all the time.”

Timothy is already up in arms. “No, I do not. But I want to toss a coin next time. Then it is not up to us, it is up to fate.”

Fate. That is a word I have not thought about in a long time. I hate the idea of a set predestined path. The thought irritates me and I push it back.

I ruffle Timothy’s dark strands and pull him toward the kitchen. “Okay, next time we will toss a coin. Put some music on. You can choose what is for lunch tomorrow and help me pack it.”

My boy is a foodie. I can see the delight in his eyes. I am pleased with the thought that both my children have a love for the finer things in life. We all need to. How else will we get by if we do not have little novelties to spark some joy.

We dance away and Timothy starts spreading ingredients across the kitchen counter while spinning circles around me. For an eight year old boy, he has some moves. It seems we will be making our famous jaw breaker sandwich, pulling out all the stops. Cold meat, sauces, tomatoes, lettuce, cucumber, gherkins and a fried egg. Before you know it, you have a jaw breaker.

Timothy and I get busy, and I decide to check on Jocelyn.

“Hey sweetie, how far are you?”

I hear the water swishing. “Ah Mom, I will be done in a sec. Can I just add some more hot water and get a little more time?”

I glance at Timothy, who has decided to take it upon himself to fry the egg.

“Sure honey. Tim and I are just about to start building the sandwiches. What sauce do you want on it?”

After a long pause, “Mom, is it fine if I skip most of it and just have some of the leftover chicken for a chicken mayo?”

To be honest, that is not a bad idea and would have made tonight much simpler.

“No worries babe. We will make it for you.”

As I approach the kitchen, I see a look on Tim’s face that breaks my heart. I do not need to ask why.

He misses his father, we all do.

“You okay bud?”

I see him concentrate and put on a brave face. “Yeah Mom. No problems here.”