Ssh, listen, can you hear that? It’s the sound of plane tickets being booked.
Many many years ago my father, of Antipodean extraction, decided he’d had enough of the English weather and skipped off back to the country of his birth leaving my brother and I… a little bereft. I’m not sure Dad ever got it, why we felt we were being abandoned. But you’re grown up, his raised eyebrows seemed to say, you don’t really need me anymore. And the logical, 20-something side of my brain understood this, recognised this but still, you want your parents to be close, to be accessible in times of need – whether good or bad – and we lost this.
He has come back – he came for my brother’s wedding, again shortly after Big was born and again when she was 3. He has never met Small. We have visited too, but with young children for both of us, not to mention the huge expense of shipping a family of 4 by plane, and completely ignoring the fact that I am too absolutely-no-way scared to fly with Small, we haven’t seen him for 4 years. This is a long time. He’s now passed the 80 mark and, you know, ‘not getting any younger’. It’s time.
I am both exhilarated and scared out of my mind to the point of denial. This is not because I am frightened to fly. It is ‘freedom, adventure!’ versus ‘I am scared to leave my children’.
No. I am scared to leave Small.
He and I, we work in our little love bubble of two. It’s a funny world he and I inhabit, but it works and the other people in our lives, well, they fit into it, know their roles, but Small and I we are the lead actors. Our household broke into me and Small, OH and Big when Small when was born which I think is the usual order of things. When Small turned out to be… well, not what we’d anticipated, those teams never broke up.
I have never left him – either of them – for this long.
So, now, with enforced separation… I have to plan a childcare routine that will allow many, many things to happen. Big and Small still have to be got to school and nursery respectively. OH still needs to be able to work 5 days a week and these I think will be fine. But it’s the little things that I as me – mother, main carer, person-who-is-just-better-organised – do as a matter of course that now have to happen without me. Forms will need filling in, lunches will need making, clothes will need ironing… and so I am drafting in the big guns. Two lots of respite, two lots of parents will be on hand to help OH as he currently stands there trilling ‘La, la la’, with his fingers in his ears whenever I mention it.
Whilst I load up the Kindle and buy a new swimming costume. Well, it would be rude not to enjoy it a little, wouldn’t it?