The second installment in my series of stories about the Bafanaz; their growing up and the various adventures we’ve had together…because being a mother is one thing, but there’s nothing quite like being an aunt!
I come back from work on Friday, exhausted and looking forward to lying down.
Toeing off my shoes, I flex my toes slowly to get the blood flowing again as I look around for my three boys, when…
Out of nowhere, SpongeBob runs up to me hollering about something or the other, and in his excitement promptly stomps on my foot.
Through the stabbing buzz of pain, I hear Mad Hatter run up to me and ask where am I coming from?
You have to meet MH to understand him. He is destined to be either a Pastor or a Barrister.
The boy is CONSTANTLY asking questions. I mean, annoying, unnerving, unnecessary questions, sha.
Like if you’re in the shower, he will yell through the door, “Are you bathing?”
He sees you eating, he asks, “Are you eating?”.
He sees you talking on the phone, he has to ask – yep, you guessed it- “Are you answering a call?”
And then sometimes, just for variety, he will ask you something you have no idea about or you’ve completely forgotten, just to see you squirm as your semi-atrophied brain tries to recall your Primary 1 Mathematics basics, or how to teach someone facing the opposite direction how to tie a shoelace. (Am I really the only one that struggles with this?)
I think he’s just at that age, but some days I really do feel he’s determined to drive us all mad.
It doesn’t help of course, that when he starts with the whole cross examination/SSS question sessions, his mother flaps her hand in my direction and says,
“I don’t know, biko, go and ask Aunty Uche. She has Google, she knows the answer!”
So up he runs, yelling (he’s always yelling; if I hadn’t seen him bleed before, I’d have sworn he has Red Bull in his veins, not blood; he is that energetic. Just watching him bounce around makes you tired),
“Are you coming from work? Are you tired? Are you carrying your handbag?” (Like say I resemble thief, sha. I fit carry anoda man bag before?)
And the great thing about him is that he does not stand still long enough to get the answer.
He bobs up and down three times, very fast, and races off to torment (erm, I mean interrogate) someone else.
So I’m sitting down to rub my foot, and poor little SpongeBob, forgotten in the melee of Mad Hatter’s whirlwind entrance and exit, quietly climbs up onto my lap and says,
“Is it your leg?” Always perceptive, he knows he has hurt me by mistake.
“Yes, my darling, its paining me”
The little man just jumps down silently and rubs my feet (BOTH of them!), climbs back up and kisses my cheek.
Then, fetching a deep sigh, he puts his little head on my chest and proceeds to listen to my heartbeat.
You want to know the bizarre part of this whole story?
By the time he was back in my lap, I’d forgotten the foot completely.
Aren’t children such a blessing?