A letter to my little Sponge
This morning was just like every other morning. I was rushing around doing all the things I told myself I would do the night before. That was until I got hooked on a seemingly pointless Netflix show… oops. But back to the morning, Florrie, you were sitting at the table eating breakfast, just as I finally sat down to join you my phone rang. Not one moment had passed and you were on that phone like a hawk. You took it straight to your room and shut it in the top draw, still ringing. Then marched back in, sat down and said “no phones at the table Muma”. I nearly burst in what can only be described as sheer terror at your wisdom. I wanted to high-five you while simultaneously punish myself for not being present… again! We are about to sell our house and move in with Step Dad of the Century. We are all pumped about it, but I have to admit I am bloody nervous. What if he becomes your favourite? What if I am the odd one out? Should we get a cat?! Eek!
We won’t do breakfast in the house just the two of us lived in for much longer. Those warm sunny Hawkes Bay mornings where we sat at our secondhand table on our secondhand chairs in our tiny wee kitchen. The ones where we talked about our day ahead or did a puzzle or drew something while eating Weetbix just like Grandma makes - albeit with slightly less sugar.
That night I had a friend over for a wine. We sat on the couch while you buzzed around us, and we talked about loosing weight. I should of known you were always listening because later you said to me ‘whats a calorie Muma?’ YOU ARE FOUR YEARS OLD! You should'n’t need to know and again I feel the need to punish myself.
This was twice in one day I did things I knew I should'n’t have done. Twice I feel the need to remind myself ‘Abbe, you’re doing the best you can with the knowledge that you had at that time’. So instead of going hard on the internal dialogue of self-hatred I can only but try to remind myself you are always watching and you are always listening.
I’m sorry if I say or do the wrong things, but I am still learning how to do this good-life gig too. So I will teach you what I do know (when I remember) and the rest we can learn together. We are moving in to a new chapter in our lives, one where I hope I get to spend more time with you instead of being the only person carrying the financial burdens of running a home. But what I promise is that our traditions will still remain. We will still have Friday night fish and chip picnics - just with a few extra scoops and bad jokes. We will still take adventures like spontaneous sunrise trips, although we might have to share the blanket over another set of knees.
I don’t want to ever stop you soaking it all up in that little brain of yours! Please always remind me of the good and I will be a sponge too.