I am stirring Pad Thai noodles into an overcooked stir-fry concoction, brown rice is on its way. The early evening has settled on the kitchen like a beehive on a bear’s head. Lea is reciting from Kingfisher, The Sea is Salty. Her little voice melts words and sentences into an ongoing phonetic stream. Zoë, after a frenzied half-hour search, has located her mobile and is chatting away, oblivious of her surroundings. And Julian is beating his tambourine, shouting some staccato nonsense into the air which is already replete with sound bites, “Pow-uh-ane-juh, pow-uh-ane-juh...” “The Gulper Eel has an enormous mouth, look!” Lea lets us know and adds, “He can eat prey several times it’s own size.” I try to steady my eyes for a second on the open pages, while continuing to stir. The doorbell rings, and then the phone. I answer the first and Julian beats me to the second. Pinching a Royal Mail delivery under one arm, I snatch the receiver out of his grubby hand and hiss, “Go wash you hands, NOW!” before answering with an unadulterated British accent (eighteen months of practice and this is the best I can do...), “Hilowwh?” Water is splashing, Zoë is giggling, Lea has moved on to the Angler Fish. My friend has been diagnosed with cancer.
Somewhere the rice is dutifully burning.
2 comments:
You know, this kind of window into your everyday lives is really important to me. The day-to-day, chock full of reading, writing, singing, playing, and thinking, is what makes your kids so special and you can give yourself one helluva pat on the back for how they're turning out -- valuable citizens of the world and of the mind.
I can't wait to see you guys in August...Love, Onkel Alex
I don't want to imagine Zoe on a mobile.
And I hate to hear of the cancer.
Post a Comment