The end of ever-increasing incrementally exhausting number of days began with me waking up not even knowing if my mother had made her flight to Dublin and ended in a bar with a friend’s birthday party, full of people I dearly loved seeing, but costing so much effort from my non-existent energy reserves that I almost didn’t make it. Thankfully, a quick look at my phone confirmed that we did, in fact, need to make haste to the airport to collect Baba, despite her near miss due to an unfortunately timed car accident which completely halted traffic close to the airport. The latter was a near disaster until The Mister gently refused to let me wallow in my fatigued pity party and pushed me to dig out a dress and slap on some make up, being absolutely correct in the belief that I would regret not going much more than I would regret not resting at home. I did in fact have a wonderful evening full of friends and laughter and catching up with people I don’t often get to see, as well as the opportunity to see the jubilation and excitement of a friend getting pampered and spoiled on her birthday after a very tough year.
Today, was, therefore, a day of rest in almost every sense of the word. Other than a morning rush to get Hawkeye to his weekly RugbyTots session, I cannot say I ventured very far from my favourite spot on the couch. I may have even napped there for some time midday.
The presence of my mother could not have come at a better time given how worn to the bone our little household feels at the moment for various reasons. Hawkeye, familiar with Baba through frequent Skype calls, ran through the arrivals lounge at the airport, shouting with excitement and wrapping his arms around her, causing strangers around him to smile warmly. Baba brought presents, and patience, and focused attention to his antics that Mama is simply not able to manage these days.
Following our return from RugbyTots I lay sprawled on our bed next to The Mister, listening to my mother bustling about the kitchen. Hawkeye began the supremely annoying habit of flinging open our bedroom door before running back out again only to return within seconds. Short on patience I finally snapped at him.
“Why don’t you go help Baba in the kitchen!”
“Oh yes, I go help Baba in the kitchen!” Hawkeye babbled excitedly. “Baba I’m coming to help you!”
As he was pulling our door closed behind him on the way his way out, The Mister and I overheard my mother responding.
With a perfectly straight face The Mister looked up from his tablet. “It’s incredible how she managed to say that with almost no trace of sarcasm. Truly heroic.”
We dissolved into a fit of slightly hysterical giggles.
When I next saw Baba and Hawkeye she was serving me breakfast and he had a dishtowel folded in a triangle and wrapped around his waist as an impromptu apron trailing behind her, carrying paper napkins and cutlery. Absolutely heroic indeed.