When you are raising three small children, the first thing to go is the distant, almost outrageous hope to relax. Catching a breath is sometimes possible. The only chance I get to do that is when: 1) the kids are at school/preschool, 2) they’re asleep, 3) they’re with my husband, 4) they’re with my mother-in-law.
Enter my mother (or as we call her, Mak) who is visiting our Kuala Lumpur home from Sydney. Suddenly, with an extra pair of helping hands, I found myself with more spare time than I am used to. So I did what any time-poor parent would do – I worked.
“It’s okay to take a break,” says Mak.
Growing up, Mak was the one who taught me how to read, to find solace in a richly imagined universe. Now, as a globe-trotting grandmother, she is teaching me how to relax in the real world.
Life comes in seasons, and she’s the living proof of that
The rarely smiling mother of my childhood who ran a tight ship with six kids is so different from the mother I know today. I love getting to know this version of her, and she gives me hope that one day, it won’t always be this hectic with my little ones. Life comes in seasons, and she’s the living proof of that.
My kids call my mother Nenek. Nenek is their funny grandmother who loves to dance with them, buy them blueberries and run after them in the playground. My Singaporean childhood and my Sydney adolescence always had my mother in it. She brought me tasty noodle soup while I pored over my homework, and she combed and tied my hair to help me relax while I studied for my exams. She had six kids to raise, clothe, feed and send to school. My father sent her the money, and she took on the Sisyphean task of getting us ready for school, getting us to and from school and sending us to our after-school activities. She had so little time to herself, and never, ever complained.
Recently, after dropping off my kids at school and preschool one day, Mum turned to me and said it was time to eat. It was neither breakfast nor lunchtime. Though, to her credit, in Malaysia it’s always time to eat. She wanted us to watch a movie, so we watched Black Panther 2 and loved it. She had a massage and told me to have one too, so I did. She wants us to go for a facial next. I don’t remember the last time I had a facial. These are all the ways she’s been gently nudging me to “take a break”.
The author with her siblings and mum behind the wheel. Source: Supplied
Now that I’m deep in this season of young children, I can barely believe that I was once lonely and longed for what I currently have. These days I am hungry for more solitude and wish for fewer demands on me. When I get overwhelmed and make the mistake of taking it out on my kids, I always make it a point to apologise to them afterwards. “I’m sorry I yelled. I’ve been tired, but I’m the grown-up and it’s my job to be the calm one.”
My mother reassures me that it’s okay. She tells me that small kids are tiring, and I’m only human
My mother reassures me that it’s okay. She tells me that small kids are tiring, and I’m only human. After a tricky morning with one of my kids vomiting from a stomach bug, I was helping my eldest daughter with her school project. Memorising zero to 10 in Arabic was hard for me when I was younger, and it’s challenging for my seven-and-a-half-year-old. She had to recite it from memory, and I had to record it and upload it on her classroom Telegram channel.
Being the little overachiever that she is, my daughter wanted to recite zero to 10 in both Arabic and Malay. After what felt like attempt number 203, I had reached my limit. My tired five-year-old daughter was resting beside my mother-in-law on the sofa. My husband had to take my active three-year-old son out to a car wash to stop him from running straight into his sister’s recording. I was on a timer, as always. I just wanted the project to be done.
My mother rubbed my head when I started laughing from frustration at my daughter’s earnest attempts. After my hysterical laughing fit, I promptly dissolved into tears. Stunned, my daughter stared at me and asked, “Why are you crying, Mama? What do you want?”
I couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t tell her: I want things to stop being so hard because you’re all so little and need me so much. Instead, I said, “I want to sleep,” which felt better than saying that sometimes I wished for blissful oblivion. My daughter relaxed instantly and laughed. “What? You’re crying because you want to sleep? You’re so funny, Mama.”
This was the first time my mother had seen me cry in a long, long time. “It’s okay to take a break,” she reminded me again. So we did. And when my daughter tried again, she did it, and I recorded all of it – just in time, too, because my husband came home with my active son. Despite not hugging me much in my childhood, my mother hugged the both of us after we finished the project. Success.
“Good job!” she told us, and we both smiled.
That night, she hugged me before I went up to my bedroom and said, “Inshallah, tomorrow will be better.”
She was right. The next day was better.
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