“I’m not gonna have kids. I want to have a life and a career. I’ll be speaking at the TED conference in five years. Not at TedX, but at the real conference.” Alexa told me. It was Alexa’s first day in my team. She’s the type of young person full of energy, dreams, and utopian ideas. I’ll give her six months before she’ll be hit by reality. She continued telling me about her goals and dreams, while I looked outside the window. I loved looking at the buildings, wondering who lives there. Who would have a BBQ on their porch? What type of person owns a pink bike with feathers attached to its handlebar? “I have to go,” Alexa said, the train stopped and stepped outside.
“Have a life? As if parents don’t have a life.” I later told Mara, my sister, when she arrived at her home from training. I was babysitting her children, like I do every Thursday. I’ll pick them up from school, we go to the park, play a bit and then head home. At the start my sister would have had dinner ready. I told her several times to not bother, I can cook. She used to give me that weird look and reminded me of the burned rice and mushy pasta I prepared for her ages ago. The next week I called in on Wednesday with two Tupperware: One was rice, with chickpeas and roasted aubergines, her favorite. The other one had pasta with tomato sauce, lentils and red bell peppers, the kids favorites. She laughed “ok, ok, I see you did really learn how to cook.” While she put the Tupperware in the fridge she added “If you cook meat, let me know, we…” “I know, we normally only have it on the weekends.” I finished her sentence.
Mara sat down on the bench in the hallway, on the kids’ jackets and hats, untying her shoes. She hardly had space to put her feet down. The kids’ boots and school bags strewn around the place. She stopped what she was doing. Uncharacteristic of her. She would do a million things at a time. I was always amazed by it. She could have three conversations simultaneously, while making dinner. And nothing would go wrong: Dinner tasted amazing, every question got answered. But now she stopped in her tracks, sat up straight and fastened her eyes directly at me. I could feel her gaze piercing through me.
“Parents have a life. It’s just not theirs alone. When you become a parent you still live, but now every decision that you make isn’t only about you or your friends. It’s about this other human being, who doesn’t have the skills to make decisions. Just look around here, it’s a fucking mess again and someone has to explain, again, that this is not ok, and go to the trouble of tidying it up a bit. It’s like every second of your life, you need to share it. I don’t know how often I had to help solve an argument between the kids while taking a shit: Zana took my favorite pen I got from my best friend, the one with the sparkling lid. Louisa is playing her shitty rock music too loud. Laura took my makeup and doesn’t give it back. I have no idea what the kids expect I’m able to do while I’m literally sitting on the toilet. You smile. But it isn’t funny. Look around you. Nothing is truly mine. The books, the jewelry, even my laptop, isn’t only mine. Sometimes I purposefully buy food that I know the kids hate so that, for once, I don’t have to share it. You know what Zana did yesterday? She ate raw ginger. MY ginger. For fuck sake, also that is gone.” She shook her head and went back to getting out of her trainers, grabbed her bag, and, while kicking some boots in a more acceptable position, went into the kitchen.
Laura was sitting at the kitchen table, struggling with her division homework. Her eyes red from crying. “I tried to explain it to her, but she doesn’t get it” I whispered to my sister. In her typical dry manner, Mara asked her to talk through the problem “Tell it just like the teacher said”. In less than ten minutes Mara achieved what I failed to do in one hour: Explain division to a nine-year old child.
Laura packed up her school books and joined Zana in the living room. I passed on the news from Laura and Zana’s teacher, who are still in primary school. Mara waves her hand “I know, I know. My phone kept on vibrating from the parent’s group chats. Some people have nothing else to do than to comment on everything.” Laura burst into the kitchen waving a card “Mom, I got invited to a birthday party Saturday. Can I go? I have to buy a present! Can we do this tomorrow?” Mara took the card, checked the details, cross-checked her calendar on the phone and the other one on the kitchen wall. “Yes, you can go. We’ll have to buy the present Saturday morning. Sorry, can't do it earlier”. The event was noted in the calendar, with pencil. In case it changes.
“Are there leftovers?” Mara asked.
“Yes, one portion,” I said.
“Hmm, did Louisa eat? Is she home yet?”
“No,” I replied.
Mara opened the fridge, stared at it’s content, but closed the door without taking anything out. She was thinking about what to make, but the clock already said nine in the evening. “How was training?” I asked, but before she could reply Louisa entered the house and came directly into the kitchen. “Oh, I’m so hungry. We had no time to eat, just studied for this stupid test tomorrow. Ask me anything about lakes, rivers and mountains in Europe. Actually, no, ask me nothing. Nobody asks me anything!” She grabbed the plate with leftovers and on the way to the kitchen table said “Mum, I need new art supplies. I’ll send you a Whatsapp with what I need.” She threw a look into the living room, mumbled hi to her siblings and sat down at the kitchen table. Headphones in, listening to her music. Her fingers tapping to the rhythm.
When I left two hours later, Mara still hadn't had dinner or drank a glass of water. The protein shake stood untouched on the kitchen counter. I turned around at the door, noticing the boots and bags strewn in the hallway. Should I have put them away properly? Nothing is put away properly in her house, what does it matter where the boots and bags are? I wondered. Her eyes were tired and her mind somewhere else. I hugged her goodbye. Walking away I remembered her message from earlier today. She sounded frustrated and really pissed at a team member. I never asked.
It was approaching midnight when Mara finally sat down on the couch with her favorite mug. The kitchen was clean enough, the boots thrown in the shoe box, and the school bags kicked into the corner. She didn’t take out the lunch boxes, that’s the kids job. There will be stress in the morning, so be it.
The tea was warm and sweet, the perfect ending of a day. She still had her sports clothes on. She stank. But she forgot to turn on the boiler so it’s either a cold shower now, or a warm shower later. But then it’s going to be very late. She could also be disgusting, just go to bed like that and shower tomorrow morning. The tea made her sleepy, and she was mentally and physically too drained to have a shower now. She looked at her phone. Five new messages. Messages often mean obligations. Another task, another human being who needs something from her. It was Maira, her sister. A couple of pictures of the kid. The last message read “Sorry, didn’t ask about your day. What happened at work?” Mara shook her head, sighted and hesitated. Should she reply? Putting it all in a text will take too long. On top of that Maira always goes out on Thursday after leaving her place. A way to relax from the exertion of taking care of kids, she explained once with a laugh.
“Nothing that important,” she lied.
With love to my kids. You are all amazing! Never stop being you, exploring the world and who you are.