the mommy tree

Like I’ve been saying in these last few posts, our family has been spending a LOT of time together. Like, every waking hour, all day long, from July 6 (the day we moved out of our apartment in New York) until…well, right now. There were five precious mornings while we were in Long Beach Island where the boys went to soccer camp for a few hours, but even then–they were together, if at least away from me.

Today is Thursday and school starts for the boys on Sunday (Sunday to Thursday is the work week in Abu Dhabi) and as far as I’m concerned it’s not a moment too soon.

We’re more or less moved into to our new apartment, which, inshallah, has a third bedroom that we’ve turned into the “play your computers in here and leave me the hell alone” room, and that’s been a lifesaver, because by now? By now that whole family adventure thing is wearing just a little thin.  There aren’t any playmates for them in our new building; it’s too hot to go outside–and even if it weren’t, what would we do? Wander around together, that’s what.

Our building has a pool on the top floor–inshallah again–that has become our escape hatch. When the boys get too scritchy-scratchy, we go up there and splash around for a few hours.  The boys can play splash wars, do cannonballs, throw matchbox cars into the deep end and dive for them…the other day they took a flexible cloth frisbee we have and turned it into a pontoon boat: balanced matchbox cars on the top and floated the whole thing back and forth across the deep end.

When I get in the water, though, they only want to hang onto me. One kid on each arm, or one kid on my back and the other on my arm, or one bouncing on my knee and the other swinging off my hand, or both clinging to my waist and splashing each other.

I’m sure the other English speakers at the pool think I’m a complete bitch: “let go of me!” I say, and dive into the deep end, but damned if they don’t follow me.  “Stop hanging on me!” I mutter, and pull off the limpet fingers.

Yesterday, as they pulled on me, climbed on me, clung to me, swam through my legs and over my shoulders, I said (okay maybe I was yelling, but only a little bit) LET GO OF ME WHAT AM I TREE?

Both boys looked at me. “Yes,” they said in unison, “you are.”

Do you think their school would mind if I dropped them off early? Like, maybe, today?

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2 Responses to the mommy tree

  1. Stasha September 1, 2011 at 3:14 am #

    The real questions what kind of a tree. Tall and slender one, that will live forever. hey, I’ll take it.
    Do what all the locals do; drop them off at the mall with a mobile and some spare change for the arcades. Then pick them up at the designated time and location.

  2. Varda (SquashedMom) September 1, 2011 at 3:33 am #

    You know I feel your pain. I have a pair of monkeys myself. Boys and their moms. Chant with me: school school school school.

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