"...leave us kids alone!"

Edo asked for school stories. She's the sort of person who has a determination to get the things she wants, and asks with an honest expectation of a hearty reception and prompt fulfillment of her requests. She's the kind you cannot say no to but with a twinge of conscience.

At times, though, there is either too much or too little to write, and one just keeps staring at the screen with the intelligent look of a Welsh sheep, musing on the meaning of life. Starting school with my oldest daughter left me in that state of mind for several weeks, and it is only recently that I've begun verbalizing my impressions of primary school.

What a thrilling experience! That's what you guys think, right? Well, you're wrong. After spending numerous hours planning and calculating and getting ready for the challenge, I suddenly found myself in the uncomfortable boots of Ms I-don't-know I-cannot. I had shivers, not thrills. For a couple of weeks every morning was an enemy. Schoolbag, elevenses, drink, where's the bottle?, is her hair done?, must have a pee, are we late Mom?, note to the teacher, haven't read hers, more cash to shed, what in the world is Paws magazine?, music and swimming - and early to bed...!

At school, my gorgeous sits next to a lovely young man, they exchange smiles. JG thrusts her hand into the air in the middle of every question, she answers and explains her views in complete sentences, she listens to the teachers with eyes glittering with zeal and interest, she is popular and adored, her drawings are put out on display in the assembly hall, she flies in second at the PE lesson behind a national team runner...

I mean - probably. I don't know for sure. She is too tired to answer my questions after school, and she is too independent to ask for my opinion. I kept trying to elicit the details of her days. It only made her angry. "Mom, ain't you got a life of your own?!" - she said one afternoon. We haven't really discussed school since then. We just walk or jump into the car and drive home. We talk about what has happened to me that day, and JG appreciates that she has a mother who has a life of her own - just like she does.

Oh, bother!

A young couple are sitting outside the lab waiting for an ultrasound scan to be done to establish the pregnancy. They're handsome, intelligent-looking people, very cheerful and chatty, the sort you would always wish to see as parents.

The door is flung open, the woman disappears behind a white sheet which is hung up for a screen. Indiscernable noises from inside, shuffling and creaking, machine noises and people noises. The father to be is widgeting on the chair with a proudish smile on his face. They basically know... It's just a check.

The wife emerges with tears in her eyes, kind of grievous, kind of angry.
- What's the problem? Are we not...? - asks the man agitatedly. Everyone is staring at them with curious compassion.
- I'm pregnant... there is a baby -she goes sobbing.
- What's the matter then?
- You know, I've always wanted twins... but there's only one...

And everyone is staring at them with a curious compassion.

Labor Party

It ain't at all fashionable to sympathize with the Labor Party in Hungary today. As a matter of fact, favoring any party or membership in any immediately puts you in people's bad-box. Americans at least have an easy solution to avoid conflict with foreigners. They just say: "Ugh, Bush?! Can't stand the look of him." - and they are carried round on the shoulders of their new friends anywhere in the world. (Well, good job, they are...) But Hungarians are very hard-necked folks, they are not easy to please. The safest option probably is to hate every single politician and their parties. They are not good enough for a brilliant nation like us. We all know that - but God only knows how those guys got into the parliament then!

But this labor party I'm writing about is not what you think. It's one of the greatest experience one can have, an awesome group with the most admirable agenda ever. It's the circle where past embraces the future, where much blood is shed but wonderous victories are gained. Forget about politics. I'm talking about the women in the delivery room.

I was on a day-shift as a trainee midwife when a lovely young woman - let's call her Joy - was admitted to the delivery room. She was cheerfully plodding behind an enormous belly. Instead of timidly looking around and groaning quietly - as well-behaved women in labor are expected -, she started waving wildly to a lady in the far back: "My waters broke just now, amazing, isn't it?" (Now, it's not unusual to come into contact with slightly retarded people at a regional state hospital, so I had a quick glance at the documentation to see if there was anything in the case history about phychotic episodes or such. There was nothing, so I accepted her seemingly inadequate emotional outburst as a physiological variation.) It turned out that they were old friends, and had attended a birth club together - with the third woman, just emerging from under the shower...

Just then the doorbell went, and a tall pregnant woman entered, smilingly greeting the others - by name! I was astonished. "My sister-in-law" - Joy explained. - "Hey, gals, we can have a labor party!"

(All four labors went okay, with no complication at delivery. The babies were born two and two with a couple of hours difference. The mothers all agreed, that it was the most exciting and satisfying party they had ever had.)

Siblings

Perhaps I should have titled this story: „The Brotherhood”, which pronounced in a certain tone and manner has an air of secret, something romantic, something occult. Only those out from the back-streets and passageways of a ghetto may really understand the psychology of the alliance between siblings.

One bright day all the children were happily playing away in the back yard of the kindergarten. The villagers take great pride in their kindergarten, it is a lovely place with good teachers. There’s loads to do there: there are swings and climbing frames and trees and sandpits, balls and huge building blocks. There was much running about and screams and giggles and all. Enough noise, motion and stress to kill a test-rat.

But hey, one corner is almost empty! Three blond, blue-eyed kids are rocking on a see-saw. Very charming. I wonder why they are avoided by the others. Oh, what a picture, what an idyll! They’re talking gently and quietly, they obviously don’t mind what everybody else is doing. They are perfectly content with the rickety see-saw.

Now a little boy appears on the scene. He is approching the three slowly, peeping back at the group he left behind over his shoulder. „So, you are playing here, eh?” - he asks with a shy smile, taking one more step towards the see-saw. Six blue eyes are staring back at him. „ We are.”- sniffs at him the blond boy with the two girls nodding behind him. „We are siblings.”- he adds with gravity. And the poor mopet turns round and tries to disappear among the other children: They are siblings - the power is with them...

Fish and Foetus

Have you ever tried to depict a situation to someone who had never experienced anything of the kind or explain a sensation to someone who had never felt anything similar? We all have. But frankly, folks, do kisses taste of honey and tears and peach and sweet chestnut, and are they hot and cool and gentle and passionate, are they as if a petal touched your lips or dew was dripping on your tongue? Now if it's so difficult to tell what a kiss feels like, what should women say to men about exclusively womanly experiences? Some 5 years ago, when expecting our second baby, an acquintance of ours started asking me what it felt like to have a baby moving in me. I wanted to appear very clever, took a deep breath - and put on a proud but prudent smile, I thought suited the topic - and... I paused. (You probably think it quite impossible to pause before a sentence is started, but you must understand: it's about me, and I am able to pause before starting.) I could have said, it was like bowel movements, but that I found too base. I thought of saying it was just like it all happened on the outside of my belly, but this seemed too simplistic. "Errrr, well, maybe like a fish?" - I said, hoping it would make some sense to our friend. "I cannot really imagine what it would feel like to have a fish in my belly." - he replied. And...: "Like a baby swimming in there." - explained my two-year old readily.

Intro

Well, well. It is now easier to set up a blog than ever, yet writing it remains the same challenge. But challenge is good. My father used to call it "backside motivation" as opposed to "in-front motivation", ie. reward. Let's see how far I get with it!

So, the motivation behind this project is very simple. Or rather complex. Or much rather both: I'm a mother. My kids must be the loveliest bunch in the world - except for yours, of course. Yet, my lot have a very unique circumstance: me. Being born to a certain person makes a whole lot of difference, you know. First of all, if you're not born to any certain person, it means, you haven't entered the light of this world yet. (Which makes me wonder what on the earth you are doing in front of a computer.)

So, at first, I thought I would write a terribly serious page, but - alas! - life is already packed with terribly serious things and seriously terrible ones too. Nay, we're gonna have fun here!

Oh, the topic? Anything to do (or not to do) with kids - from daydreams to schooling.

Kind regards: RaySeeker