Me: How was school today?

Natan: Good

Me: What did you do?

Natan: Oh, the usual stuff.

Me: What’s the usual stuff?

Natan: Oh, you know…

Me: No, I don’t. That’s why I’m asking.

Natan:  Just stuff.  Lego.  Writing my name.  Do you want to know what I had for lunch?

Me: Yes, what did you have for lunch?

Natan: Carrots, potatoes, tuna, and gravy.

Me: Right, sounds lovely.

Natan: Yes, healthy lunch.

Me: Right. What did you have for pudding?

Natan: Some kind of crispy cake, but I didn’t like that so I didn’t eat it. It was yellow.

Me: Right.

Natan: You wouldn’t have liked it either mummy.

Me: Right.

Bedtime conversations. Priceless.

Have a look here.

This year’s been a whirlwind.  I can’t believe we are planning our first birthday party already – where did 2010 go?

“Yes, you sometimes get asthma.”

“But mummy. Have I got asthma now?” (pronounced asma)

“No darling. Not now.”

“Good” (Huge relief.)

“Why darling? Why good?”

“Because if you have asthma, (pronounced asma) you can’t be a soldier.”

“Oh right. Who told you that?”

“Daddy. Daddy said when he was little he wanted to be a soldier, but because he had asthma (pronounced asma) he couldn’t go in the army.”

“So you want to be a soldier?”

“Yes mummy.”

(Right then.)

If you are mad enough to want to work with us, then have a look at the Join us page on our brand new website.  

We’d love to hear from you.

I cried when I picked him up from his last ever day at nursery today. The reality of the situation finally hit me.  He, on the other hand, took it all in his stride and bounced off as if it was any normal pick up.

I have no idea what sort of fool of myself I will make tomorrow, but I imagine it’s going to be quite a scene. I will try and save it for when I get back in the car at least.  

Tonight I have ironed on name labels to every piece of clothing he owns (almost).  Am I over the top putting his name in his pants and socks?  Oh well, too late. It’s done. 

Tomorrow I will drop him off, kiss him goodbye, and watch him walk off to the first day of the rest of his life. Time will flash in front of me and I will imagine him starting at secondary school, at university, getting married, etc, etc.

I will try to savour the moment.  After all, it’s a big day.

Tomorrow my small boy will become a big boy.

All that said, every day is a learning experience – good and bad – and as I said I’m still alive….which is good.

Have a great rest of week all.

The previous Saturday, my husband Anthony, and a team of determined and rather insane cyclists, left Blackpool Tower for what would be a 600 mile charity ride to the Eiffel Tower.   It took 6 days.  They spent about 50 hours in the saddle in the wind, rain and sun.

They got through more food than I’ve ever seen anyone eat and they shared an experience that none of them will ever forget.  

They got through the week without complaint, with never even a  hint of doubt that each of them would not complete the trip. Every morning, they got up and got on their bikes without question.

 

To the rest of you, you can still donate here.  Please do.

Natan is starting school in a week.

I think he is more ready than me. 

I have taken care of all the practical stuff.  The after school cover is sorted.  The uniform is bought. The name labels are on the way. The daily bottle of milk is ordered and paid for. 

As for the emotional stuff, I don’t think I’ve quite come to terms with the fact that we are just to start a new and important chapter in his life. 

He is growing up.  He continues to amaze me.

The famous first day in his new uniform shot will be posted soon.  I am sure it will be tear-stained (with mine, not his.)

“This is my son. The first life that I created.  Part of my body my soul and my love.

I heard his voice for 20 years. From the moment he arrived in this world to our last telephone conversation:

“ Mom, I am returning home, can you hear me. “

I heard his voice as clearly as I heard his first cry as a baby.  I can still hear his cry at night when he was a child.  You never gave me peace to sleep at night.  I used to lie next to you pacifying you. 

When you were sick the first time, I was so worried about you.

I took you to your first day at school and you made me promise that I would return to bring you home.  This I promised you.  I have never broken my promises to you.  I have all your drawings on the fridge and the walls of the kitchen so that you would know that this is your home amongst your drawings and the memories of you.

You grew up to quickly in front of my old and tired eyes.  At your barmitvcah I suddenly saw how quickly you had grown.  I was the proudest mother in the world.

You grew up to be successful, charming and clever.  (This is my son, I thought then, this is my son)

When you started going out with your friends  part of me would go with you. I used to hug you and ask you to be careful.

“Don’t worry mom, I am a big boy”

I used to wake up at night looking at my watch and thinking, where are you, I am waiting for you to return home.  All I wanted was for you to come back safely. When I heard you falling into bed from exhaustion, I knew that you were home safely with me.  Then I would be able to go to sleep myself peacefully. 

When you got your driving license, I used to pray that you would travel safely and not swerve into the gutter and you would not knock another car. I hoped you would not drive if you did not have to. 

You never disappointed me and you were always responsible and happy.  I was always thrilled to see your smile even though I had had sleepless nights worrying you.

When you received your first call up papers to the army, my heart skipped a few beats.  You were only 17 years old.  You came back very proud and happy with big bright shiny eyes.  I wished that you would not have to go to combat and that you would not get called to a dangerous zone.    You just wanted to protect your country.  It is not the country that raised you, it is Me, I who raised you. 

The day that you shut the door behind you and you travelled to do your army service.  I counted the days till you would return home.  I decided then and there that I would go to shul and to thank G-d and ask him to return my son to me safely.  Instead of going out I would wash your uniforms and prepare food for when you would come home.

The day that I heard loud knocking on the front door, I knew something was terribly wrong.  I opened the door praying that I would not see what I saw.

Two uniformed  army personnel and an army medic.  One was your commander and he held my hand tightly.  I did not have to hear the words he was telling me.  The darkness cut the blood supply from my veins in my arm and I understood that something was terribly wrong.

In the news they show your photographs.  I go to shul and I pray.  I pray all the time, even when I am sleeping, I am praying.  This is my son, my son who was snatched into Gaza.  My son who might never return.”