Today I'm writing about another wonderful day through my journey of motherhood. My little three year old Matthew Nathan was sitting on the bus today, next to me, one hand in mine, the other wrapped around Teddy. Humming the alphabet song, stopping every so often to point out an ambulance or fire truck, he was content just to be with me. Our bus route takes us through various ethnic neighbourhoods and I so enjoy listening to the rainbow of accents that share our company. This afternoon a West Indian lady sat down in the seat directly in front of Matt's and her long braided hair flopped over the back of her seat. Matt was mesmerized and sat fixated on these long black braids that lay only inches away from him. I let my mind wander as we drove through the cobbled stoned streets of our beautiful town. I felt Matt loosen his grip on my hand, and releasing his fingers from mine, I gently settled my hand on his leg in case the bus were to come to a sudden halt. I enjoy a good day dream and on more than one occasion we have missed our stop and I have found myself exploring uncharted territory with Matt and Teddy in tow. At one point the woman turned around and smiled at us, and I returned a smile that thanked her for her unspoken compliment on my child. This happened repeatedly but I paid little attention, each time anxiously awaiting the return to the musings of my meandering mind. I love getting lost in my thoughts. A fifteen minute free holiday to my faraway fairytale land leaves me feeling so refreshed.
Today as we got off the bus we got more looks and glances than we normally do. I am totally accustomed to people looking at us, for I am a foreigner in this charming town we call home, and I speak to Matt in what is to the natives a foreign language. But today there were slighty more eyes fixed on us as we got off the bus, and as we walked back to our apartment it quickly became apparent why this was the case. As Matt skipped along the pavement my eyes fell upon a little synthetic black braid that he had dangling out of his duffle coat pocket. Aghast, I mumbled an unmentionable bad word under my breath and trotted along behind my son, in my heart vowing to savor every mistake and every accomplishment my child makes, every laugh and every swear word that motherhood brings forth.
