Holding Hands

What is it with hands? What is it all about when someones hand is in your own it's all good but when that someone happens to be your child it is different? Why is it when that little hand is clutching mine I turn to jelly? Why is it when my daughters palm is against mine I feel such Love, such Hope, such Despair, such Devotion, such Joy, such Security, such Insecurity, such Fear? Why do I silently cry when those fingers are intertwined with mine?

I feel so much Love and Joy at being the Protector, the Nurturer, the Father clasping that hand. I feel I can Influence, Guide and Teach by being a Library of Knowledge. The Library of Ancient Alexandria!

Then why do I feel so Scared or so Sad?

Is it because I have lived and gone through all the shit in life I have been through to be where I am now? Am I just too sensitive or am I just insecure? I don't know!

As all I see is a small hand holding mine and when I feel it grasping mine with such Love and security I just break.

Can someone tell me..... I just don't get it!

What is it about Holding Hands?

"I fear everyday with such Love or is it I Love everyday with such Fear?" Alejandro

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I don't like school

The day had arrived where my young academic was attending her first day of three year old kindy. Everything was at it should be. Bags packed, lunch prepared, water bottle and uniform shirt purchased.

Once there.... All children and parents were given name tags (great) as I surely wanted to make idle chatter and find new friends (not). The good thing about this however, was now I was able to tell off any other kid by their correct title.

Ok, so with name badge on both our persons (mine upside down) we headed into our first activity of the longest two hours of my life. This activity was quite straightforward. All children sit on the mat and listen to a story then sing a song and have a little dance, parents join in too. Not so difficult.

Except my 'rebel without any reason' (so I thought) had taken exception to this and decided to stand, arms folded staring straight at the teacher!

Teacher, "Sit down Amili, emily, Am...ly, Emma?!"

Not a movement.

Teacher, "The parents of Emily, Am...el, Emilia?... this girl. Can you get her to sit down or take her off the mat."

Being the brave type I am, I nudged or should I say thrust my now embarrassed partner to deal with it as I quickly pocketed my name tag.

After this incident of defiance things were quite normal with paintings, cuttings, gluing and lego. Playtime was as I thought it would be like, with the boys running around pushing any unexpected child of mine over. Children playing in the sandpit tossing sand into my child's face.  More boys pushing my child down the slide as she was obviously taking too long. That last one did make her cry.

"Are you ok?", I ask.
"That boy hurt my feelings." I hear through the sobbing.
"That's ok, he has to deal with his stupidity for the rest of his life."

When it came time for the class to finish I was absolutely exhausted. Yet I did have to ask Amelie in front of the teacher as we were leaving as to what was the cause for her insurrection earlier? I was then told that all she wanted was a hug from the teacher.
"Why?" I ask.
"Because the teacher gave that boy a hug. You know the one who was having tantrums."

You think being in some ways human she would of made an effort and just given a small hug or even a pat. But no. Just an,"ok."

Nice one you rigid governessy! You 'aint no Mary Poppins. Have a Heart!

And yes I'll see you next week.

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