The actual saying is ‘many a true word said in jest’ of course toddlers don’t have that level of higher thinking to dress it up as a joke. They really do say what they think and don’t give a shit. Like pointing to your belly and declaring “you’ve got a wobbly belly” or “small boobies” while laughing. Yes, I know they don’t understand what they’re saying all of the time or that their brutal honesty can hurt but it doesn’t stop their words from stopping you in your tracks and making you reflect. Not just on whether you should have avoided that pack of biscuits at work. Even bigger than that.
Eliza and I arrived in Katoomba in the Blue Mountains today and ended up having dinner in a nearby restaurant. Dinner consisted of chips with a side of broccoli for her, nothing else on the menu was of interest apparently. She was waxing lyrical about being lucky because she had a jar of ketchup and I didn’t. I went on to say that I felt I was the luckiest because I had her and that she was my best friend. No response. So I asked if I was her best friend and this is the response I got
“No Mummy, Daddy is my best friend and I’m yours”
I then pulled my sad face and realising she didn’t quite get the two way friendship thing I said well who’s best friend am I then? To which she replied,
And there you have it. The sledge hammer to your stomach. Yes, I was Nanna’s best friend and she was certainly mine. My eyes welled up and she looked at me long and hard as she often does when this happens and then changed the subject. I’ve got very good at the art of not letting the tears spill over now. Just the welling and hoping no one sees. Sunglasses have been helpful this holiday. On the beach at Whitehaven when a moment washed over me of longing to tell her how beautiful it was. Another time on the ferry from Manly. Hearing her voice saying “Oh Al, was it choppy?” and wanting to tell her it was actually more like a mill pond. Something she used to say. Only my siblings will hear her voice when they read that. Those are just two examples of the almost daily welling up but like I say, I’ve perfected the art of not letting it progress to full on tears so much so that you could be forgiven for forgetting it ever happened.
This it seems is the case when something has not directly affected you. We all resume our daily lives once the shock has passed.
We are fast approaching the one year anniversary of Mum’s death. I deliberately booked to be travelling back from Australia that day so that I will be distracted from how awful and raw it still is even a year on.
Not quite sure how we got here but we did.
In other news… I’m apparently now Joy, Topsy and Tim’s Mum. This is an improvement on being Tim and even Topsy so I’ll take it but I do question Eliza’s judgment because that women seriously has her shit together. Every lunch they seem to have a virtuous meal and when the little brats dropped the cup cakes she bought for their birthday party she just told them in a soothing tone to go upstairs and take a deep breath. I really wish I was Joy.
Oh and Eliza may come out with some profound observations sometimes but I’d like to add that tonight she sang “once I caught a fish alive” 29 times. Not the whole song, just that line. Normally I would stop her but I wanted to see just how many times she’d say it. 29. Yes, 29 times. I won’t be writing to Mensa just yet.