Alone

Here I am alone in the house. No kids yakking in the background. No kids bickering. No wails. No cries. No screaming. Peace and quiet.

Yesterday I walked them to the masjid, mostly because I needed the exercise. They all jumped at the mention of walking. N even said,

"I want to live close to the masjid."

"Why?" I asked.

"So I can walk to school, like K."

Our walk was a hurried one because we were running late. It was a good workout. Just before we left, in the mad rush however, H slipped one stair step and hit his face on the heater.

He held on to his mouth and cried. This boy seldom cries when he falls. So it must have hurt. He was bleeding. Apparently he slipped on N's bag, lying carelessly on the step.

I walked back home yesterday, alone, half fearing I would be mugged or kidnapped. Last year, I had walked them to the masjid too, but on the way back, I had H with me. I love walking with my kids. I love the sensation of the prickling morning sun, telling us that we have ample time, that we don't have to rush.

Today I drove them to the masjid. We were so late that we had to drive. As I dropped them off, and drove back home, I thought of how H has grown. Last year he was still too young to attend the masjid summer school. This year he's old enough.

Last year his writing was still scribbly. His d, p, b were still flipped. Now, he's sitting in class listening to his teacher. With his simple cream bag strapped across his shoulder, he looked every bit a big boy. I feel sad. I feel sentimental.

Here I am alone in the house. No kids yakking in the background. No kids bickering. No wails. No cries. No screaming. Peace and quiet.

I need a baby.