So now here I was, trying to figure out a plan for the next two weeks. To find a fine balance between my office workload and catering to the growing demands of my six year old daughter, Sara. My job as a graphic designer gave me the liberty to work from home whenever required, so I had readily opted to take care of Sara. This meant that my wife could take a well deserved break and Sara wouldn't miss out on her schoolwork. So while I was busy designing a logo for a company, I was simultaneous giving instructions to my little princess who constantly craved for my attention.
My days revolved around Sara and I would somehow try to squeeze in time to finish my office work. Little did I know how tedious it is to single- handedly parent a young child!
Only three days had passed and she very innocently commented how bored she was of taking bread and jam in her tiffin. I was only responsible for her tiffin as lunch and dinner had been cooked and frozen by the wife before she went, yet I could only get as creative as liberally lathering butter and jam over two slices of bread. I needed to extend my creativity to fit her taste requirements.
Combing her hair every morning was no joke either. Her long, beautifully thick tresses were a task for me to manage and the perfect rope like braid she was accustomed to was a challenge for me to replicate. I had always envisioned combing my daughters hair and thought of it as a sweet father-daughter bonding session. I had looked up few tutorials and thought I was ready for this. But what I least expected was that these combing sessions would transform into ruqya sessions with her yelling that I had yanked too hard on hair and me screaming to stay still.
Added to this were a zillion questions for which I usually had no answer, and sandwiched between every ten of them was "when will mom come home?"
And every time my wife called to ensure everything was okay, I would lie, telling her things are absolutely perfect. After all, I had my ego to pamper.
Waking up in the chilly winter morning hours when all that the soul and mind wants is to cocoon under the warmth of the blanket, I would force my self awake and drag my poor baby out of bed. I would brush her teeth, comb her hair and dress her up for school and would patiently wait for her to finish up her cup of milk which mind you, would take very long. But this wasn't the toughest part.
The toughest was yet to come- while waiting at the bus top, the little one would want to hear the most imaginative of stories. When the mind is sleeping, to make simple communication is a magnanimous struggle, let alone think up innovative fairy tales.
My heart reeled for single parents and a wave of happiness and gratitude washed over me on the thought having a wonderful life partner who shared my responsibilities in the most graceful of ways.
And I felt guilty for never truly acknowledging her efforts. My show of appreciation was camouflaged with streaks of vain pride which I often experienced being the sole bread winner.
The two weeks did come to an end, at the end of which I had a lousy incomplete logo, an unmade house and a daughter ready with a tirade of complaints.
So when the wife called asking if she could extend her trip, I give her my brutally honest response and ensured that she hops onto the plane in time.
Now, that she is on her way to the airport, I can heave a sigh of relief.
*Hajj* - Pilgrimage to Makkah, A pillar of Islam.
*Ruqya*- Excorcism
Picture Courtesy: http://www.beleaderly.com
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