There is a magical stage of literacy, unique to the 21st Century, that takes place in the mysterious place just before the full formation of the written word, where small children can form coherent sentences and complex ideas, and – most importantly – can use the voice record function on a technological device.

The Smallest Small is at this stage right now, possibly not for a great deal longer, as her education is thankfully soon to be safely back in the hands of the professionals.

I still dread the weekends when my kids go away, and I still miss them terribly. But every now and again I receive one of these recorded-to-text philosophical missives that make it seem almost – ALMOST – worth it.

Followers of this page will note that I dabble in the odd bit of poetry. I am not afraid to say that I am completely outclassed by the post-modern, stream-of-consciousness musings of the Small Small – pictured here in a slowly deflating paddling pool, presumably contemplating it as a metaphor for life, and composing her next masterpiece of deep thought and emotion.

So here, for your edification, is her only very slightly edited contribution to the literary world (I’ve added line breaks, punctuation and title, and removed the complaints her sister is a meanie).

It covers the pain of love; the meaning of existence; the nature of obsession; death and reincarnation; identity; the human condition – and for some reason my behaviour. (In my defence I am actually very nice to people most of the time – honest).

Please imagine her dressed all in black on a small stage, possibly in a turtleneck, doing a full-on spoken word performance. It makes it even better.

The Estranged Greeting 
(mostly) by the Small Small (and possibly Siri)
Age 5  

Yay Mummmy,
I love you so much for different days.
Do you like it when I’m away?
Do you remember, that day, 
when I got killed?
And it was so frightened -
I didn’t want to leave you,
always. 

I get mixed up, 
because it’s all -
I just like everything.
It’s just really fun being like this, 
so I am.

I love you so much -
you’ve been a great Mummy,
I hope I have more of you next time.
I just love you too much -  I can’t stop thinking about you
so I decided to do it.
And I’m to go to you tomorrow -
but is it safer to you to move? 

I’m just doing a normal hello hello.
That’s what I need.
Hello, it’s my turn to say hello to you!
I hope you have a good time.
You still got the virus? 
Hope you’re being really nice to people. 
I wish you so much - love you so much -
I just never want anybody.
It’s not me making you, and me loving you - 
it’s not because you’re NOT
it’s just because I love you. 

And that’s how people -
people people people -
people are just people 
I just like being me - 
and you might like being you - 
and it all just depends if you are you.

I just love you so much Mummy
I wanna kiss I love you,
I love you, that’s what I do.
Wanna hear this, 
but don’t wanna hear anything.

I love you Mummy,
and I can just see you and your little face - 
I want to see you forever.
You are the best. 

Part of the reason I wanted to share this is to remind myself that I’m loved, because I forget it really easily.

I haven’t got a continuous monologue with love – I can’t rest in it. It’s like a conversation I have to start over every time, like everything that went before it didn’t happen or didn’t count.

I’m always back at square one, striving to earn more of it, worrying it will disappear if I don’t, pouring so much out I feel empty of it – like I love everyone I love more than they love me – no matter what I do or how hard I try to win more of it.

I’m afraid that people will stop loving me, replace me, prefer someone else, realise I’m a bit rubbish – because all of those are things that have really happened and I’m afraid they will happen again.

I’m still learning that love isn’t always conditional, or transactional, or reliant on my earning it – on my effort or my sacrifice. That it can just be. And stay. But at low moments, it’s hard…

And this week there have been a lot of low moments with the smalls, who have basically yelled at me, whined at me, moaned, hit each other, and generally not appreciated a single thing I’ve done for them – including shaving foam craft activities, burning myself hot glueing Barbie furniture, inventive homeschooling with the Darlek spelling voice (don’t ask), garden playdates, making a cheese sauce from scratch 6 times because the bloody roux wouldn’t work and it’s all the Big Small wanted to eat, a sleepover in the lounge because it was so hot, and filling that blinking paddling pool up with buckets of warm water so they could play in it for a sum total of five bloody minutes.

So if you’ve forgotten that you’re loved, if you’re feeling underappreciated, overwhelmed, emptied out and tired out this Sunday morning – this beautiful voice recorded text message poem is for you, too.

It is a reminder to all mums, that THIS is how your kids really feel about you.

I don’t know if you wanna hear this today, or need to, but they want to see you and your little face forever. They love you for your different days, or in spite of them. It’s not because you’re NOT, it’s just because they love you. Because you are the best. Yay Mummies.

xxxx