The Bat,The Twins And The Sunset.

I arrived home one crisp, clear January afternoon,pleasantly surprised to find hubby returned early. As it was in those days, we honored such an unforeseen trinket thrown in our laps with much tipple and titillating abandonment. As our waves crashed to imaginary celestial shores and fireworks winged up into the skies, I startled as something skimmed the top of my head, big enough to ruffle my hair. We jumped up bewildered, pulling sheets over our vulnerable nakedness.  Once more, a dark shape fluttered across the room, seeking some place to rest for a while.  It was a bat.  Hubby and I looked to each other confused.  Where had this creature come from? There was nowhere to hide or rest in the small six tatami room which held only a bed.  And I had watched enough Hammer House of Horror movies to glean that bats do not normally take a cruise on a bright,sunny day.  I remembered my grandmother, one particularly stormy night as we sat huddled by her coal fire, snatched from our dreamy strands, eating toast with real salty butter and slurping hot chocolate, that bats are magical creatures. It was believed they carried the souls of babies to their new Mother`s womb. I reiterated my beloved Gran`s yarns, sliding open a nearby window wide.  The bat flew over, scuffling my hair for the last time,flew up, away and disappeared.

Two,three weeks later,I felt off.  I couldn`t quite put my finger on it.  It was on Valentine`s Day, after a sonogram that a doctor turned to me solemnly and stated."We have to talk." Petrified, almost in tears, with nails drawing blood from hubby`s palms,  I hastily repositioned the little scraps of lacy material I used to wear called knickers and sat down for the consultation. I...or rather `we` were pregnant with twins to which I promptly burst out into very loud tears. I cried, much to the doctor`s relief, because the tsunami of happiness,delight and wonderment  that now coursed through my entire being needed some physical outlet. "Twins", the doctor confirmed in English. "Twins?" hubby asked. "Twins!" the doctor confirmed. "Twins?" hubby asked again this time in Japanese to which the doctor re-confirmed again but in Japanese and so this went on for a good five minutes.  Hubby and I, not daring to believe the amazing hand that Destiny had dealt us.  "You never do anything normally," hubby suddenly remarked.Then to the doctor,"She never does anything normally!" Feeling slightly indignant I countered.  "Excuse me! It does take two,you know!" To ,which the doctor said " Actually, it was you! The twins are fraternal. Two completely separate egg sacs!" 

And so Batboy and Batgirl were born,silently, deep inside of me.....before they were born to this outside world.  Only then, we referred to them lovingly as The Bat Babies.  Bat Baby One and Bat Baby Two. Their `handles` even at the hospital where we became quite the celebrities when I was rushed in at 33 weeks with severe pre-eclamsia.  At 37 weeks, all drips were reversed and I was induced.  It was five am and I remember watching the sunrise herald in a new day.  The day my babies would open their eyes for the first time and take a sneaky peek at this outside exterior. The one in which their Mummy and Daddy had been waiting with bated breath for their arrival.Complications arose involving cords, lack of space and an emergency C-Section was scheduled. 

I awoke eleven hours later, weak, mouth parched, a nurse by my side.  I had lost so much blood during the procedure that a hysterectomy had been advised, only halted by my body,suddenly ceasing it`s suicidal exsanguination.  It had been a close call of which only my poor husband had been conscious throughout. The nurse hastily rushed to pull the blinds across the most vivid sunset I`ve ever experienced. A vibrant college of reds and orange fingertips caressing the entirety of the room, finally calling attention to the little snapshot propped up on my bedside table.  A snapshot of two little pink bodies, snuggled up against each other,  tiny,fragile fingers curling against one another. An extremely kind gesture from the ICU nurses.

I adore sunsets. I adore sunrises even more.  Some internal clock never fails to awaken me just as the gong strikes and the sun minces her way across the skies, unfolding her vast wings and encompassing the land with her bright glow. Nature`s brilliance, here to remind us of the possibilities abound each new day brings. That the sadness experienced today may be the launchpad of unexpected bliss and dreams tomorrow. Interwoven intrinsically like night and day. In a few hours, I will witness another day dawning, the day my Batboy and Batgirl will turn seven. Seven.....I sigh. It was only yesterday I  approached their incubators,  sat in a wheelchair, shell shocked at the two,tiny bodies screaming in hunger.  How could such little things be so angry at the world already.  My arms outstretched, helpless, debating which one to pick up first, to feed first, to hug first, to declare my undying love and devotion to, to read all those wonderful stories from my childhood, to swing high in the air, whose toes to tickle first in my own rendition of `This Little Piggy".

This evening hubby told. Batboy and Batgirl to go to sleep quickly. That way, morning would arrive soon  with birthday presents waiting to be torn open.  Whilst on the landing I heard Batboy hiss to Batgirl. " If you don`t shut up and go to sleep,I am going to stick my finger up my bum and make you smell it.."  In a few hours, another sunrise, another day. There I will be sat. Herbal tea in one hand, pondering what  breathtaking feats will be beheld, what adventures will unfold, what possibilities will present themselves in a light to be grasped by hungry minds, what chance encounters will shape friendships that blossom into lifelong affection. And in reply to the breeze that rustles the curtain......."Happy Birthday,my little Bat Babies..."

It Came From Nowhere....

Transported across time by means yet unknown and of all the houses in the galaxy......"So nobody knows who is responsible for this?" I ask wondering why I am engaging in such a futile exercise.  Oh yes, I do know why.  It`s because it`s five am and while my body may have been unwillingly but successfully dragged out of bed, my brain merely mumbled "Five more minutes" and rolled over with a grunt. "Well, let`s blame it on Scotti from Star Trek then,shall we?" as I sigh and turn to look at the poo in the corner. I should be thankful for one saving grace at least, it`s a well rounded solid kind of poo. The kind you can depend upon to be picked up deftly in a tissue, without so much as a whimper, leaving very little residue behind. The other type....whose name shall not be spoken for fear of cursing myself, shrieks and wails like a banshee as it desperately seeks freedom through clenched fingers.....or that might be me screaming with distaste as another carpet goes to the dogs. My dastardly trio closed ranks even further as Batboy stared to the left, Batgirl eyes fixed to the right and Booby Slayer, lips pursed, one hand stuck down her nappy,eyes cast downward. "Well...until someone does the right thing and owns up to it, looks like today`s play date is off!" I threaten followed by a couple of seconds of ponderous silence then,like Pompeii Batgirl erupts with indignation. "It was Booby Slayer. I am a big girl now.I don`t do poo poos in the corner anymore,Mummy....and....." chased with Booby Slayer`s outburst. " He isn`t a poo poo. He`s my friend and his name is Piccachu!"  I slowly lower myself down onto Batboy`s bed,the sun lights up the room with her first salutary beams of the day, as the day`s first sibling hostility unfurls. "Piccachu is a cartoon person,you silly billy!"  The genesis of this particular altercation meanwhile sat completely indifferent to the impending maelstrom. "You a silly billy! He is Piccachu and he is my friend!"  I turn to look at Batboy having a giggle at his sisters.  "Fancy a cup of tea,Mum?"

My Son, Champion to This Planet...For A Moment Anyway.

I answered the phone with a jaunty salutation in English, expecting a very welcome call from England.  My exuberance was met with static indifference.  As I let another greeting loose, I heard a throat being cleared and then a voice with a heavy Japanese accent.  "Good afternoon! What do you do?"  My mind, originally geared up for at least an hour`s worth of  entertaining`catch up` gossip and scandal, backfired then temporarily stalled for a micro second. "I am sorry," I enquired," Who is this? Who is calling,please?"  Another impressive clearing of larynx then.  "This is Mr Watanabe from Suginami Elementary School. What do you do?"  AS soon as my son`s school is mentioned, my heart somersaults up into my mouth and I grab my handbag off a nearby shelf.  "Good afternoon, Mr Watanabe. Has anything happened? Is Batboy okay?" I sense the depth of his unspoken bow down transmitted down through cable.  "Sorry to bother. He is vegetal...," followed by more `umming` sounds, a mere background tinkling compared to the raging hubbub of thoughts and terrifying scenarios flicking through my mind like a torturous slide show.  Batboy on the ground.  Copious amounts of red stuff oozing from Batboy`s head.  Paramedics.  Hospitals with machines blinking.  Nurses screaming "Stand back" as paddles are applied to small chests.  Batboy calls for `Mummy` unheard and floating up towards the heavens like.....the heavens.  Tremulously,I search for the right words in Japanese but they prove elusive in my mounting panic.  I take a deep breath.  "Do you mean `vegetable`,Mr Watanabe?....Could you please tell me exactly what has happened?"  That basic Mummy skill, of being able to adroitly complete almost any required task with one hand, and pram is out laden down with a most indignant Booby Slayer threatening meltdown status.  I hand over a prized choccie biscuit to ward off the storm clouds.  "Yeah...yeah...vegetables.That`s right," he counters, assuaged that a common ground of comprehension has been scaled,"He is a vegetable. The school　doesn`t know he is a vegetable and today was problemo!" I cup my mouth to stifle the hysterical laughter yearning to burst out from within, drenched with relief, I let the Booby Slayer celebrate with another choccie biscuit. Unfortunately, the wine bottle is just out of my grasp.  "I really appreciate you calling me, Mr Watanabe and speaking in English.  Would you mind repeating it in Japanese for me?" Apparently, Batboy had refused to eat any meat or fish served at school dinner that day, stating now he was a stoic vegetarian.  Batboy had delivered a stern rebuke to the poor sod who had the misfortune that day to be dishing out the grub, on the ethics or lack of whaling and a bit thrown in about polar bears to spice things up.  I apologised for any inconvenience caused and expressed my own surprise upon hearing this startling bit of news.

Batboy, followed shortly by Batgirl came home.  Nothing amiss.  No fanfare of trumpets with weighty announcements.  Nothing.  Later that evening as I served up BLTs with avocado salad, Batboy warily eyed his and asked. "Mummy! Is bacon meat?" Pausing to contemplate how this life defining subject should be best broached, Batgirl jumped in there with a huge squirt of tomato ketchup before me.  "It`s from a pig! Isn`t it,Mummy? Batboy wouldn`t eat any meat or fish at school today,Mummy! Yeah,Batboy?" and turned her large doe eyes onto Batboy, who only continued to suspiciously prod and poke at any protruding meat.  "Yeah...well...Mummy.On Children`s Discovery Channel yesterday,I watched a programme about whales and polar bears,Mummy....."Little tears peeked out shyly from the corner of his eyes as he continued," ...yeah,Mummy...and....and...yeah...there aren`t a lot of whales and...and polar bears left in the world....Are there,Mummy?" Looking deeply into my small boy`s concerned eyes, all I want to do is leap over the dining table and give him a huge hug.  Just as I was about to, Batgirl chimes up. "But Batboy! There are lots of piggies in the world.  Aren`t there,Mummy?"  To which I nod.  "Lots and lots of piggies," she emphasises with wide circling gestures," Too many maybe." As I was about to extol my son on his kindness and concern for certain wildlife species, he grabs the sandwich.  "Okay," he shrugs, rolling eye to the heavens, "If there are that many piggies, it won`t hurt to eat half" and takes a ginormous bite spraying mayonnaise and lettuce............

Just another day.....

...in the mortifying farce that is named `my life`.  After decades of mishaps and weird flukes, I am now convinced that some kind of conspiracy is amok.  The latest campaign has left me crouching on a stool, legs open wide, my considerable bottom hovering inches above the hand drier. Every few seconds, I wince in pain as one buttock drops precariously too near the hot air streaming out, which only serves to painfully reinforce the fact that  `Yes,this is really happening to me`.  Always look for the upbeat side of any situation, I think quietly to myself.  At least the steady stream of young office ladies bustling in and out of the restroom at peak lunch hour, are spraying enough perfume to mask the smell of singed cotton.  Hopefully, at this pace,enough perfume will  eventually be released to cause some kind of smog to build up, which might just hide the big foreigner squatted halfway up the wall on a stool over the automated hand drier.  The door crashes open and in struts my manageress, bewilderment hugging her features.  "I heard there was a foreign woman acting suspiciously in the ladies and I just knew it was you. Are you okay? What happened?"  Feeling empowered by her compassionate words and the fact that in my current position I was towering over all and sundry,  I began to explain how I came to be in this predicament.  I had arrived at work.  Gone directly to the restroom to attend to my makeup.  Whilst sat on the toilet, last night`s feast decided to forsake me and fearing noise pollution, I pressed the little button decorated with musical notes and `flush music` written next to it only to suddenly find myself being deluged with squirts from all angles.  I would rather spontaneously combust right there over the drier than walk into a room full of businessmen, from the sales dept no less, with a very obvious wet patch stretching across the...excuse me....crack of my bottom.Manageress totally empathised with my situation.

I have nothing against technology.  In any form.  It just doesn`t seem to like me.  Only earlier this morning, I eagerly unwrapped my new waterproof  Maybelline mascara.  In this heat, I need waterproof otherwise I end up looking like a drug addict after two hours.  As I positioned the `wand` near my top lashes,  anticipation running abound at the thought of luscious Monroe lashes like the gal pictured on the box, the thing suddenly started vibrating.  In my confusion, I accidentally stuck the whole wand into my eye.  Apparently, it has a battery installed and when you put pressure on by holding it,it vibrates to help even out the mascara as it coats your lashes.  Well, the mascara was most certainly waterproof, soap proof even impervious to the eye makeup remover that I bought with it.  By the time I`d scrubbed the stuff off my eyelids and eyebrows, I looked like Rocky after the big fight and even more problematic, I was late.

Taking it in my stride.....the Earth isn`t going to stop revolving,right....I reach for my IPhone.  The screen has locked.  No sweat, I`ll just call from the home phone...as I realise that all phone numbers are in...you guessed it...the IPhone. A definite machination.  Call me a loon, paranoid....... but the blisters are there to prove it.  On either side of my buttocks. "What have you done to your arse?" asks hubby, eyeing my knicker region suspiciously as he enters the house carrying a box.  " I snogged a hand drier today, I am that desperate," I calmly counter." I am busy tonight," sighs hubby," Have to read up on the new laptop." as he tows two large encyclopedias into the den.  Right now, I don`t wish for a cool beer...or a diamond anything.....I yearn for electronic stuff that only has an `off` and an `on` switch.  Okay,granted the computers of today aren`t the sizes of settees or televisions but whilst the actual machines have got smaller, the manuals and textbooks are more than making up for it.  By the time you`ve worked through the manual, the warranty has run out or a new, updated version has been launched out onto the market making your model almost obsolete.  Even mascara is becoming hi-tech.......

The Talkaholic....

...nope,I ain`t waffling about myself, probably much to the mirth of my intimate friends and family. I adore and worship my kids.  I love everything about my son, Batboy, from  the lazy side grin he flashes when he thinks his Mummy is cool, as only a six year old still can,  to the way he deftly harvests nasal residue,rolls it into a ball and flicks it at offending mosquitoes.  All in under a couple of seconds flat. Yeah, I live for my kids but just recently, one inherited family trait has been driving me to distraction.  I can talk. It has been said that I like the sound of my own voice but I must direly dissent.  I merely feel that life is way too short to engage all of those fascinating folk out there in dissemination.  It`s not that I have a lot to say, just a lot to ask.  All that humanity, all those tapestries, works in progress to be contemplated, absorbed, hopefully to be gleaned  from.  So,...I feel it is my duty to foster an atmosphere where `chatter` is welcome.  However,I am  woebegone to say, I`ve found myself banging my much beleaguered loaf against something solid to alleviate the pressure I feel building.  Batboy never...ever shuts up.  Five am strikes with as much subtlety as an elephant who has spent the previous evening gulping down Vindaloos, letting loose directly onto your face.  Batboy slivers into my bed and opens up with a one sided homily on a certain train line in Tokyo, as I lie, half comatose with an indifferent BoobySlayer attached to one nip nip.  After a short interval, if no reaction is received from my side, prods and pokes in my nasal area are guaranteed.  Grudgingly, I arise and so the day continues, one enduring, constant dialogue from Batboy on trains and his life plans.  Like a Tonka Toy he rides over everyone and anyone.  I tried distraction. "Go and draw me a picture."  To which he returns later with a incredibly detailed diagram requiring yet more discussion and debate.  I`ve tried reasoning, telling and just plain losing it but...it appears to be a phase my gorgeous Batboy is going through.

What to do? I don`t want him to feel that his own mum is ignoring him or cannot be bothered to listen to all his dreams and aspirations.  It`s against all my nurturing instincts. What if I damage him in some way psychologically.  What if twenty years fromn now, he is found wandering the streets wearing only his mum`s old underwear, perfume and a Sobu Line train cap, wailing "My Mummy never listened to me!"?  But a toll　is being paid on this Mummy`s side too. My efforts to distract, a well worn Mummy tactic known throughout the world has taken on such requisite proportions that I fear it borders on the narcotic.  Only the other day, I heard myself call out in a much affected tone, "Oh look! A train." and this was at a poolside as an infant swirled past in a Thomas the Tank Engine float.  My husband launched into his usual,predictable opening,"Batboy has only been on this planet a mere six years.Try to be a little more patient."  To which I was...very...as I continued to slice the cheese up calmly.  It never ceases to amaze me how naive and totally uninformed the working partner`s comments can be about the stay at home partner`s situation.  Everything is about equations, if you do A then the end result is B, when anyone who has ever done time at home with kids knows, that at times, whatever you do, no matter how much you prepare, total anarchy can still prevail. You are working against forces that defy even nature and some battles just ain`t worth taking on.

"Oh,"wailed hubby upon my return from the office,"Batboy just wouldn`t shut up......I am  sorry.I totally understand now......."Then upon seeing me lovingly arranging the sheet around Batboy`s form."What are you doing? It`s too hot for covers?"  To which I promptly replied,"Oh,I am just looking for a second set of gills on his neck.He needs them to keep up a conversation that long without taking a breath!"  Hubby leans wearily into me and we have a good laugh.....

The Crayfish is Dead,Long LIve the Crayfish.

The day had dawned like any other.No intimation of what fateful events were to be rolled out in our paths, like a musty carpet spraying out the carcasses of tiny beings, along with other particles best left unidentified ,all encased in a lovely,fluffy dust as mat hits the floor.  I will be honest with you, though I hate to speak any ill of the dead....particularly ones who have giant,burly afterlife pincers........I didn`t whoop with joy when Batboy turned up with more than Pokari Sweat in a cut off pet bottle seven weeks ago.  In fact,I fairly bristled. Anything furry,with little sparkly eyes that makes timely squeaking noises wins my complete adoration anytime.  And the smaller and more compact the bum bum secretions, the better.  I don`t get the Japanese preoccupation with insects, notably ones that look like the inspiration for the first `Alien` movie.  My first month in Japan and  I will never forget visiting a Japanese friend`s house.  Taking demure sips from our green tea, her three young kids suddenly started jumping around and pointing down towards the pine floor.  To my horror,some giant monstrosity was audaciously ambling along and...how dare it........ in broad daylight.  Determined to save the kids from a lifetime of nightly terror and present myself as a caring foreigner, willing to face all manner of adversity for the salvation of others,I stomped on that black beastie for a good two minutes. It was only as I stood gasping from the exertion of slaying such a considerable foe that I noticed the kids, and their mother, were screaming even louder. It turned out that the said beastie was in fact a prized `O Kuwagata`. A giant kind of beetle,revered here and that had cost a whopping 50,000 yen.(250 pounds)  How was I to know the children's` cries initially had been from excitement?  It had just looked like a rather cheeky,tubby cockroach. I think they must have moved out of the neighbourhood soon after that as I never bumped into them again and their mobile number changed.

Zoom forward nearly ten years, add on a few extra limbs and I am faced with a `cockroach` that can scuba dive.  Batboy named him `Charlie` because I thought it would help me to endear to this little creature.  I reminded myself that he was somebody`s son...or daughter...and while `Charlie the Crayfish was under my roof, he was to be treated like one of the family.  In fact the cat paid an enormous amount of attention to Charlie and I had to prise him away quite a few times.  At first,cleaning out his tank everyday was rather tedious but slowly he grew on me.  Every morning,he`d waltz out of his little yogurt container home at the sound of our voices and wait for his breakfast of fresh,dried fish.  He was gradually upgraded to a larger tank complete with a little `castle` home and florescent coral.  I`d put him on the windowsill and talk to him about my daily life.  He was such a selfless listener, never interrupted me, only waving one of his antennas in agreement.  We were on the same wavelength about so many things.  The summer holidays ended and school beckoned for him to return. It was with a heavy heart that morning, as I walked Charlie to his first day back at school. I genuinely felt his heart was heavy too.  He died within his first hour back there.  Batboy went to check on him with his classmates and there he was,  floating, eyes dull, staring blankly upwards, one pincher held upwards, grasping at who knows what.

"Where`s the body?" asked the only buddist in the house,my husband.  "At school," sobbed Batboy into his miso soup,"We buried him in the school garden." Tutting sounds from hubby`s corner."We could have tried him out in our new deep frier."