The Reward

We are doing breakfast, my sisters and I. My dad did something interesting with our names. He named his first two daughter names beginning with (I), the last two he gave names starting with (V) then for the middle daughter, who sits smack in the middle of the I’s and the V’s he distinguishingly gave a name starting with ‘R’. Granted, this must have been a coincidence since there is no way he could have known beforehand that he would have five girls in succession. But still, the coincidence is uncanny.

Breakfast it is, at my sister’s place. Now such gatherings are normally very interesting because there is laughter, there is madness then there are the arguments. Part of the fun of having siblings is for the fights right?

I see how Hailey and Heidi do it. One day they are the best of buddies, throwing in the ‘sister’ word here and there in their sentences. “Mum, sister yangu anataka maji ya kunywa” Heidi says as she comes to fetch drinking water for Hailey. Or Hailey insists on giving Heidi a piggyback ride, and when I try to warn her that they might both fall down, Hailey reminds me “Si Heidi ni sister yangu?” – Like that has anything to do with anything. On other days however, the sisterhood is thrown out the window and they scratch each other’s faces, and a stern “Hauna miguu?” is shot when one asks the other to bring her something. That is what siblingry (if such a word exists) is all about: Fighting with love.

Ever watched the series Brothers and Sisters? You get to witness typical sibling behavior in this series; the gossiping of a sibling by the others to a point that it finally reaches the gossipee and all hell breaks loose; the formation of alliances against one common ‘enemy’; the silent treatment of yet another sibling for a reason they have no clue about, and so on. I seriously need to catch up on this series from season 4 onwards.

This post is going somewhere, I promise.

Breakfast at my sister’s. I am charged with preparing Sandwiches.  All five of us have a thing about well cooked, adequately spiced (masala) tea that has enough milk. I therefore steered away from tea preparation because the pressure my friend. The pressure! No, sandwiches were much safer. Every time we visit each other, we  prepare tea with precision. We just don’t take kindly to mediocre tea. You will be forgiven for forgetting to add the key ingredient to your recipe; say, pilau masala to your pilau, but not for serving ill-brewed tea. Be forewarned.

I swear this post is not about tea. Nor is it about food.

So, breakfast. Me, sandwiches. Others prepare sausages. A brave soul takes on the tea while my older sister is busy attending to her 7month old baby. We are chatting about the most recent series. In between this flurry of activities, we mention the series Scandal. Most of us agree that it ain’t all that.  Olivia pope? Meh! There is absolutely nothing phenomenal about Olivia pope. We decide.

“Which series is that again?” my eldest sister asks

“Scandal” all of us reply

She shrugs “I don’t know about movies or series anymore. I don’t watch them”

We all nod in understanding. We all assumed that her little boy is taking most of her time. I remember how it took a while with Hailey and Heidi for my life to become ‘normal’ again. It took months to finally get some alone time or even manage a trip to the hairdresser’s. Between her job and taking care of the baby, we understood how hard it was to squeeze in a few hours of TV.

“But you need to grab some ‘me’ time whenever you get the chance.”  we offered our advice.

To which she said “No. I wouldn’t do that”

“Why?” we were curious.

“Not now. Maybe a year from now. I don’t know… I consider it as rewarding myself for a task I haven’t even completed yet. ” she replied.

 “Wow!” “Deep!” “Aaaw!” we all said in unison.

 “See, I look forward to his first birthday. In fact, his first birthday will not be about him. His first birthday will be about me. I will then reward myself. But not now” she continued

I had a tear in my eye which I swiftly wiped away.

That was the most beautiful thing I heard someone saying that day.

That was a mother putting a part of her life on hold to deliberately focus on her young son. I found that utterly profound. I Still do.

He is a beautiful boy, my nephew. He is a happy child. When he grows up, I will rat on her mother. I will tell him what his mother did for him. How she took care of him meticulously.

Make no mistake; Mothers. Are. Awesome!

Have an Awesome Week?

45 Years On.

You get into a relationship with a man in your prime years. Soon it turns into something serious. You date and get married, say “I do” because you truly do. You are barely 18. You love him. You would like to spend the rest of your life with him. You are accepting him at his best and will keep him at his worst. You mean it when you promise to be with him for richer and for poorer. In sickness and in health.

You do.

Mr. & Mrs. Murrey

You start your life together. You fit into your new role as a wife pretty fast since you have your first child (a son) the following year. You are there for your young family. You are happy. He works. You are a housewife, which is work too. Immense work. You endeavour to take care of him, your home and your child. And the children keep coming. One after the other. Eight of them, they come. Some pregnancies are easy breezy. Others are a challenge. But you bear them all like the champ you are. With each birth come unsurpassed emotions of love. With each child, you experience elation that knows no bounds. You want more children, but the eighth pregnancy proves challenging. You realize that you have stretched your luck. Eight is ok. Eight is enough. You love the eight.

You take care of all of them. You change napkins more times than you care to count – diapers are not a word that exists in your vocabulary. You run after the children to contain them. You scold those who show signs of straying from your teachings. You crack the whip on your wayward brood more times than you can count. You love them all. You adore them even more.

Soon they start school and have to go to the city to get the good education that their father wants for them. You have to stay in the village and run your home. It kills you to be away from your children. You tough it out all the same. You do a spectacular job. A big beautiful house is constructed under your watch. It rises from the ground to tower intimidatingly at the other huts in your neighbourhood.

You tough out a lot more for your marriage to stand. You are taken for granted. You feel unappreciated. You remind yourself how it felt to be loved. You wonder whether he has forgotten how it was between the two of you. You wonder if he thinks about you. If he still loves you the same way he did when he married you.

You keep the faith.

He loves you. In his own imperfect way. He shows it. He takes you to travel around the world with him. You traverse the globe to countries you only saw in the map during your Geography lessons.

Years come and pass by. Retirement beckons. He comes home to you and you now spend every waking minute together. The children are all grown up. They are out there charting their own paths in life. They visit sometimes, but it’s only you and him now.

Then it hits you. You’ve been together for eons. During these years, you have argued. You surely have laughed. You have cried and made merry. Through the good times and the bad. Better, worse. Health, sickness. Births, deaths. Weddings, divorce. Success, failure. Bounty, scarcity.

It’s been a long stretch. So long that you don’t know where his life ends and where yours begins anymore. You are at this point entirely, completely, confusingly one. Your dreams, ideals, values collided so much over the years to eventually merge into one.

You understand his every need. You know his deepest secrets.  His strengths, his weaknesses. You know what he’s feeling because you have studied his mannerisms to perfection.  You know why he is quiet and withdrawn some days and why he bubbles with excitement on other days.

You look at him and wonder how you managed to stay together for all these years to remain standing. You wonder to what you owe this miracle where you have called him husband for so long, while he calls you wife.

You marvel at how you worked through marital problems and made a conscious decision to stay together at the end of it all. How you honored your leap of faith that resulted in you saying “I do” even without knowing what you were ‘doing’.

You wonder how your marriage stood the test of time.

Most of all, you wonder if he still remembers how it felt to fall in love with you for the first time. How it felt when he led you to the altar to declare to the world and to God that you were his chosen one, his wife.

Then he gathers his children together on the 3^rd of August, 2014. He makes it known to them that today is a special day. He explains that it is special because it is the same day he married a beautiful girl 45 years ago. A very beautiful girl, he calls you. He remembers. This brings tears to your eyes.

He remembers!

45 years on, you still do. It’s you and him now till the end of time.

To my parents! To 45 years of marriage! To many more!

The Reneeissance

My blog title Reneeissance is a portmanteau of my name Renee, and the word renaissance both of which carry the same meaning - Rebirth. Two words with the same meaning put together to form one word - I couldn’t stress the point more if I tried. This is the place where I manage to undergo several resuscitations. Where my thoughts are regurgitated to a point of cognizance, my attitude towards life reconsidered, my role as a mother reevaluated. My whole being; who I am (lover, sister, daughter, employee), what I believe in...all go through some form of reinvention from time to time. That is what life is about, isn’t it?

There comes a time in life therefore, when you take a pause from the daily hustles of life to ask yourself; what was I put on this earth to do? Why am I here? What is my purpose in this life? I have been asking myself such questions lately. Though the answers are not forthcoming yet, I know for a fact that I am not the same person I used to be. That I have undergone a reneeissance is in no doubt. If you hadn’t caught on already, then this blog post was the adumbration (I finally get to use that word!)

Don’t go getting confused now; I am still Hailey and Heidi’s mother. Still MD’s wife. Still D.R.E (You know what I mean) But lately, I feel like that is not all. I believe there is more. I am Mr & Mrs Murrey’s daughter, my siblings’ sister. I am Renee.

But still, there is more!

What is my destiny?

Why am I here?

What?

Why?

When?

How?

All these questions seek to be answered. I know for a fact that I will be restless until I find those answers. I am restless right now.

Have you ever had that feeling that someone was standing outside your door even before you saw them? Have you waited and anticipated a knock on the door and by some miracle or something, the knock came? Sometimes you hear approaching footsteps before the knock. Sometimes you don’t. Sometimes you just feel someone or something approaching, and you know that they will be knocking on your door any minute. True to your suspicions, you get the anticipated knock!

And then it is up to you to open the door.

Or not.

Should you choose not to open the door, you maintain your status quo. You hang onto your comfort zone. Everything remains the way it has been; familiar, routine, predictable, safe. Your life does not get interrupted by the ‘intruder’. Maybe that is how you prefer it?

Should you open the door, you open yourself to possibilities. You forego your comfort zone for the unknown. It exposes you. Builds you. Challenges you. Pushes you to the limit even. The ‘intruder’ could make demands that might inconvenience you. Either way, once you open that door you will never be the same again! You will say goodbye status quo and hello joie de vivre!

I am in that place where I just heard the footsteps outside my door. I knew the knock was coming even before I heard it. The knock came and I am now heading towards the door. You know me, I have to open the door! See what’s out there. Something bigger than me is urging me to leave my comfort zone and see myself for who I really am. For what I am meant to be!

When I open the door, then I will get the rest of the answers to the why? When? How? Where?

It will all make sense then.

Fear is what stops many people from opening that door. Fear of the unknown. Fear that you will not be able to deal with what stands out there. Fear that you will face the challenge and fail.

Am I afraid?

Of course I am! But I will not give fear a chance. I will not let fear dictate how I live my life. So when I ask: What if I fail? I will counter that question with; What if I succeed beyond my wildest imagination? What if I don’t like what’s out there? But what if I finally get something I have wanted all my life? What if the challenge is too much for me to take on? BUT what if I finally get to live the life of my dreams?

What if?

I think the heavens prepared me for this even before I ever thought of it. See, I took the rocking chair test and I finally got the courage to give notice of resignation from my current job. What is it they say: When you want new things to come into your life, you have to make room for them.

I am making room for my family. I am making room for my creativity. I am making room for growth. I am making room for wisdom. I am making room for love.

I am quitting my job because the rocking chair gave me a grasp of what is important in my life right now.

I’m quitting because you really only live once.

Because my dreams are valid.

I am leaving behind the old. I am reinventing myself. I am undergoing a rebirth.

This is THE Reneeissance.

Wish me luck!

My 'Rocking Chair' Test

You reach a certain age and suddenly, as if a blinding veil has finally been lifted off, you start seeing things more clearly.

Say I am 80 years old, right? Work with me here...I am 80, I have no teeth. A wrinkled face is definitely inevitable - forget what Nivea have been trying to sell to you - the wrinkles are all there! We are talking hearing aids, toothless grin, hunched back and all the tribulations that come with living to an advanced age.  I am frail. Throw in a cough for good measure. A persistent dry cough. Hair is all grey. Am I in dreadlocks still? Probably not. That would be weird. I probably shaved them off in my mid 40s? No, make that 50s. Or thereabouts.

I am sitting on a rocking chair, outside on the porch. I am surrounded by green vegetation. Remember my True North post? In the bush? Yeah. That kind of setting is what I’m looking at.  I now  reside in the cold green farms in the Valley. I rock my chair back...forth….back...forth….

Chances are, I am reading a book - oh, wait my eyesight must be giving me grief. I can only read with glasses now? My eyes tear up when I expose them to books? Sema book allergy! One never forgets how to read though, do they? Maybe reading at that age is too farfetched? I don’t know...I have never really thought about this. Fine, scratch the reading; I am listening to music then? The oldies maybe? I wonder whose music will qualify as oldies at the time; Rihanna’s? Chris Brown’s? Beyonce’s? Bieber's? Or we could pick a song and artist more believable like... ‘Incredible’ by Celine Dion? Now there’s a song to listen to in your old age!

As I nod my head to this beautiful song (grandma nodding her head, really Renee?) my mind wanders. It goes back to my heydays. Back to when I was young and vibrant. When I had the world, my life and a myriad of choices ahead of me. I think of the choices I made. The path I chose that led me right here, where I am now, co-existing with the evergreen tea plantations. The sacrifices I made, the mistakes I made. My successes and my challenges. This reverie takes me back to the beginning while Celine and Ne-Yo inspire me to ask myself “Was I incredible?” Was I?  

Being who I am, I want to believe that I strayed off the beaten path. Oh yes, I definitely did!  It’s the only way I could have remained true to myself.

One memory that will sure make me proud is if somewhere along the line, as I navigated through this life of mine I managed to pursue my passion. I will be glad to remember a day when I woke up and searching my soul, I asked myself; Woman, what maketh thou happy? and went ahead to do exactly that instead of giving myself a pep talk every morning that went very much like “This job pays the bills. Writing won’t put food on the table...blablablabla” I sure hope that somewhere along the way, I grabbed the bull by the horns on this one. I must have taken that leap of faith at some point. I surely must have!

I know for sure that the best memories will be those of spending time with my family especially during annual celebrations like birthdays, Christmas, Easter and the likes. Precious moments will include the moment when I came home after a hard day’s work. The affectionate hugs and kisses I got from Hailey and Heidi, the sheer excitement, shrieks of joy and laughter that my arrival elicited from them which always left me at the verge of tears. The love. My goodness, the sheer, complete, unconditional and heartwarming LOVE! There is nothing quite like it I tell ya. Nothing!

I won’t forget the simple pleasures that we indulged in like baking, where Hailey helped with adding the milk into a bowl of flour, while Heidi put in the sugar. We stirred the ingredients in a bowl and together we watched the cake rise in the oven and marvelled at the work of our hands as it turned golden in colour. I will remember the day we stuffed our faces with Cinnamon cake and after a generous serving for the girls, we watched as Heidi’s body started to swell; face, legs, hands. I won’t forget how I panicked and rushed her to hospital and how we, on that fateful day, stumbled on the discovery that Heidi is in fact allergic to Cinnamon! Though ok after medication, the swelling took some time to go down and Hailey took every opportunity to poke fun at her sister’s ‘fatness’ - “Mum, Heidi ni mfat!” she would exclaim from time to time before going into a feat of laughter. This memory will make me nostalgic to no end.

The biggest contentment while rocking that chair will come from being a mother to my children in every sense of the word. Should I succeed in making my voice permanently instilled in their heads, having it ingrained so deep that the world will have a tough time leading them astray, I will bear a huge toothless smile on that chair.

Part of that smile will be from the joy of publishing my books, one (or a few - a girl can dream!) of which will earn me an award. MUST earn me an award. My heart will swell with pride at the thought of having influenced society on various issues affecting women.

I might carry some regrets on that chair. I might regret not saying ‘No’ enough times. I might very well regret not getting another child. Tic….toc, I hear that biological clock ticking away.

Who knows what the future holds? I choose to bless my path with my words anyway. I hope that when I eventually sit on that chair years, many years, from now, memories of my life will leave me with a toothless grin stretching from ear to ear.

I will henceforth wake up every morning with the intention of remedying the foreseeable regrets and making the dreams come true. Whatever the outcome, I want the 80 year-old me, to describe her life using one word:  INCREDIBLE!

Hailey by any other name…

Mama Hailey, my other name, threatened to change one afternoon when Hailey got back from school and told me she had decided that she does not want to be called Hailey anymore. I know, unbelievable!

“What? Why mum. What’s wrong with your name?” was my reaction. I was shocked of course because I have always believed (conceitedly perhaps?) that I named my children well. I call both my kids ‘Mum’ on a regular basis when we are on good terms, best buds and stuff. Then they do something wrong and I yell out all their three names:

HAILEY IRENE CHERUTO! Or HEIDI RENEE CHEROP!

Yeah, I like the effect this has on them. They kinda freeze and look around as if to think “Ooops! She saw that? Does this woman have eyes on her back?” or “Damn, here comes another lecture!” or “Wha….what did I do now?” I can only imagine what goes through their minds when I do that.

Being a mum is fun. Only until your kids turn into teenagers, then you start pulling out your hair, strand after strand. After snakes, teenagers scare me.  

“I want to change my name” Hailey said

“What do you want to be called instead?” I prodded

“I want to be called Jane” she replied matter-of-factly 

I expected some phenomenal name, you know. You don’t pass off a name like Hailey only to choose a name like Jane (no offense Jane) but Jane is just so..so… ‘Plain Jane’, you know? Please tell me I am not alone on this one. I expected a name like Felicity, Gwendolyne, Gwyneth, Aurora…ok, I’m pushing it. But you catch my drift? 

“Jane? Why Jane, baby girl?”

She was quiet.

“Mum, Hailey is a very good name, let nobody lie to you. Don’t change your name. It’s a very good name” I stressed the VERY. GOOD. Just for emphasis.

“OK” she agreed.

Alrighty then! That was easy?

PHEW! She is still Hailey. And I am still mama Hailey. God knows where that was coming from. I am guessing she likes someone in school called Jane. Or maybe her teacher made a remark in passing, like “Hailey? Why weren’t you given an easy name like Jane?” Or she heard someone telling Jane that she has a good name? Or some braggart called Jane kept telling her that the name Jane is better than Hailey? Seriously Jane? No offense sweetheart but your name ain’t all that.

I don’t know what brought this on but am glad we put it to rest and she never pursued it anymore. In your face, JANE! Oh, you wanna cry now Jane? 

If I were Hailey, I would be on my knees right about now, thanking God that she does not bear a ridiculous name the likes of ‘North West’. Kim Kardashian’s newborn daughter has every right to demand a name change when she is older. If she ever does, I will completely have her back. North West. Tsk! Not Hailey though. No. I love Hailey. And I love mama Hailey too…

What’s in a name anyway? The other day, Hailey and her sister were playing house then Hailey kept calling “Elkana! Elkana! Elkana!”

We got confused and asked her who Elkana was.

She pointed at Heidi who seemed not to be getting with the program.

“She is not called Heidi, she is Elkana” Hailey verbally ‘baptized’ her sister.

I then noticed that Heidi had Hailey’s school bag strapped on her back, and it dawned on me that she was supposed to be Hailey’s school-going daughter. On many occasions I have heard Heidi calling “Mum” and when I responded, she would shoo me away and tell me that she was in fact not calling me but Hailey, her “mother” in the game.

Elkana? Really? Of all the names she could think of…? My Hailey is something else.

Mama Jane, Mama Elkana or Mama Hailey? I pick mama Hailey any day of the week.

Back to Elkana. Isn’t Elkana a boy’s name anyway?

“Mum, who gave birth to me?”

We were setting the breakfast table, my dancer and I. Hailey and Heidi sat on their small plastic chairs; Hailey's is purple, Heidi's is lemon green. Should Hailey sit on the lemon green chair, or Heidi on the purple one, there will be war! The day was a saturday, the 29th of December 2012 and since each child sat on their respective chairs, there was peace. A quiet peaceful Saturday morning it was. Also Hailey's birthday.

Naturally, we started to reminiscence about the birth of both our children. Going down memory lane, we noted that both of them were born on significant years in the Kenyan Calendar; I gave birth to Hailey during the 2007 elections and I was heavy with Heidi when we had the referendum vote for the new constitution in 2010. The joker that he is, md (my dancer, gerrit?) remarked “Next year is an election year, what is wrong with this picture?!” as he caressed my tummy. Mmmmmh...what indeed?

Our talk shifted to Heidi's birth, how she turned two just the other day and yet she was gabby to no end - people always point out that she learnt to speak too soon. As we went on and on about Heidi this, Heidi that, Hailey, feeling left out, asked “And me? Mum, who gave birth to me?” and we were taken by surprise. A tilted flask that was serving tea was placed down on the table as md and I looked at each other. A non verbal agreement was made that I should take this one.

I sat down with her and explained to her the core meaning behind the title “Mother” aka ‘Mum’ or ‘Mummy!’. We had been teaching Hailey a lot about her identity; her full names-all three of them, her parent's names; mine she says quite effortlessly, her father's name she struggles with yet it is supposed to be the easier one. She knows how old she is, the name of her school and where she lives. We were therefore surprised that though she knows that I am her mother, she had no clue why I lay claim to that title! But how was she to know? Now that I think about it, I remember her telling me once “Mum, your baby has woken up” when she heard Heidi crying in bed.

“I gave birth to you, that is why you call me Mum” I told her. The clown in md could not resist looking at me with a mocking smile that said “You feel pretty good about yourself, don't you?”

I told him to cut it out before Hailey asks why he was called “Daddy” and he would have to explain his role in her existence. What would he say then, I can just imagine him struggling to find the right words; that he planted a seed in Mummy perhaps? The conversation (God forbid) would go something like:

H: A seed? Like the ones in Watermelon
(What can I say... she loves watermelon, and the watermelon seeds are the only ones she knows yet)
MD: Yes. Like the seeds in watermelon (he would lie, not knowing what else to say.) 
Maybe I’d feel sorry seeing him trying so hard? Errm...Not really.
H: So, mum ate the watermelon seeds that you gave her? (she would continue inexorably)
MD: Eeee...yes (He would struggle with a straight face)
H: But....Heidi and I also eat the watermelon seeds...will we... (Now she would be confused)
MD: That is different... Now take your tea before it gets cold! (He would end the conversation with finality)

Lets just be grateful that Hailey did not ask any further questions - That would have been a disaster! I however know that the day is coming; the questions will come and answers will be needed. Plausible answers. Ready or not.

I know its cliche, but honestly, where do the years go! I still cannot wrap my mind around the fact that Hailey is five years old. She understands a lot these days. While watching news with her the other day, this woman whose household had been affected by the raging floods in December was beseeching ‘sirikal’ to come to her aid since she had nowhere to go and she did not know where her husband and children were. Hailey then asked me “Mum, why doesn’t she just come here, there is no rain here why won’t she come and stay with us?” She was very concerned. Yet just yesterday she was a little baby...

When I took her to school on opening day, we came across children who were being admitted to baby class. The day came with the usual drama of scared children (first-timers), apprehensive parents and nervous teachers. One kid was yelling, as his mother struggled to walk away. Back in 2011, Hailey did not honour me with that kind of fit. She did not shed a tear for mum. Nada. Just a simple goodbye, I love you and that was it. The transition was so smooth that I was slightly jealous of the parents whose kids refused to let go of their legs as they wailed uncontrollably.

It will be Heidi’s turn next year. Maybe she will cry. Maybe just like Hailey, she will blend in with the crowd and wonder what the other children are fussing about.Hopefully, I will be here to tell you all about it.

A year comes along and a tonne of responsibility comes with it. My calendar looks full already; Potty training for Heidi is here, extraction of milk teeth for Hailey continues - did I tell you we already extracted two? I presume the birds and the bees talk looms just around the corner for her as well?

As a parent, you never catch a break, do you?