Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

I've noticed that a brief separation from someone I love generally heightens my appreciation for them. And then on the flip-side, sometimes spending too much time with certain very short people can prompt a rapid decline in my enthusiasm for their company. I'm not exactly sure of the precise mechanisms at work in this phenomenon, but it seems to be a fairly consistent rule of thumb.

I started thinking about this recently, following Chloë's transition to full-time kindy. Because she's away from me for a few hours each day, I really enjoy our subsequent reunions. And it seems I'm always more excited to see the girls in the morning (following their lengthy slumber) than I am in the evening when they've only been in bed for a matter of minutes. I notice it at Nathan's triumphant homecoming from work each day, which I always get excited about. And then there's the fact that both my parents and all four of my siblings currently live in other cities, which has made me really miss their various eccentricities.

But there's one person in my life who I almost never get the opportunity to miss. My little Zayla is with me wherever I go - my little shadow, my additional limb. Sometimes she lets me leave her in the church nursery, and I try to leave her once a week so I can attend a 50-minute tutorial at uni. But generally speaking, wherever I am, she is.

I gather Zayla sensed that she was missing out on the 'absence = happy reunion' experience because yesterday she staged the perfect separation - one which ensured she would optimise the benefits of a reunion. It was at Civic Park, site of the community 'Kindy in the Park' event in which dozens of local kindergartens set up various preschool-directed activities for hundreds of four-year-olds and their siblings. Upon our arrival, we experimented with a few of the activities, but I was soon mildly bemused that of all the novelty options available to my girls, they most wanted to experience the one that was a permanent fixture at the park: the playground.

I've never seen a playground so overrun with children, and I considered it a miracle that we were able to fulfil Zayla's passionate desire for a turn on the swing. I also discovered that it's incredibly difficult to keep track of two separate children in a crowd, especially one swarming over multiple levels. It was hectic out there. But on the upside, I ran into a friend who also had a child on the playground, so I didn't have to supervise alone.

What I didn't anticipate was that two adults wouldn't be enough, and long story short, while I was attending to  Chloë, Zayla and my friend's daughter stealthily wandered off into the unknown. An ever-so-helpful gentleman informed me that he observed Zayla wandering off unsupervised with another little girl (thanks for stopping them!) and that I might want to take better care of her (oh, you're so helpful!). With an unfenced duck pond on one side and busy North East Road on the other, it wasn't my ideal scenario; so my fellow mother-in-distress and I decided to separate and inspect the various activity stations for signs of our girls.

It was probably about five to ten minutes before we retrieved them. They were at the rotunda, blissfully bopping along to music and imitating all the actions that characterise toddler tunes. Zayla was apparently ignorant as to my state of distress as I scooped her up and assailed her cheeks with countless kisses. In my heightened state of maternal emotion, I felt so fortunate to have this precious little cherub safely with me, and suddenly the wonderful attributes of my two-year-old were paramount in my mind.

I, of course, also felt a certain ineptitude as a mother. But I took the opportunity to resolve to increase my vigilance and appreciate more the company of my little ones. Upon later contemplation of the incident (in light of the happy ending), I was a little bit glad that it had happened. It made me consider the intrinsic value of motherhood and the rich rewards it offers. It forced me to contemplate the bleak prospect of forever losing a child and it reinforced to me how much I love my two little girls.

I wish I could constantly appreciate those around me, regardless of the situation, but I suspect I'm benefited by various circumstances that sometimes separate me briefly from my loved ones. It gives me an opportunity to miss them, wonder what they're up to, and anticipate seeing them again. So I guess what I've come to realise is that absence really does make the heart grow fonder - and just imagine how fond I'm going to be of my girls once they're at school everyday!