"My headphones are not charging."
Pattu's voice is matter of fact. She states it as if it were non negotiable, this state of her headphones.
"Have to tried charging it at a different spot? Have you tried using a different charging cord, different adapter?"
My questions stream out of me in the measured way of a veteran parent.
"I did." She doesn't bother looking up from her phone. Her dad's annoyed voice travels from the kitchen where he is cutting vegetables.
I tune out for a moment. I look at this lanky girl sitting on the swing in the middle of the family room oblivious to the different energies that surround her. For a moment, I am envious. Five minutes later, I am pressing my pair of new beats headphones, still in their case, into her hands.
"They are expensive. Be careful." I whisper as I walk away. Minutes later, I press my near new microphone, one I ordered when I was convinced I was going to be the next podcasting genius into my youngest daughters hands. My shoes, ones I ordered for our last New York trip are now the property of my oldest daughter.
Over the past few weeks and months, I have been giving away things I treasure, I have been saying yes when my instinct screams no. There hasn't been a pivotal moment or event that can explain this shift. It has been gradual, a dawning realization that my children are mine temporarily.
They are growing, morphing into adult like people who will some day walk out of our home and only ever return as guests. The home we share now will be preserved in sepia, in memories that whiffs of familiar foods will conjure up at will. The notion of home will become fuzzy, crystallizing into a different form as they make their way into the world. It will shapeshift from a dorm, a starter shared apartment, a tiny studio, a living arrangement with a partner and maybe someday, a place where they will create memories for other people in their lives.
This morning as I walked into one of the twins rooms to get the dirty laundry down, I looked around overwhelmed by the chaos. I sat on her mattress, weighing what I wanted to say when she broke into my thoughts.
"It is exactly the way I want it to be."
I said nothing and walked away. Yet another evening as I prepared to dedicate myself to hours of binge-ing the historical Chinese drama I am currently watching, Pattu walked in with a question. The discussion ended with me asking her why she could not share things with me. She looked at me straight in my eyes and said "Did you share everything with your mom?"
I smiled and returned to my show.
This is a time of flux. My body is changing. Menopause is hitting me hard. My hair is falling out. I weep at the slightest provocation. I am abrasive to the people I love. I ache and fall apart silently. I book tickets to the seventh k-pop concert in less than two years. I respond to Saathi's questions on my spending with a shrug. Everything feels transient and temporary. I am trying to pack in as many memories I think are good with the kids knowing full well that the memories that they are storing may well be very different from the ones I am striving to create.
There is a sense of time closing in on me, on us. I am trying to go gently into the night.