Subh Milis

 

[Photo Credit: https://unsplash.com/photos/8KJxdwQ0m0k]

As today is International Mother Languages Day, I am going to cheat and repeat the same Irish Language poem that I have quoted on this occasion before. The subject of the poem itself is apt for the other reason that today is also my last day with my eldest daughter who has been harbouring here and who returns to University in the UK tomorrow. This is the same daughter who was born, it seems to me, about ten minutes ago. I miss her as she was at the age of two, as she was at the age of six, as she was at the age of ten and all points in between. Her incarnation between the ages of thirteen and sixteen, however, I am happy to consign to convenient amnesia.

This poem was on the syllabus of lower secondary school in Ireland when I was at that more difficult age. My mother claims, similarly, to have conveniently forgotten what I was like.

Bhí subh milis
Ar bhascrann an dorais,
Ach mhúch mé an corraí
Ionam a d'éirigh
Mar chuimhnigh mé ar an lá
Go mbéadh an bhascrann glan
Agus an lámh beag
Ar iarraidh.

Which translates:

There was jam
On the door handle,
But I calmed the anger
That rose within me
Because I thought of the day
When the handle would be clean
And the little hand
Missing.

Apart from the quite misrepresentative idea that Irish parents become implacably angry over confection-stained doorknobs, I do find myself, at times of child-induced stress, whispering to myself: "Subh milis, Subh milis" as a reminder that my children's little transgressions are really not worth getting too exercised over. It has been lovely over the past couple of months to have had some unexpected bonus time with my baby who should have been "ar iarraidh" - it counts for me as one of the very few positives of this current worldwide unpleasantness.

I imagine, when my wife and I are eventually sitting in our empty nest, that we will be grateful for the hours given back to us - merely dropping our regular chauffeuring duties alone will give us many hours a week to fill with our own interests. But we will miss the buzz and there will be moments, I have no doubt, when we would welcome back even the parenting stressors for an evening or two. And so, while it might sound mildly irrational to advise anyone to enjoy the tension that raising children sometimes causes, the day will come when you will miss it and even, at times, long for it.

Go raibh deire-seachtaine suaimhneach agaibh (Have a restful weekend),

Brian