Thursday morning, 4am. Jasmine wakes me for cuddles after a bad dream. She settles quickly and we sleep until seven when we find Sonny curled up at our feet. It is hot but grey and foggy, we eat, they play. Untidily; there is always mess and no sign of clearing up afterwards. They bicker and make more mess; pots and tubs are emptied, their contents discarded.
Eventually, we make it out. There are bouts of listening but they are few and far between. I raise my voice, stressed and unhappy. Just listen, child. Back home, Sonny amuses himself with puzzles and Jasmine attempts to rectify the messy situation. She is resistant and demands assistance. Their aunties arrive and make them laugh. I realise we have not done much of that today.
Then they leave and there is immediate quiet. The television goes on to fill the aural void but the evening soon draws in and it is inescapable.
That I miss them.
I miss her cheeky smile. I miss her intelligent remarks and also I miss how she says "good after" instead of look after. I miss how, when the day is done and the house holds its breath in darkness, she asks me to lay down with her.
I miss his silent, dream-like cuddles. The way he comes to find me when we have company; he wants no one but me. I miss his helpless chuckle and the way he seamlessly sneaks Thomas into every situation and every conversation.
I miss them the moment they are not with me, however difficult I sometimes find their behaviour.
I miss them when they sleepover.