Learning to Be a Mother

23. Rain and Chocolate.

Unfortunately, the happiness that should be realized the next day actually melted into children rain that wet the Karawang area. The sky did not let my son out of the house, asking him to stay inside with the family gathered in one place.

It has been hours of rain fluttering, the rush accompanied by the whimpering of lightning that makes me sometimes surprised is very annoying. Seeing my daughter's moody face was affecting my feelings, I felt guilty because this rain even fell on her holiday.

I exhaled, silently praying in my heart that the good day of Calista would not be completely lost. Saturday was the worst day, the worst day that no child would want to have. So it should be time for him to refresh.

The wall clock rotates its long needle until it reaches the number twelve, meaning now it is eight o'clock exactly. We were in the living room from the morning, busy with affairs and activities on each sofa.

My husband, along with his cell phone, also occasionally took the time to sip a cup of tea. My first child read a book, either a textbook or a novel she read. Meanwhile, my last child was busy contacting his friend, seen from his increasingly sullen face while enjoying some of the biscuits provided.

In fact, even though we were gathered in the same place, there was no gap that made us exchange smiles with each other. There was nothing in common that caught our attention, nor was there any difference that made any of us wonder. Perhaps each swallowed his question with many assumptions or chose not to care.

"Ma, this afternoon Fathan permission futsal same temen, yes."

"Didn't Mom say it to you yesterday?" I replied quickly, "No, at home."

"What's wrong, anyway?"

Cahyo then refuted my words, making this attention also divided into two. As if it didn't fit what he was thinking, my husband exhaled while putting his phone on the table. Looks like there will be a small accident in between these conversations.

"Fathan is a man, it's natural to go out just as hard for futsal or where," he allegedly turned to my daughter. "Rather than just reading what the hell books at home, mending hang out outside. This is even the girl who comes out the most."

"Kok being me?"

I've often reminded him not to reply when his father speaks, if his father sounds right or not. Because of how long we will reply, how strong our arguments will be, my husband will not want to lower his ego. He always wins the debate from whoever his interlocutor is.

If there is no winning word or 'congratulations' impression that marks the dispute later, then, then going off the spot and hand play will be the last solution that makes the interlocutor shut his mouth as if shown the gate of their death.

"Well, you're a girl here. See Mama in the kitchen cooking, do not mostly play HP .. mulu in the room do not know what. Once out even men."

"Lho, I just played with Biyan!" Kalista put her phone on the couch. "Why am I always not allowed? Fathan's turn is not permitted!"

Her father clucked, "How many times do you want to go outside the same guy, huh? How dare you say it like this to me? Not yesterday I said what!"

"Dad, have it," I said, touching it softly, trying to calm the atmosphere between the rising cold. "Fathan, you're so big. Please understand Mama, just study in the room, yeah."

I can't describe my first child's reaction as best I can. From his gaze, gesture, and breath that should be penetrated, there was no change or impression of disappointment when my answer was still not as requested earlier.

"Clearned!" call my husband to warn. "Udah, Fathan will be out. If necessary, let me take it."

"No, Dad. Fathan studied, just next week there is a daily test," he said smiling, looking sincere.

After finishing producing a useless crisp conversation, my son finally woke up from his seat. The book that turned out to be a type of novel was fortified, acting permissively until it went into the room. Perhaps he was more comfortable continuing his reading in there.

"You?"

I exhaled.

"Aren't his brothers studying?"

"Yes, I'll study."

"Dad, what the hell, anyway!"

Kalista shouted as her phone was suddenly snatched away, while her father was busy hiding her son's belongings in his pocket. I don't understand the two, no one wants to budge and no one wants to understand the situation.

"Where's my HP!"

Cahyo. "Get into the room, study!"

Then, my daughter nodded. Forcibly, he stepped lazily with his legs jerking towards his room. Upon reaching the destination, the door was slammed as he pleased which made my husband upset.

"But the door!"

"Well, don't be rude to her daughter. What fear or trauma will he be?" I'm trying to make him understand. "It's okay to be scolded occasionally, but he's given a good word."

Cahyo didn't seem to take my advice. Maybe because of running out of words and not wanting to extend the problem, finally the newspaper stranded on the table was dragged by his hands. He left without hesitation, entering our room which continued to close the door.

Again, I was abandoned.

I've tried everything, but I can't make anyone give up. The result is precisely about me who always understands them, about me who cries silently, and sighs as a habit every day.

Sometimes I think in these moments. Was my mother also a lot of thoughts like me or me who always complicate this household business? Since my mother had been left behind by her husband as well, would she be able to endure all her loneliness and longing alone? Is it a good breathing opportunity because all the business is done?

I also want to be understood. Again, I want to be understood.

Wanting to make sure of the first child's feelings, my knees finally straightened up and brought me closer to her room. From this door, there is already the inscription 'Tap before entering' as a sign so that the occupants of the room know that something is coming.

So I knocked on the door, opening the chocolate barrier that featured a room of a Muhammad Fathan. The room is full of line paintings in the form of my son's hands, mixed with dozens of types of books arranged on the shelf, as well as some photos with school friends neatly taped along the study table.

This room is always neatly arranged with her belongings, sometimes I am confused to tidy it up as well which ends up leaving the room. After I looked further, I found my eldest son who was writing while hearing the music that seemed like a melodic humming just to make him focus.

"Fathan, what else?"

"Not to be disturbed."

I'm so much hearing it. "Kok you are? Don't you love Mama?"

Fathan was heard exhaling, he turned to me for a moment who had just been sitting on the edge of the bed. "I'm learning, Mama. Let the test go well."

My smile was thinly formed, directed to lift and put pillows and sleeping equipment that had been placed flat. "Yes, good dong learn so your grades are good too. Let it be copied by his sister, yesterday you ranked second, right? This semester should go up to number one, yeah."

I saw no reaction or response from my son, he seemed to choose to prioritize his activities now as if my words were only a temporary request and comments from people passing by.

"His mother didn't say anything?"

"Denger" he said slowly. "But Fathan will get something, yeah."

My forehead frowned, not usually Fathan asked for something when his efforts came to fruition. "What do you want?"

"Chocolate."