Tulin õhtul koosolekult koju ja murdusin. Üle saja aasta nutsin ma töö pärast. Nutsin nagu väike laps. Vahet pole isegi, mis need põhjused olid, aga mida enam ma püüdsin end tagasi hoida ja mitte nutta, istusin ma arvuti taga ja luksusin nutta. Lahinal. Marek püüdis mind lohutada, aga no ei saanud ma oma veekraane kinni.
“Miks emme nutab?” küsis Ida toast. Marek ütles, et emme on kurb ja palus Idal mulle kalli teha. Ida jooksis minu juurde ja küsis: “Miks sa nutad?”
“Tööonu oli emme peale pahane,” vastasin ma.
“Mis pärast?” uuris Ida edasi.
Ma ei osanud talle vastata. Kuidas seletada 4,5aastasele, et ma murdusin tööstressi all.
“Tööonu ütles, et emme on paha,” ütlesin ma, mõtlemata üldse sõnadele, mis ma suust välja tulid.
Ida vaatas mulle otsa, siiralt ja sügavalt ning ütles: “Sa ei ole üldse paha.” Ja kallistas mind.
Korraks hakkasin me veel rohkem nutma, aga võtsin end kokku ja tänasin Idat. See oli täpselt see, mida ma hetkel vajasin. Kui mu laps, kelle jaoks ma enda arvates olen pigem halb ema, range ja pidevalt töösse uppunud, ütleb, et ma ei ole paha, siis see on parim kompliment, mida kuulda.
“Kas ta ütles, et sa oled paha?” kordas Ida mõne aja pärast uuesti.
Noogutasin ja teesklesin naeru. “Aga ei ole onju, onu valetas,” naersin läbi pisarate.
Ida nõustus. “Ta oli valevorst. Meil öeldakse lasetaias siis “häbi häbi püksis käbi”.”
//
I came home from the meeting in the evening and broke down. For the first time in ages I cried over work. Cried like a little baby. It doesn’t even matter what the reasons behind it were, but the more I tried to keep myself together and not cry, the more I sobbed behind the computer. Uncontrollably. Marek tried to console me but I just couldn’t turn off my waterworks.
“Why is mummy crying?“ Ida was asking from the other room. Marek told her that mummy was sad and asked Ida to give me a hug. Ida ran to me and asked, “Why are you crying?“
“The man at work was mad at mummy,” I said.
“Why?” Ida enquired further.
I didn’t know how to reply. How are you supposed to explain to a 4.5-year-old that I had cracked under work pressure?
“The man at work told me that mummy is bad,” I said without even thinking about the words that slipped out of my mouth.
Ida looked at me, deeply and sincerely, and said, “You are not at all bad.” And she gave me a hug.
For a moment, I started crying even more but pulled myself together and thanked Ida. This was exactly what I needed that moment. If my kid, for whom I think I am more like a bad mother, strict and buried under work, if she thinks that I am not bad then that is the best compliment I could ever receive.
“Did he say you were bad?” Ida repeated after a while again.
I nodded and pretended to laugh, “But I’m not, am I? He was lying,” I laughed through the tears.
Ida agreed, “He was a liar. In the kindergarten we say ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire!’“