Wednesday. 11.11.
Another crazy day in which I can't finish everything I have to do. And yet, I ran out at lunch to hug my girls, when they left school. Thea had tears in her eyes and pride. She didn't understand how I came just to tell them I loved them and to hug them. I went back to the office. I ran out at 4:40 PM to get flowers, then to pick them up from English classes, first one, then the other. I got home, arranged the bouquets and the braids and ran to the Radio Hall. I was waiting for this day, I love Dan Mihai Goia very much and it was a very important day for him. And for us. I was very curious to see if they would last more than 2 hours at a concert (quite hard for 6 and 9 year olds). They lasted an hour... reasonably. Then, they started to have "problems". Need to go to the toilet, thirst, sleep (Anna even dozed off a bit), hunger, and sleep. However, they enjoyed it immensely, especially since the voices "kept mixing and giving me goosebumps". But we weren't alone and I was embarrassed by the neighbors in the seats. They were asking, wondering, feeling the rhythm and wanting to show me this with their fingers, their feet. I apologized to my neighbors. They smiled gently at me, especially the priest in the back, distinguished and extremely amused by the way my children were experiencing the concert. The people around didn't seem too bothered. Me, a little. I met up with lovely girls, my former college classmates, Maria Cristina Craița Lăzărică, Silvia, Cristina and Simona, Anna, after a very long time. I was happy to see her and exchange a few words (from a distance), with my wonderful college professor, Sorina Goia.

I admired Cecilia Bucerzan, but I didn't even get to greet her. I didn't have time to chat, although I would have liked to. The second part of the concert was starting and I was running after the girls. I greeted Mr. Goia and ran away. With remorse and tears in my eyes, because I didn't stay for the encore. The girls were hungry. Bad. After all, they had endured 3 hours of (wonderful) choral music, for the first time, after school, homework, English, running. I got home. 10:30 PM. I find out that another MAN has died. Number 51. Terrible, I didn't think a number could have such gloomy connotations. Alex Pascu. A son of a mother and a father who are devastated. I cry while I arrange a quick dinner. I don't have bread and this could compromise the girls' package tomorrow. I knead quickly. And I cry. I let the dough rise. I forgot to add the seeds. I cry again. Then I wash the girls. I try not to cry anymore. While Anna has taken her book (with pictures), Thea sits cheerfully at her desk. She still has something to do in science. It's not urgent, but she wants to, because "it could help her in her medical career". She draws. Still cheerful. Looking up and with her little hands clasped, she repeats about the life cycle of plants, pronouncing each new name with emphasis and conviction. Cotyledon, hypocotyl, root. I had forgotten about them. I suddenly remembered the age when it seemed essential to me to know everything about plants. My thick botany notebook, with a blue cover, its plastic smell appeared before my eyes. Mrs. Timaru, my biology teacher, was very keen on us having impeccable notebooks and beautiful drawings and remembering as many details as possible. I loved her, stern and fierce as she was, with her navy blue coat and her hard-working hands, with strong fingers. Seeing me looking at my watch, sensing what I wanted to tell her, Thea explained to me how much she liked this subject and how important it was to remember what she read. Period. I didn't protest. I didn't tell her she would remember all this in about thirty years. 11:40 PM. She finishes her drawings. I go downstairs to turn on the oven, silently thanking my grandmother, who taught me how to make bread quickly and, in general, how to solve any problem...culinary quickly and efficiently. I wash the dishes, thinking about today, trying to remember and relive every moment, I think about the unspoken words, the ungiven smiles, the unshaken hands, the constant rush that subjugates me/us. It starts to smell like bread. The girls fell asleep, flushed with health, in their new pajamas, with plump penguins, reconciled and a little richer. They saw "real" sopranos, Thea applauded the Father who baptized her, they found out that maybe I could have been a grandmother too (if Pesantez Wladimir, my colleague, had managed the performance!), they saw fire extinguishers and felt safe "in case something happened".

It's well past midnight, our wonderful ones are sleeping, dreaming sweetly, as if even the plump penguins have heavy eyelids. Their little hands smell of honeycomb (from the cream they received as a gift from Leac de-un veac), the house is warm, from home and the oven and the smell of bread. It's late, very late, but our children are sleeping. Happy. Healthy. And if they can't wake up tomorrow, because we went to the Anniversary Concert of the Academic Radio Choir and because we still had some important things to solve, including the Science homework, at midnight, they won't go to school. We'll let them sleep as long as they want, until their wonderful little blue and green eyes open serene and rested, ready for a new day. A new day in which they'll be naughty. And in which I'll try not to get upset. And in which even their teachers, mothers, won't be upset.

We have two great children! WE DO. I thank God that we have them. But I also have some questions to ask, about the other parents and about their pain, their whys and their rebellion. I'm crying again. With emotion and pain. Congratulations, Dan Mihai Goia, great musician, talented and alive MAN! Have a good journey, angels with burnt wings…