The entire August holiday unfolded with a comforting rhythm, a routine that kept us grounded and brought structure to our days. Each morning, I rose at 7 a.m., slipping quietly out of bed to prepare the first meal of the day. Tea was the standard, though I alternated it with chocolate every other morning to keep things interesting. Coffee, however, was reserved for the late afternoon, a ritual that gave us all something to look forward to as the day wound down.
Once the tea was ready and the kitchen settled, I transitioned to my home workstation. It was a simple setup, a laptop, a desktop, and a pile of notes within arm’s reach. This space became my creative hub. Each day, I focused on creating a poster or writing an article to share across social media. It was a strategy that worked wonders; these small acts of self-promotion consistently brought in new work.
By the time the children woke up at 9 a.m., I was already deep into my projects. Their cheerful voices soon filled the house as they made their way to the dining table for breakfast. After their tea and bread, they’d eagerly ask for books, pieces of paper, or pencils. They loved revisiting the lessons they’d learned in school, their small hands scribbling letters and numbers with unmatched focus. On some days, I handed them crayons or watercolors to explore their artistic sides, encouraging them to paint whatever came to mind.
This creative time wasn’t just for them, it gave me a window of peace to dive back into my work. Knowing they were engaged and content allowed me to maintain a flow, balancing deadlines with the demands of parenthood.
Lunch was simple yet satisfying. I relied on leftovers from the previous night’s supper, reheating them to save time and effort. Every evening, I made sure to prepare enough food to last through the following day’s lunch. While we had a fridge, it remained mostly unused. Fridge foods didn’t suit our taste. The natural coldness of Limuru’s climate was all we needed to keep things fresh. The fridge served mainly to store milk, juice, soda, and fruits, and even then, we rarely bothered to connect it to electricity. Limuru itself was our natural refrigerator.
As the day approached 5 p.m., we embarked on what the kids affectionately called “maround.” This was either a simple walk around the neighborhood or a short road trip in the car. It was a chance for all of us to get some fresh air, bond, and break the monotony of the day. The marounds were not just about leisure; they also included our daily shopping runs.
For meat, our destination was always Delight Butchery, where Mwaura greeted us warmly. He knew our preferences well; lean, red meat, free of any fatty pieces. Vegetables came from George’s kibanda, a small stall. George, with his calm demeanor, always ensured we got the freshest greens. Everything else we needed was picked up from Mahitaji Shop, owned by Samson. Shopping there was a delight in itself. Samson was my high school classmate, and each visit became an opportunity to catch up and reminisce about old times.
These little routines, our walks, our shopping stops, and the laughter shared over meals, became the heartbeat of our days. They grounded us in a time of transition, making the absence of Mary feel a little less heavy. Even as I juggled work and parenting, these moments reminded me that life’s greatest joys often lay in the simplest routines.
Once the tea was ready and the kitchen settled, I transitioned to my home workstation. It was a simple setup, a laptop, a desktop, and a pile of notes within arm’s reach. This space became my creative hub. Each day, I focused on creating a poster or writing an article to share across social media. It was a strategy that worked wonders; these small acts of self-promotion consistently brought in new work.
By the time the children woke up at 9 a.m., I was already deep into my projects. Their cheerful voices soon filled the house as they made their way to the dining table for breakfast. After their tea and bread, they’d eagerly ask for books, pieces of paper, or pencils. They loved revisiting the lessons they’d learned in school, their small hands scribbling letters and numbers with unmatched focus. On some days, I handed them crayons or watercolors to explore their artistic sides, encouraging them to paint whatever came to mind.
This creative time wasn’t just for them, it gave me a window of peace to dive back into my work. Knowing they were engaged and content allowed me to maintain a flow, balancing deadlines with the demands of parenthood.
Lunch was simple yet satisfying. I relied on leftovers from the previous night’s supper, reheating them to save time and effort. Every evening, I made sure to prepare enough food to last through the following day’s lunch. While we had a fridge, it remained mostly unused. Fridge foods didn’t suit our taste. The natural coldness of Limuru’s climate was all we needed to keep things fresh. The fridge served mainly to store milk, juice, soda, and fruits, and even then, we rarely bothered to connect it to electricity. Limuru itself was our natural refrigerator.
As the day approached 5 p.m., we embarked on what the kids affectionately called “maround.” This was either a simple walk around the neighborhood or a short road trip in the car. It was a chance for all of us to get some fresh air, bond, and break the monotony of the day. The marounds were not just about leisure; they also included our daily shopping runs.
For meat, our destination was always Delight Butchery, where Mwaura greeted us warmly. He knew our preferences well; lean, red meat, free of any fatty pieces. Vegetables came from George’s kibanda, a small stall. George, with his calm demeanor, always ensured we got the freshest greens. Everything else we needed was picked up from Mahitaji Shop, owned by Samson. Shopping there was a delight in itself. Samson was my high school classmate, and each visit became an opportunity to catch up and reminisce about old times.
These little routines, our walks, our shopping stops, and the laughter shared over meals, became the heartbeat of our days. They grounded us in a time of transition, making the absence of Mary feel a little less heavy. Even as I juggled work and parenting, these moments reminded me that life’s greatest joys often lay in the simplest routines.
