Stories · Curiosities · Questionable Ideas · Rather a Lot of Imagination · Farah Sam · Author & Creator ·
December Frost & The Box-Mountain Kingdom
A cold December day on Avenue de Havilland brings towering cardboard boxes, freezing drafts, and the daunting realization of a new beginning. As Mum tries to settle the family into their quiet, unfamiliar home, she focuses on creating the first small islands of comfort and predictability for four-year-old Ariadne, while the teenagers process the move in their own distinct, dramatic ways.
THE STAR FAMILY BLOG
Farah Sam
12/1/20212 min read
Diary Entry: Wednesday
Zen level: Precarious, hovering somewhere near a shaky 4/10
Chapters written: 1/4 page (jotted down on a dusty packing slip)
Current status: Searching for the box labeled "Urgent: Teapot & Coffee Mug"
The cold in Brussels is a quiet, heavy thing. It presses against the tall window panes of our new home on Avenue de Havilland, frosting the corners with delicate, icy lace. We arrived late yesterday afternoon, surrounded by a mountain of taped cardboard boxes and a biting draft that seems to have claimed the hallway as its personal playground. I stood in the center of the living room, looking at the towering cardboard landscape, feeling the heavy, cold weight of exhaustion settle deep into my bones. Moving cities to find specialized clinical diagnostic help for our silent little Ariadne was the right decision, but today, in the winter dimness, the road ahead feels incredibly long and unfamiliar.
My teenagers, ever the barometers of domestic change, reacted instantly. Yasmeen, fifteen and deeply committed to her aesthetic standards, sat perched dramatically atop a box labeled Linens, her chin resting in her hands, declaring that the grey Belgian light was "entirely hostile to her creative vision." Farhaan, at fourteen, was already rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, attempting to find a baking tray. "Mum, if I can find my mixing bowl, I'm baking a coconut cake," he announced, knowing coconut is the fast-track to my heart. "It's the only way we'll survive the frost."
Down on the bare floorboards, little Ariadne was beginning to feel the overwhelming weight of the unfamiliar space. She has intense sensory issues and feels the cold deeply, but because she cannot speak to tell us, I have to be her voice. She stood by her toy pram, her fingers twitching with nervous energy, looking on the verge of tears. The older kids stood watching her, wanting so badly to help but looking completely lost.
"Mum, what do we do?" Yasmeen asked quietly, her phone in hand. "I tried looking up how to settle her, but everything online sounds so clinical."
"Put the phone down, sweetie, and just watch," I smiled, dropping straight down to the cold floor beside Ariadne. Completely ignoring the dust, I wrapped her in a thick, fleece-lined blanket to keep the drafts at bay. "She needs rhythm right now." Hand-over-hand, I guided Ariadne's hands to the wheels of her toy pram, helping her spin them rhythmically, while Yasmeen watched closely, learning the cue.
Suddenly, a sharp, piercing wail cut through the room—Ariadne was hungry. When her needs aren't met, she wails to let us know. I quickly set up her special independent snack station on a low cardboard box we cleared in the corner, placing a sliced banana, a soft croissant, and a cup of water right within her reach. Reaching out, she grabbed the banana herself, her tears stopping instantly as she chewed.
Closing: With Ariadne finally asleep in a makeshift nest of warm blankets on the floor, and the teenagers quiet in their respective corners, the house finally softened. I cleared a tiny square of floorboard near the fireplace, sat cross-legged, and let my shoulders drop. I closed my eyes, took a deep, slow breath, and let the cold air fill my lungs, exhaling the tension of the journey. I stretched forward into a gentle child’s pose, feeling the solid floor beneath me. We are grounded. We are here.