The more Kamal and I look at photos of Khalish and his cousins at their grandparents' backyard, the more we want a house with a vast green garden. Even sans the photos, we can vividly hear the gaiety of the children's laughter as they explored their own 100-acre wood one September afternoon.
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Anis, the eldest among the children, led them outdoor. The boys ran around the backyard as soon as they stepped on the grass, but Anis reached for a rake to sweep away the dry leaves.
One of the boys, Arman, found a dustpan. He instinctively knew what to do with it - transform the whole thing into a light saber! The coconut tree was his shield.
My little boy kept himself occupied with an old ball. He ran and ran and ran with it until he fell on the ground. The white pants turned colourful at the end of the day.
In the meantime, Anis, done with her intention to gather the dry leaves at one spot (to be collected by one of the uncles later), joined Haris in his hunt for little wild mushrooms. The size might not be impressive, but the amount amazed us. Yes, it amazed me, too, as it was the first time I saw what had been merely a proverb to me. Bak cendawan tumbuh di musim hujan.
There were many wonders outside that I did not realise my mother's cousin, her daughter and her newest grandchild came to visit their neighbours. Once inside the house, I also realised that Elis was already awake from her nap. I simply could not get enough of both babies, yet I had to rush to the backyard again when I heard Khalish's cry.
There he was, chasing Anis to take the rake away from her. It was a hilarious sight. He saw me and begged for my help. When I strategised an escape route for Anis instead, he suddenly lay on the ground and laughed his heart out. Little did Anis and I know that it was only a strategy as well. He was able to reach for the rake when we stood nearer to him to see whether or not he was alright. Cheeky.
Haris was unperturbed by the drama. He was still enthralled by the mushrooms. I loved the way he quietly scrutinised the surrounding.
Not for long though. In a blink of an eye, Haris got a hold of the much loved rake, and Khalish got jealous when he saw how well his elder cousin could control the tool. Therefore, whenever the former gathered the leaves at one spot like Anis did, the latter stepped on the pile and scattered the leaves around again. That was when Haris furiously shouted, "Khalish!"
I scooped Khalish up, tickled him so that he laughed and forgot about being scolded, and explained to him the advantage of gotong-royong. The little boy saw Haris' diligence and asked me for a way to help his cousin. Surprise, surprise.
They worked together eventually. Haris even taught Khalish the right method to clean the lawn. Anis and Arman were asked by their mother to take a bath by then. So, no more war for the rake and the dustpan.
Haris took the long rake, and Khalish, the short dustpan. And they lived happily ever after at the grandparents' backyard (the parents wished).
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Until the little cousins meet again, this is Khalish's favourite tale of the 100-acre wood.