The Grateful Mama

“When you love someone, all your saved up wishes start coming out.”

Elizabeth Bowen

I was changing Fig’s diaper after she’d had a fairly emotional morning.  There was no apparent reason for her angst, she just seemed to be having one of those teary days when nothing satisfied her.  As I finished dressing her, she stood up on the changetable and reached for a candle (unlit) that was hanging in a holder on the wall.  She held the candle in front of me and sang a lovely rendition of, “Happy Birthday to Mama,” before telling me to make a wish.  I pretended to blow out the candle, and then she asked,  ”What did you wish for Mama?”

“I wished that there wouldn’t be any more crying today.”  Truly, I did.

Fig looked disappointed.  ”Do you think I’ll get my wish?” I asked her.

“No,” she said quickly, “but you will get a pony.”

Only your real friends will tell you when your face is dirty.

Sicilian Proverb

You know you’ve hit the jackpot when you enjoy your work and your colleagues become some of your dearest friends.  Before I moved back to Vancouver Island six years ago, I was teaching at a school in West Vancouver, forming friendships with co-workers that will certainly last a lifetime.

Five of these women brought their families to the Island for a camping holiday, so my sister and I packed up our kids and visited them at their campsite, about thirty minutes outside of town.

The four hours we spent together felt thirty minutes, and I’m now lamenting the fact that we didn’t pitch a tent right alongside them for the night.  I miss them.  I’m experiencing the same phenomenon that my sister used to feel whenever I’d come home for a visit after being away at University.  She always cried more when I returned home than when I left, because when she saw me again, she realized how much she had missed me.  (At least that’s her story!)  I feel the same way about these women.  I was in their company mere hours ago, but I miss them more than I have all year!

Funny how that happens.

“Did you ever stop to taste a carrot?  Not just eat it, but taste it?  You can’t taste the beauty and energy of the earth in a Twinkie.”

Astrid Alauda

We borrowed a fascinating ‘lift-the-flap’ book about sea creatures from the public library.  One page illustrated how some predatory fish use light to attract their prey.  A rather intimidating and toothy fish with a light atop his head was shown eating a smaller fish; this little guy had obviously been sucked in by the intriguing fish-head-lamp.  Who could blame him?  I’d certainly be curious.  Under the flap were the words, “Bad luck, Fish!”  Indeed.

Our family eats a lot of fish.  I’m a pescatarian, which means I eat seafood, but no other type of meat.  After a week of enjoying our ‘Sea Creatures’ book, my four-year-old daughter, Pip, started saying, “Bad luck, Fish!” whenever her fork dove into a piece of salmon at the dinner table.

One evening, Pip found herself with a piece of chicken on the end of her utensil.  “Mama, is this chicken?”

“Yes, Pip.”

“But, did this used to be a real chicken running around and stuff,  like at the petting zoo?”

“Yes, Sweetie, it used to be a real chicken running around.”

My husband, (who enjoys meat of all varieties,) and I have agreed to let our daughters choose whether or not they will eat meat.  I don’t try to persuade the girls to be pescatarians, but I am honest with them about the source of their food.

Pip rolled her fork around in her hand and studied the white meat.  I cold see that she was making some serious connections in her mind; Happy-Go-Lucky Chicken at the petting zoo one day, dead meat on her plate the next.  Hmmmmmmm.,,

‘She won’t eat the chicken,’ I thought to myself, just before Pip announced,

“Bad luck, Chicken!” and, with a slight grin, she popped the morsel into her mouth.

Was this my sensitive little girl who showed such empathy with her friends?  Was this the daughter who burst into tears when she saw a butterfly with an injured wing?  Yes.  This was she.  (And her father was getting far too much enjoyment out of the ‘Bad luck’ line.)

It came as no surprise, therefore, when both of my daughters wanted to watch their dad clean salmon in the backyard.  They were intrigued to say the least.  I took my camera outside to capture the girls’ fascination with the deceased fish.  They touched eyeballs and fins, and ran their little hands upon gleaming silver scales.  As was expected, Pip uttered, “Bad luck, Fish!” more than once during the fish-cleaning extravaganza.

Before heading back inside to start the marinade, I offered a cautionary, “Don’t stand too close to Daddy when he’s cutting the fish!” to my daughters, (and my husband.)  Was my advice heeded?  Let me tell you, my poor heart skipped a beat when Pip and her dad appeared at the back door with Pip’s neck and dress completely covered in fish-blood.   For an instant, I was reminded of that horrific scene in ‘Carrie’ when Sissy Spacek is standing onstage at her graduation, covered in pig’s blood.  You know the one.

After I cleaned Pip, she and her sister joined me in the kitchen to finish preparing the rest of our dinner.  I hoisted both girls onto the counter after we’d all washed our hands.  First, the girls helped me finish the marinade, measuring the brown sugar and plopping it into our mixture of soy sauce and olive oil.  They stirred it and splattered the marinade all over themselves and the counter.  Next came the grated ginger.  I did the grating and the girls picked up the flakes and put them into the bowl.  After I’d poured the marinade onto the fish, it was time to prepare the rice and vegetables.

I pulled out the steamer and filled it with water.  Pip and Fig assisted with every part of the dinner preparation, from rinsing the rice to placing the carrots into the steamer tray.  Yes, it took a lot longer to prepare the meal than it would have if I was cooking by myself, and yes, the kitchen counter was a lot messier after my daughters had vacated it, but seeing the look of satisfaction in their eyes as we complimented them on the meal was worth the extra time and effort.

“Wow.  Girls, this fish is delicious!  Did you ever do a nice job of the marinade!” my husband gushed.

“We helped Mama with everything, Dad,” Pip explained with pride.

These are the formative years.  Our children are developing attitudes toward things that they will carry through the rest of their lives.  If we can give them a knowledge and respect for where their food comes from, and if we can provide them with positive experiences preparing nutritious food, serving it with pride and enjoying it with others, they will be empowered to make healthy food choices and create positive eating habits for the rest of their lives.

Most of the time, it’s FAR easier and faster to simply do things myself, but when I consider the opportunities for dialogue and experience that I can offer my kids when they ask, “Mama, can I help you?” it leads me to say,

“I’d love your help!”

“Won’t you come into the garden?  I would like my roses to see you.”

Richard Brinsley Sheridan

Pip and Fig were colouring at the dining room table while I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth.  Even with the electric toothbrush going, I could hear a faint, unidentifiable clicking noise.  I turned the toothbrush off to listen.  ”Click, click, pause, click.”  It was a foreign sound; possibly something dropping on the wood floor.  I interrupted my bathroom routine to investigate.

As I turned the corner toward our dining room, I saw the back of Pip, happily colouring at the table, and Fig, happily dropping crayons, one by one, onto the floor.  The girls were unaware of my presence, so I just stood for a moment and observed.  I was very curious about Fig’s behaviour.  She wasn’t dropping the crayons to be naughty.  Nobody had ever laid down a rule stating, ‘Whatever you do; don’t drop the crayons on the floor!”  She wasn’t looking for a reaction from her sister.  (Pip was so involved in her art that she didn’t seem to notice Fig’s activity.)  Fig was simply enjoying the act of crayon-dropping.

It was interesting to see how Fig responded to each crayon-drop.  She would hold the crayon in the air, release it, study its’ descent, then examine its’ placement on the floor.  Was she learning something about gravity?  Did she like the sound the crayons made as they made contact with the wood?  Did she see the crayons on the floor as an artistic masterpiece?  I’m not sure what motivated her to drop the crayons, but she clearly found it fascinating.

I tiptoed back into the bathroom.  It was one of those glorious mornings when we weren’t in a rush to get anywhere or do anything.  We had the luxury of time.  I could ask Fig to clean up the crayons after she was finished with her experiment.  It wasn’t necessary for me to interrupt at that moment.

Perspective is a powerful thing.  I recently had the good fortune of meeting Matthew Hooton.  He’s the former Highland grad who wrote a brilliant debut novel called, Deloume Road.  My book club read his book and  invited him to attend our meeting, which he did.  Matthew narrated Deloume Road from about a dozen different perspectives; and he managed to make me feel empathetic toward every single character.  That’s what perspective does for us; it enables us to feel what others are feeling.

Our children give us the gift of their perspective all the time; we get to see butterflies for the first time,  witness a rainbow through their eyes, experience the joy of running through a sprinkler again, but we sometimes forget to jump into their shoes when their behaviour challenges us.  I certainly don’t always take the time to see things from my daughters’ perspectives; some days are tougher than others and it’s a struggle to make it through to bedtime!  But when I DO have the presence of mind, (and the patience,) to slow down and consider how my children are viewing the world at any given moment, it always pays off.

When Fig had finished playing with the crayons, I simply asked her to put them back into the container, and she did!

“Have a vision.  Be demanding.”

Colin Powell

Pip had chosen to do some ‘rip art’ in the living room the other day.  Her process was to take different colours of construction paper, rip it up and lay it on the carpet in interesting ways.  Fair enough.  It looked like a lot of fun, and, who knows, she could be the next Jackson Pollock.  (I wonder if he splattered as a child.)  I had no problem with the ripped paper that covered the living room, but when PIp decided to move on to some horse play, (literally,) she left the scattered papers behind.

Lately, our family has been working really hard on cleaning up after one activity before we move on to the next.  Big Daddy-O and I had been noticing that we were doing the majority of the picking up at the end of each day.  So, I told Pip that before she started to groom her rocking horse, she had to clean up her mess-terpiece.  (Not really, I think I called it ‘artwork.’)

She picked up perhaps two of the torn pieces, then went to groom Sparkle.  ”Um, Pip, there are several more pieces to pick up and put in the art cupboard.”  Again, Pip made a half-hearted effort to clear away about a third of the paper, then she knelt beside her steed with a plastic brush in hand.   I entered the living-room and looked at the floor.  All I had to say was, “Honey,” (in that tone of voice I use when there’s a firm message to follow), and Pip started picking up the remainder of the paper.  She was very calm as she turned to me and said,

“Mama, I’ve noticed you’ve been very demanding lately.”

“What sunshine is to flowers, smiles are to humanity. These are but trifles, to be sure; but, scattered along life’s pathway, the good they do is inconceivable.”

Joseph Addison

I pulled into the parking lot of a fairly large and busy local drugstore.  I sat in my car for a minute to hear the end of a discussion about lime disease on the CBC, and saw an older gentleman getting out of his car across from me.  He caught my eye, smiled and pointed at me as though he knew me.  Bruce Springsteen does the same thing when he’s onstage.  I remember being at one of his concerts with my brother and he pointed in our general direction.  Of course my brother and I, (and possibly a dozen other fans,) felt as though he was making a connection with us.  It’s a good strategy.

Back in the parking lot, I got out of my car and stepped into the sunshine.  The elderly gentleman threw his arms up in the air and looked skyward as he said to me, “Glorious!  On days like this, you feel glad to be above the ground instead of six feet under, pruning roots!  Isn’t that a good one?  Pruning roots?”  He started walking by my side as though we were pals who had met up for a coffee date.

It felt comfortable though, I was happy to slow my pace down and accompany this fellow into the store.  He talked about how lovely Comox was.  ”I just moved here, you know, from Penticton.”

I learned that this man had been ill and his family told him to move to the Valley so that they could take care of him.  He spent a lot of his time taking care of his granddaughter, but he loved it.  As he was talking, my mind drifted briefly to thoughts of my grandfather, Ernie Munday, who was also the type of person who would make fast friends with strangers.  I used to love tagging along beside Grandpa to see how he could make people smile and laugh with his easy conversation.  He genuinely loved people.  He passed away more than twenty years ago, but I’m reminded of him often, and I was grateful to this man for sharing his friendly energy with me.

As we neared the store, I opened the heavy door and motioned for him to go first, but he wouldn’t hear of it.  He was a true  gentleman.  It seemed natural to part ways once we were inside the store, so he wrapped up our conversation by asking, “You know what the best thing about living here is?”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“The people are so darn friendly!” and he gave me a little wink.

“A life lived in love will never be dull.”

Leo Buscaglia

When I picked Pip up from pre-school the other day, she had a bat in her hands and was swinging at pitches thrown by one of the moms, who is also a good friend.  ”It’s all in the wrist!”  my friend coached Pip.  We’ve been playing a lot of tennis with Pip lately, so she was used to a much broader hitting instrument and wasn’t having much luck.  She kept swinging though, despite her lack of contact with the ball.

When she saw that I’d arrived to pick her up, she came bounding over to me for a huge hug.   I love those greetings.  I think I appreciate them so much because I know they won’t last forever.  It’s hard for me to imagine a time in the future when Pip won’t run to me for a hug or a cuddle.  She showers me with such an abundance of love, in both her actions and words, that I want to store it away somewhere so that I can pull it out and re-live it when she’s sixteen and telling me that she hates my guts!

We were all sitting in the back yard, eating our first outdoor meal of the season and Pip was in a particularly loving mood.  We always say a little gratitude prayer before meals.  ”Pip, what are you grateful for today?”

“I’m grateful for Mama.”

“Thank you Honey.”

“Mama, you are the best Mama I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, thank you Sweetie.  You’re the best four-year-old daughter I’ve ever had.”

Pip continued, “I love your smile.”

“Pip, that’s such a nice thing to say, I love your smile too!”

“Mama, I would never even be alive without you.  I love you all the way to Africa and back.”

“Pip, you are saying the loveliest things, you are such a little love-bug, where is all of this sweetness coming from?”

“It’s all in the wrist, Mama.”

Sickness comes on horseback but departs on foot.

Dutch Proverb, sometimes attributed to William C. Hazlitt

I have to warn you that this might be a pitiful post.  I’m feeling a wee bit woeful.  On the heels of an ugly fever a week or so ago, I’m now enjoying a popular gastrointestinal bug that has hit many of my close friends in the past few days.  If it was just the nausea and stomach upset alone, I wouldn’t be feeling so sorry for myself, but I’m dealing with two other health issues at the moment.  The first is a VERY impressive third day of ‘celebrating my womanhood’ and the second (and third) are my two aching mammaries due to weaning Fig.  Yes; I decided to quit cold turkey four days ago and I’m still having to pump once a day.

So there it is.  I’m not at my peak of health.  I’ve been ill before, but it occurs to me now, as a mother, that illness is a bit of a luxury.  Instead of being able to hide myself away in bed for twenty-four hours as I could do when I was childless, I now have to participate in the day and be responsible for my children.  Granted, I can choose to lay pretty low, (and it’s very convenient when I feel sick on a weekend and can rely on my husband’s support,) but oh, how I miss those luxurious days, when I could call in sick to work and focus all of my energy on resting, drinking plenty of fluids, and becoming well.

I will say that my two little nurses are pretty cute.  A tiny, soft hand caressing my forehead is sure to speed up my recovery.

I hope you, my readers, are enjoying a wonderful day of good health.  Perhaps my whining has, at the very least, made you appreciate that you’re feeling well.

And thank you for reading.  There haven’t been many comments as of late, but I’m able to check on my readership through a nifty programme called, ‘Google Analytics,’ and according to Google, you’re still out there!  Thanks for joining me.

I’m celebrating this Victoria Day by photographing the blooming belly of a dear friend.  I wish you and yours a lovely long weekend!