Twenty-five years ago - maybe longer - I made a firm rule that no more storebought gifts were allowed in my house. Snapshots would always be welcome from my adult children. They could write a poem, bring shells from the seashore, draw a picture, bake a cake or, shoot, they could steal flowers from a roadside park if they wanted to ... but nothing storebought would ever again be accepted by me.
Special days have since become ... well ... rather interesting.
This year Honey Gail came breezing in with a lovely "Happy Mother's Day" card made of construction paper, complete with hearts and daisys penciled in. It looked a lot like the work of a dedicated third-grader. I loved it at first sight and immediately sent her to tape it on my laundry room wall. Then I settled deeper into my chair and waited to see what else was coming. last year she gave me a bottle of homemade insect repellent. This year's possibilities were endless.
But ... wait a minute! Things suddenly weren't going right. She began bringing in beautifully wrapped and ribboned presents, and, walking right past my chair, she stood beside Phillip's hospital bed, saying, "Happy Mother's Day, Phil!" and started helping him unwrap his treasures.
I spit, sputtered and loudly objected. Honey Gail smiled and said, "Mama, your rule book didn't say a word against storebought gifts for Phil."
He got the newest thing in Magnifying glasses ... the kind that clips on the edge of his over-the-bed table and makes reading Nascar news easier. He got a humming bird feeder which Honey and Karen installed right outside his window ... directly in his line of vision ... easy to see even without a magnifying glass. And he got a bird book to help him identify all the birds that have flocked to the wonderful bird feeder Mark installed a few months ago.
Finally, my daughter seemed to remember me and went off to the kitchen, saying she was about to prepare a very special homemade gift for me. After a lot of splishing, splashing and blending, she returned, carrying a glass of something she called a spinach smoothie. It was delicious, she assured me, and it was guaranteed to make me stronger than popeye the sailor man.
Well, okay then. I tilted it up and took a sip. A big sip. Instantly, I knew the girl had lied to me and I wished I'd taken just a small sip. Big wasn't gonna go down easily. If at all.
She stood expectantly beside my chair. I was reminded, suddenly, of a bunch of small children waiting anxiously beside my bed forty-five years ago ... watching me take my first bite of the mother's day breakfast they were so proudly serving me in bed. Oh, Dear God, how I bragged as I nibbled that burned toast and tried not to think of the sticky orange juice I was sure to find all over my kitchen floor. How I praised the little darlings as I spooned down every last cheerio - plus a few unknown objects - floating around in the bowl of milk.
But, you know what? I was young and strong back in that day. Now I am old and feeble. Not only was it impossible to swallow spinach smoothie, I couldn't lie about it either. The truth came flowing right out of my mouth ... "Honey Gail, this tastes exactly like cow pee."
So, was she crushed that I rejected her gift? Not a bit. She laughed, laughed, laughed. Karen drank down a glassful right before my eyes. Honey chug-a-lugged hers and licked her lips. I told them they could demonstrate its goodness all they wanted to, I wasn't drinking cow pee, and I knew cow pee when I tasted cow pee.
The most wonderful part of this wonderful day was Abigail. Karen's grandbaby. She reached out her two little arms for me and, oh, I wanted to take her so bad, but knew I couldn't, so Karen held her against me while that baby hugged my neck, and, people, when Abigail got through hugging me, I'd been hugged. Every bone in my body had turned to mush. I kissed the back of her tiny hand, and just like royalty, she extended the other hand to Phillip to be kissed. His bones melted too.
It was a lovely lovely precious day. John and Austin came, bringing their beautiful girlfriends to meet me. Why do my grandchildren bring prospective life partners around before they get legal papers on them? I don't know, but it's sure risky business. I know that much. Because whatever comes out of my mouth next is just whatever comes out next. God help us all.
And the loveliest thing of all on this lovely lovely precious day, was a phone call from my son. I never see his face anymore. I never hear his voice. Except ... once a year ... once a year ... just when mother's day is almost coming to an end and I'm about to lose hope ... the phone will ring ... and one more time I hear my Tony say he loves me, and suddenly all is right in my world and I know I can make it through another year.
Mothers are such silly creatures.
email: MelindaGerner
No comments:
Post a Comment