It is not unusual that I am surprising my children today. They are perfection, adorable, smart and I love them to pieces, spoil them and don’t care. Kim and Steve don’t ask for things. They don’t have to. Homework is done as soon as they come in. A hot or cold drink, a snack is waiting for them. Friends are always welcome. The wonder of it is I am appreciated, thanked. Jonah, our leader, lets me do as I wish but is not a spoiler. I am enough for both of us.
Our children don’t come home from school until 3:30 which gives me plenty of time to shop, shop, shop for them. Kim is seven, Steve is twelve. My favorite place for new clothes is Mel & Clair’s Young Set. Help is pleasant, well-trained, doesn’t push. They know me, my children’s sizes and preferences. Still I enjoy just looking around, imagining how Kim will look in this or that. Today I see a mannequin being newly dressed in a soft green pleated skirt, topped with an orange blouse with small yellow flowers and green leaves. A green sweater is tossed over the shoulder. I love it and so will Kim.
‘Claire, Steve fell and the knee on the jeans I bought last week can’t be fixed decently. Do you have another pair?’ Charge card approved and I head home, happy as a lark.
Everything goes like greased baking pans. Kim sets the table while I fix a delicious dinner. Steve finishes his homework and starts making phone calls. Jonah comes home punctually at 5:45, has a beer, watches the 6 o’clock news and I serve dinner at 6:30. After the dishes are loaded in the washer and the kitchen is spick and span, a tap tap on the bannister alerts us that Kim is about to model her new outfit. She comes into the den, twirls, spins and bows. We, including Steve, all applaud. Kim goes to bed at 9:15, Steve at 10:30 and I am asleep by 11, not knowing when or if Jonah comes to bed. Night flies away on moonbeams. Dawn breaks up the dark sky. I wait until 6 before dressing, and, as usual, go down stairs.
Steve, I don’t recognize. This man is about 30 years old. He comes in for coffee before he goes to work. I ask him if the new jeans fit ok. ‘What jeans, Mother? I haven’t worn jeans in 10 years. ‘ I get frightened, dizzy. I think I am going to throw up.
A pretty young lady, surely in her twenties, comes over and kisses me, ‘Good morning, Mother,’ she says. I wretch. ‘What happened to the green pleated skirt I bought for you yesterday? It won’t fit you now,’ I say to this stranger.
A bright yellow light explodes in my head and I grab my grown children, almost suffocate them with love. ‘I know what happened. I fell asleep while old films of Martin Luther King reciting his famous line were shown for the millionth time. ‘I have a dream,’ and I must of dreamed you were still my little darlings.’
And you are except I’ll change your title to ‘ You are my not so little darlings. Come here, give me a hug and go where you have to go.’
They go and I am alone to ponder, to remember, to enjoy their childish times again.
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