mother stress

MOTHER TIMES

 

Mommy tells me it's raining too hard so I can't go on the back porch to blow soap bubbles. 'You're mean, Mommy. I can stay dry if you let me use the little umbrella you gave me for my birthday.' 'Cut it out, Dorothy. When I say 'no', I mean NO. Find something else to do and leave me alone.' I sass her back. 'There's nothing for me to do in this stinky house and you're the biggest stink of all.' Furious, she turns around and slaps me hard on my rear, hard again and harder still the third time. I start to kick her but she grabs my leg, lifts me almost to her shoulders and plunks me down on the only kitchen chair that doesn't have a padding and disappears in tears.

 

Her shoes make a lot of noise going up to her room, a little less coming down. She brings me my wooden cigar box that holds all of my  squeezed in Winnie Winkle paper doll cut-outs. 'Here, play with these while I go out in this awful rain to buy a fresh trout for dinner.' 'Mommy, I don't like trout. Daddy doesn't either. Can't you get something else?' Her eyes get narrow like Chink eyes. She says, 'Yes, I can but I happen to like trout once in a while and that's what we are having.'

 

The rain keeps pouring down. I don't have any more cut out books. Daddy promised he'll bring me a new one Friday. That's three days away. It might as well be never. 'Mommy, let's make up. I don't like when we fight.' A tiny smile comes to her face. 'I promise, Mommy, I'll be good all week if, while you are getting that delicious trout for dinner, you buy a great big tin box of cookies.  You and Daddy can have all the cookies. I won't even take one. All I want is the tin box like Theresa has for her paper dolls. Please, Mommy, please.' Mommy doesn't pay attention and comes back at me. 'You have a box for your cut-outs, Dorothy.' 'But, Mommy, mine is a cigar box that I took out of the drugstore trash. It is crooked and the lid won't stay shut. Did you know Theresa has two boxes, a long wooden one with a clasp on the front and a really, really big tin one from cookies she got for being such a good girl? Theresa's mommy gives her all of her old movie magazines to cut up. The movie stars are in the long box and Blondie Bumpstead and Winnie Winkle are in the round box. Please buy the round cookie box for me.' She scowls, does not even look my way.

 

I go to my lonely room and listen to the rain beat on the window. It plays a sad sound, like drums with no words. My cigar box sits on my bed, falls to the floor when I try to sit beside it. My tears add salt to the raindrops.

 

From the bottom of the stairs, I hear Mother call me, 'Dorothy, Dorothy, I'm going to the fish market. Should I get you salmon instead of trout? I leap off my bed, run to the hall, and lean over the bannister. 'Yes, Mother, yes. I love salmon. Daddy does too. I'll set the table before you get back.' As she opens the door to leave, I call her, 'Mommy, thank you. I apologize for being nasty.'

 

I stay in my room, dress and undress Winnie Winkle and Blondie. We talk together. Blondie whispers that her blue dress is missing a belt. I look on the floor, under the bed and there is the tiny belt. I put it in the cigar box and tie a piece of cord around it so nothing else should get lost.

 

The kitchen table is set as good as I can do. I've placed what Mother calls 'fish knives' where our usual plain knives go. Daddy gets his extra big coffee cup. I watch out the living room window for Mommy to come back and thru the still wild rain I see her park in front of our house. My yellow raincoat is ready and with my little umbrella, I go outside to help Mommy bring in the salmon. She has too many bags to get everything in at once, leaves a big one on the back seat and sends me inside. She manages to get the last sopping wet bag and brings it in.

 

'Help, me undo all these things, put what goes in the pantry, in there. The toilet paper rolls just put on the stairs. I do whatever she asks.
'Dorothy, you are careless. You haven't put away the big bag that is still near the front door. You never do anything right.' Yes, I do, Mommy. I try to be good. I'll get the big one for you.' The bag is really wet, is falling apart. It's not heavy. ''Bring it into the kitchen, Dorothy.'
I obey and lay it on the table. 'Well, child, it won't open itself, won't go where it belongs by itself. Put it someplace and throw the wet bag in the trash can.'

 

The bag is so wet it rips before I can lift out whatever is in there. The brown paper smells like wet cats. I reach for what is in there, take out 2 cans of corn, a bottle of Heinz ketchup and something chilled and round. If a policeman had been walking by, he would have heard me scream, rushed in to stop my being killed.

 

I rip the rest of the wet bag off and see a two pound metal box of cookies. Shirley Temple's picture is on the top. Her curls flop and her eyes smile. 'Dorothy, you may have two cookies after you finish your salmon, help clear the table. Dad and I will join you and each have two cookies with hot tea. After that, if you think you can do a good job alone, ok, but if you want help, ask me. We can empty the cookies into the cookie jar and you can have the tin for your dolls.'

 

I run to Mommy, hug her, kiss her, thank her and tell her, 'Mommy, I love you.'