Category: Humour

Laughter: Mother’s Medicine

“I’m so mad!”  My nine-year-old self slammed the front door and stomped down the hallway to the kitchen, where my mother was constantly positioned.  My little sister sat at the table, her legs swinging contentedly as she finished off a fresh baked cookie and glass of milk.

“Well, hello!” my mother responded.  “Not a good day?”

“That Chet Tesney makes me so mad, I want to kill him.”

Mom looked me up and down.  “Looks like you already did.”

“Not today.  I got in a scuffle with some kids at the bus stop.”

My mother sighed.  “There are cookies or muffins, but you are not to touch the pie until after dinner.  I’d wash up first if I were you.”

Catching myself in the mirror, I saw that I was a real sight.  I pulled a twig and a piece of leaf out of my matted hair, and washed the muddy scrape on my cheek.  Both hands, caked brown, were red beneath.  Looking down, I saw the stockings I had put on this morning now had a big hole in one knee, and mud was caking on more than one place on my clothes.  Stripping off the dirty clothes, I ran upstairs to change.

“How was school today?” My mother asked cheerfully as I helped myself to a warm cookie and pulled up a chair.  My sister had wandered off.

“Okay, I guess.  We were picking parts for the class play and that Lesley Mann got the main role again.  I hate her, it’s not fair!  Mom!  Jane has my favourite Barbie!  Put that down you little brat!”

“Girls!  Play nice.”  Mom seldom skipped a beat from her dinner prep.  She wouldn’t intervene.  I sighed.

“School is so unfair!  Miss P. said we’d be able to pick our topics for the history project, but Michael and David picked the same as me, so now I have to choose something else.  I hate school!  Now, she has my Barbie car, too!  Moooommm!  She’s going to break it!”

“Shreeeeeeaaaakkkkk! my sister screamed as I tried to retrieve my treasures.

“She won’t hurt it.  Let her play.  Why don’t you play with her?”

“It’s not fair!  You always take her side.  Why don’t you support me for once?!”  I could feel the rage inside me boiling over.  I wanted to hit someone and fast.

“Tee hee.  Ha ha.  Ho ho.”

“Don’t you start, Mother!”

“Ha ha, ho ho, he he, ha ha ha.”

“Mom, I mean it!”

“Ho, ho, ho, ho, ha ha ha ha ha ha, he he he he he he, ho, ho.”

Giggle.  “Mom, don’t make me!  He, he.”

“Heeee, heeee, hoooo, hoooo”  The laughter was so contagious I couldn’t help but join in.  Soon we were laughing so hard we could hardly catch our breath.

“What’s so sunny?” my four-year-old sister couldn’t say her ‘f’s, sending us into another howl, until the tears rolled down our cheeks.

“It’s not sunny!”  But it was!

“Oh, I’m going to pee my pants!”  Doubled over, my mother ran for the bathroom.

We laughed some more.  By the time the laughter subsided, I couldn’t remember what I had been angry about.

This is the gift of my mother.

 

Excuse Me While I Unload

Excuse me, but it seems I have been carrying around an extraordinary amount of baggage for some time now and I’m thinking it’s time to unload, so pardon me but I’m going to dump them out here, and do inventory.

Wow, what a pile of stuff!  I don’t know where to begin.

Black lace catches my eye.  I pull it out of the pile.  It’s a woman’s hat, with a black face veil.  I know this one.  It is the veil of self-loathing.  While I try not to wear it in public, I take it everywhere with me.  It keeps me humble.  The veil whispers:  Don’t believe what other people say about you; they’re just being kind; they really don’t know you like I do.  Boy, looks like I should have done this sooner;  I think I’ll just set that aside.

Ah, there’s my graduation cap; my teacher’s cap.  It’s a keeper.  And my mother’s apron.  That can stay too.  My reading glasses, my writing pen, my friendship necklace.  All those parts I want to keep.  Oh, and that teddy bear – all Grandmas need teddy bears – definitely carrying that around with me.

What’s this big, woolly, grey thing?  It’s heavy, and to be honest, it stinks like cigarette smoke, stale alcohol, and mildew.  It reeks of shame.  I’m not sure this is mine, but I’ve been carrying this around forever.  Wouldn’t be surprised if it stunk everything else up.  This needs to go.  I might even have to get a new suitcase to start fresh.  I’ll just put that one out in the trash can.

Better make sure the smell hasn’t lingered.  Sure enough, the lining of the case has absorbed the stench.  I’d better air it out also.  Wait a minute, what’s that in the lining?  Something is sticking out.  It’s silver and pointed.  Looks like a brooch.  It’ a very delicate piece:  silver leaves swirling around a peridot stone.  Is this mine?  It’s beautiful, but I don’t recognize it.  Just my taste though, I’m more silver than gold, and I love the peridot green.  I wonder how long it’s been here?  I should try it on, and see how it looks.  No, I’m not ready for this.  I don’t have anything to go with it.  I’ll tuck it back away for another day.

Will you look at that!  A pile of mismatched socks.  So like me, to carry around odds and sods hoping to make sense of them sooner or later.  Thing is, young people don’t wear socks or stockings anymore, so all these do is date me; they don’t serve any other purpose.  I think it’s time to let them go.

Wow, look at that!  It’s a rusty old paintbrush.  I used to love art – even won the award in grade eight – but I was advised against pursuing it – not intellectual enough – so I set it aside.  Could this still be in me?  I’d like to know.

Oh!  A feather.  I know why it’s here.  I tucked it in here to remind me of my spirituality.  I’ll keep that too.

My cookbooks can stay.  Here’s an old ship in a bottle.   It’s pretty dusty, and the vessel inside is covered in cobwebs.  I’m thinking whatever dream that was has long past; no point carrying that around anymore.  Time for new dreams.

This is kind of fun.  Can’t remember the last time I took inventory of what I’ve been carrying around.  Here’s some comfy yoga pants.  Those need to come out more often.  I can just hear my body screaming yes, please.

Hope you don’t mind if I carry on without you.  I can see a few more things I’d rather deal with in private.

What have you been carrying around?

(Image: ok-woman.com)