Monday, May 09, 2011
Fresh Writing: Mother's Day
They explode through the door, my children. "Moooooom," they cry, her voice high, his voice low. A dozen roses from him, a box of chocolates from her and behind my children, there on the porch with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, is their father. Steve. I call him the Dorse-man.
How long have we known each other now? I'm forty seven, he's forty nine, we met on his twenty seventh birthday at an auction where he was celebrating another year gone. All those years ago, like it was yesterday, Steve sat at the table with a group of guys who wore dark gray suits and white shirts. Ties were loose and drinks were in front of the men--whiskey on the rocks, tequila straight up and of course, bottles of beer. Steve had the flush of a man who was a couple of drinks gone.
Handsome? My goodness, he was so handsome to me back then.
The mystery of attraction.
It wasn't his looks which were fine--better than fine--it was the energy that snapped off him and fired from his eyes.
Snap.
Crackle.
Pop.
All these years later and his dark hair has gone to streaks of gray but his eyes--a metallic blue--still snap the way they did. Steve has the sharp look of a man who makes plans deep inside himself. He is on a singular path. We raise the kids together but he goes his own way the rest of the time.
"This is the day that changed my life," Steve booms in his big auctioneer voice and he steps across the threshold of my house, offering me one of those wine bags from Fred Meyer. It's decorated with a thousand corks. Inside is a bottle of wine.
"That's right," I say. "I went into labor with Spencer on Mother's Day."
Spencer--dark hair and darker eyes--looks from his father to me and back to his dad again. Steve pulls his son into an embrace. "Those were some long nights, Buddy," Steve says. "Man did you take your time getting here."
Roses, chocolates and now a bottle of wine are in my arms and I set everything down on the table in the entry way. Jo has run up the stairs to her room, she says she'll be right back and it's true. Spencer took four days to arrive. My water broke on Mother's Day and finally he arrived on the fifteenth.
"And things have never been the same," Steve adds.
Spencer bear hugs his dad back and lifts him off his feet. My son, our son, is now strong enough to carry the man who gave him his life. Amazing.
Jo tromps down the steps and then makes a leap to clear the bottom three steps. She has shoulder length wavy blond hair, which she hates to comb, and filly long legs that make her the tallest girl in her class. She rattles an envelope between us.
"I made you a card. I made you lots of cards," she announces. The front of the envelope reads, "MOM!"
I get down on my knees to look inside and there are three cards to be exact. Jo overflows when it comes to art and messages of love.
"And this one was conceived on Mother's Day too," I say, a tilt of the head over to Jo as I fish out her beautiful art--hearts, drawings of the two of us holding hands and little poems that detail her love: "You are so nice to me, Mom." "I love you, Mommy." "You are a nice Mommy."
Steve shakes his head like he remembers that part too, how three years after Spencer was born and we had finally figured a tiny bit of parenting out--surprise. We were pregnant again!
"That's a lot of water under the bridge," Steve says.
"It sure is," I agree.
In the foyer of my house on spring day in May--we are all here--together and it's funny how there are four humans where there used to be just two. We are intertwined by the mystery of attraction and DNA and time. We were once strangers to each other--me to Steve and Steve to me and when Spencer was born, wasn't he a stranger too? Wasn't Jo? Haven't I been getting to know these people--these little mysteries--more and more each day as they grow into the fullness of themselves? Aren't they getting to know me? And what of Steve? Isn't he a still stranger in so many ways? Aren't we still a confusion to each other even though we are together in this adventure of raising two human beings to adulthood as we turn the other way and head towards the end of our own lives?
It's my 14th year of being a mother--my 14th official Mother's Day. It's hard to believe, me, the motherless one has children, celebration, good health, safety, happiness and a little more time. I have time to celebrate being a mother and being alive and watching everything as this mystery of being continues.
The kids give me big hugs and are back out the door with their dad. He's taking them to school today and I'll be the one to pick them up. The routine of raising children. It's a few days a his house, a few days at mine, school and homework and taking baths. That's what we do. Everyday. Until we stop for a moment and celebrate and remember and give each other hugs and cards and roses and chocolate and wine.
Next stop Spencer's birthday, then Steve's and another holiday where it will all go the other way--Father's Day.
3 Comments:
Beautiful...
What a wonderful entry about being a mother and much love your children share within your family. You're a great mom! I hope you had a wonderful Mother's Day!
Thank you both, so much! Happy Mothers day to us all...
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