I hold you in my arms
I hold you close
As you cry, my baby girl
These tears bring you back
And I am your mom again,
My baby girl
I stroke back
your long brown hair
to stop it sticking to your cheek
my baby girl
I am not sure
What to think
So long ago
You didn’t want me
My baby girl
Now you sleep close to me
I lock the door
And turn out the light
And keep you safe
Just for tonight
My baby girl
The sound of the click the kettle makes when it is boiled awoke Mary from her reverie. Although the usual chaos of morning was playing out around her, she was lost in her inner world.
“Mom, could you make me my special breakfast?” her son called from the living room.
“Mom, I can’t get the shower to the right temperature!” her daughter complained from the top of the stairs.
She just smiled at the baby in the high chair who had adorned herself with wet cereal that had found its way into her hair, ears and nose.
“Tea” she thought. “I’ll be there in a minute both of you” she called back to her two older offspring.
The dog had been out and was presently sniffing around for food. The cat was on the table trying to catch her by the arm.
“Tea first” she said stroking the feline all the way down to the tip of his tail.
The steaming water was poured into the teapot and splashed around to heat it up, then emptied and two tea bags were deposited before the pot was filled to the brim and left to brew in a very flowery tea cosy.
“I hate that ugly thing but it works”, she said to the baby who was throwing food on the floor while clicking her tongue to summon her best friend.
“Dog!” she exclaimed.
With the satisfaction of having accomplished the task of preparing her morning life line, she poured food and water into the animals’ bowls, ran to set the temperature for her daughter, prepared yogurt with fruits and cereal for her son and then sat down with her tea, her refuge.
The hot liquid entered her empty thirsty body. The warmth spread through her comforting her physically and emotionally. She sighed audibly with pleasure.
“Haaah.” The baby imitated her mother’s vocalisation. “Tup-a-tea. Tup-a-tea” she chirped.
“I can’t find my agenda” her son declared.
“Can I help with the lunches, Mom?” her daughter proposed.
“Oh shit, I forgot the lunches, what time is it?”
The clock gave her another 30 minutes.
“It’s okay, just one more cup of tea and then we’ll do it.”
“Your agenda is on the piano, my love” she informed her son ruffling his hair.
She huddled over her tea cup and sought in it a change that could lift her mood, energise her day.
She saw herself on the balcony of a fancy French hotel in a white bathrobe with the name of the hotel embroidered on it in gold, sipping good coffee and eating fresh croissants. The day ahead of her consisted of meetings with the press for the promotion of her latest bestseller, “The Tea Drinker’s Revenge”. How good it would feel to soak in all that admiration!
She could go back to Crete and restore her soul. A vision of herself on a pier, looking out at the green and blue sea with an electric wind tossing her hair and clothes, came to her. Then she could ride a moped around the island to visit the places of the Gods. How empowering that would be!
Next, she thought about her lifelong dream to visit Spain that she had never gotten around to. She could hear the music playing, the people speaking that passionate language as she danced around in a cobblestoned square in Barcelona, romance filling the air.
The sound of her children’s chatter and laughter brought her back to reality and she smiled lovingly. I t was her favourite sound in the world. Suddenly, she wanted to kiss each of them on the head and hold them, feeling the mass of their warm soft hair in her face, taking in their scents.
She gulped down her last sip, knocked the teacup on the table and declared, “today, my darlings, Mommy is going to buy herself a new tea cosy!”
When I was a child
I did not have time to grieve
Nor time to heal
The hurts and misunderstandings
Life was too exciting
I was too happy to be alive
To grow
There were too many things to look forward to
I buried my hurts inside me
And grew around them
Without knowing it
They shaped me
Now I search for my way to happiness’ door
I walk the rope between abandon and responsibility
When someone inadvertently touches my forgotten wounds
And throws me into long lost suffering
And there I find myself again
I find the child so happy to be alive
With so much to look forward to
And I allow her to grow.
Clothes are being shed as they are walking up the driveway
Open baggage overflowing abandoned with a thump
The bodies and the water make dramatic contact
I hear and feel the flying liquid as their vocalisations fill the air with laughter and delight
Hours of play ensue
My ears and mind dance with their chatter and refreshing screams
Until they are too hungry or too tired
Children with faces I love, my children at ease and at peace
Sitting at the table alert, open and shining in my eyes.
Surrounded by sound,
A roaring through the sky
Grey-purple clouds darken the light
As streams of rain crash against
Earth, dwelling, tree.
Wild wind moves the sky water against
My back, my face, my legs.
My refuge is filled with the rhythm of the storm.
The curtains lift.
My view is hazed
by the flood against my window.
Drops of rain enter
And drip into a bowl.
The candle flame dances.
The incense smoke greets the air.
I drink warmth
And watch the moving sky
As I fall asleep on the couch.
I have a cold sore on my face whose presence is invading my life.
I looked it up, it’s a form of herpes. What the hell! Who is more reserved than me, I mean sexually, a nun maybe? I didn’t kiss a loose man or woman, unless you count my husband but he’s only loose with me. I must have had some pleasure that I should feel guilty about? I am Catholic after all.
Buddhists say that if you are tolerant in one life then you will have a beautiful face in the next lifetime. I was sure of two things about myself; that I was tolerant and that I was beautiful. Maybe it’s time for me to be sure of something else.
My children don’t even notice it of course. They might notice if my nose was missing but a cold sore doesn’t faze them. Aoife is the exception. At the age of 2 years and 4 months, she spends a lot of time in close proximity to my face and hence my cold sore. She spent about 10 minutes solid staring at it. (She had nothing else to do; I was trying to get her to sleep.) I could see the budding scientist in her. Her face said “how did it get there? Will it go away if I stare long enough? I would like to touch it but it might pop off her and onto me, yuck!” Detached curiosity in her eyes, caution in her body language, her concentration never failed.
Women love to chat. Some of us have a hard time pulling ourselves away from each other. As soon as we are in close proximity, our mouths go on automatic pilot. We jump endlessly from one subject to another. Being with one such friend is a joy for me. It is exciting, stimulating, empowering and inspiring. So it is, even with a cold sore. But with a cold sore there is a difference, my friend’s eyes are also on automatic pilot. They keep jumping from my eyes to my cold sore. My friend inwardly admonishes herself and drags her eyes back to mine. She must know what it feels like to be a man who just can’t help staring into a woman’s cleavage. So I feel like I am no longer an intelligent woman, I am a viral affliction!
The most honest reaction of all to the dreaded growth beneath my lip was a very fleeting one. I was rushing by an acquaintance, Kevin, saying hello in passing. Kevin is a tall, fun loving, exuberant redheaded man who has great affection for me. He greeted me in his usual loud and cheerful manner “Heeeeeyyyy Maaaary” and then he saw it. His face dropped. He no longer saw his beloved Mary. He had a whole new relationship happening with the blemish. “What the heck? What are you doing there?” said the frown on his face. I am left to wonder how he would do with cleavage!
The dear man who shares my bed every night cannot be kissed. At every greeting he is offered my cheek. He can still hug me but the temporary lack of lips in our exchanges is sorely missed. Upon each return to the homestead, he gets an update on the thing that sits squarely in the way of our intimacy. It is like a child who refuses to go to bed.
It is drying up now. It doesn’t even look dangerous anymore. In a few days it won’t even be a memory. I will be perplexed thinking that that something’s missing. I have learned so much from it. But it cannot stay. Unless...it is immortalised here!
Today I drove around splashing through puddles with my car and laughed with three kids a laugh that was long overdue.
I gathered wild flowers and spoke to people whose names I do not know.
I got a bike.
I said sorry.
I was entitled the best Mom ever.
I ended a contract that was no longer valid.
I played ball.
I rode a scooter.
I was serenaded by my sister.
I saw baby geese.
I laughed with friends.
And I think I grew wings because tonight I soared.
