Chicken Soup for the Woman's Soul Part 13

"But I send you a cream-white rosebud / With a flush on its petal tips," he went on, standing there by the sink. "For the love that is purest and sweetest / Has a kiss of desire on the lips."

My father stopped. "Isn't that beautiful?" he said, smiling.

We went to find my mother, who was in the den, her head in her hands. "It's beautiful!" I said to her.

"It's embarra.s.sing," she said.

This is a woman who in her youth had never seen a happy marriage and wondered why anyone would bother. Instead, she imagined a future as a Chaucer scholar. In college she found dating only mildly amusing. But then she met my father.

He was the most fundamentally decent man she had ever met. It was the man, not the inst.i.tution of marriage, that drew her. She went to the altar, she later told us, feeling as if she were jumping off a cliff.

In their first year of marriage, my father went off to war. My mother was five months pregnant, and terrified. She had the baby and waited. She ate chocolate-nut sundaes to soothe her heart.

My father returned, said h.e.l.lo to his seven-month-old son and, with my mother, soon bought a house. Then they had a daughter, then another daughter and then me.

Even as a kid, I could tell my parents were different. Dad preferred being with Mom to going off bowling with the guys. And when he wasn't around, she didn't roll her eyes and make jokes at her husband's expense as other wives did. Instead, she'd say, "You know, he's never disappointed me."

To celebrate their 50th anniversary, my parents renewed their wedding vows in church. Some 75 friends were watching. When my father repeated his vows, he choked up and had to pause. My mother said hers with more pa.s.sion than I'd ever heard her use. Staring into his eyes, she proclaimed, ". . . all the days of my life."

After the ceremony we had a big party, where my father kissed my mother and said, "Welcome to eternity."

She was speechless much of the time, except when she declared, "This is the happiest day of my life." Then she added, "This is better than my wedding day-because now I know how it all works out!"

Jeanne Marie Laskas

5.

ON.

MOTHERHOOD.

Making the decision to have a child-it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.

Elizabeth Stone

It Will Change Your Life

Time is running out for my friend. We are sitting at lunch when she casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family." What she means is that her biological clock has begun its countdown, and she is being forced to consider the prospect of motherhood.

"We're taking a survey," she says, half joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"

"It will change your life," I say carefully, keeping my tone neutral.

"I know," she says. "No more sleeping in on Sat.u.r.days, no more spontaneous vacations..."

But that is not what I mean at all. I look at my friend, trying to decide what to tell her.

I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth cla.s.ses. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of childbearing heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will be forever vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never read a newspaper again without asking, "What if that had been my child?" That every plane crash, every fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.

I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.

I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for child care, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think about her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her child is all right.

I want my friend to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a five-year-old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender ident.i.ty will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in the restroom. However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.

Looking at my attractive friend, I want to a.s.sure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years- not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish his. I want her to know that a cesarean scar or s.h.i.+ny stretch marks will become badges of honor.

My friend's relations.h.i.+p with her husband will change, but not in the ways she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is always careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his son or daughter. I think she should know that she will fall in love with her husband again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.

I wish my friend could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried desperately to stop war and prejudice and drunk driving. I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children's future.

I want to describe to my friend the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to hit a baseball. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real it hurts.

My friend's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I say finally. Then I reach across the table, squeeze my friend's hand, and offer a prayer for her and me and all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this holiest of callings.

Dale Hanson Bourke

Submitted by Karen Wheeler

As I Watch You Sleep

My precious child, I have slipped into your room to sit with you as you sleep, and watch the rise and fall of your breath for a while. Your eyes are peacefully closed, and your soft blond curls frame your cherubic face. Just moments ago, as I sat with my paperwork in the den, a mounting sadness came over me, while I contemplated the day's events. I could no longer keep my attention on my work, and so I have come to talk to you in the silence, as you rest.

In the morning, I was impatient with you as you dawdled and dressed slowly, telling you to stop being such a slowpoke. I scolded you for misplacing your lunch ticket, and I capped off breakfast with a disapproving look as you spilt food on your s.h.i.+rt. "Again?" I sighed and shook my head. You just smiled sheepishly at me and said, "Bye, Mommy!"

In the afternoon, I made phone calls while you played in your room, singing aloud and gesturing to yourself, with all of your toys lined up in jovial rows on the bed. I motioned irritably for you to be quiet and stop all the racket, and then proceeded to spend another busy hour on the phone. "Get your homework done right now," I later rattled off like a sergeant, "and stop wasting so much time." "Okay, Mom," you said remorsefully, sitting up straight at your desk with pencil in hand. After that, it was quiet in your room.

In the evening, as I worked at my desk, you approached me hesitantly. "Will we read a story tonight, Mom?" you asked with a glimmer of hope. "Not tonight," I said abruptly, "your room is still a mess! How many times will I have to remind you?" You wandered off in a shuffle with your head down and headed for your room. Before long, you were back, peering around the edge of the door. "Now what do you want?" I asked in an agitated tone of voice.

You didn't say a word, you just came bounding in the room, threw your arms around my neck and kissed me on the cheek. "Good night, Mommy, I love you," was all you said, as you squeezed tightly. And then, as swiftly as you had appeared, you were gone.

After that, I sat with my eyes fixed on my desk for a long time, feeling a wave of remorse come over me. At what point did I lose the rhythm of the day, I wondered, and at what cost? You hadn't done anything to evoke my mood. You were just being a child, busy about the task of growing and learning. I got lost today, in an adult world of responsibilities and demands, and had little energy left to give to you. You became my teacher today, with your unrestrained urge to rush in and kiss me good-night, even after an arduous day of tip-toeing around my moods.

And now, as I see you lying fast asleep, I yearn for the day to start all over again. Tomorrow, I will treat myself with as much understanding as you have shown me today, so that I can be a real mom-offering a warm smile when you awaken, a word of encouragement after school, and an animated story before bed. I will laugh when you laugh and cry when you cry. I will remind myself that you are a child, not a grownup, and I will enjoy being your mom. Your resilient spirit has touched me today, and so, I come to you in this late hour to thank you, my child, my teacher and my friend, for the gift of your love.

Diane Loomans

To My Grown-Up Son

My hands were busy through the day

I didn't have much time to play The little games you asked me to, I didn't have much time for you.

I'd wash your clothes, I'd sew and cook, But when you'd bring your picture book And asked me please to share your fun, I'd say, "A little later, Son."

I'd tuck you in all safe at night And hear your prayers, turn out the light, Then tiptoe softly to the door...

I wish I'd stayed a minute more.

For life is short, the years rush past...

A little boy grows up so fast.

No longer is he at your side, His precious secrets to confide.

The picture books are put away, There are no longer games to play, No good-night kiss, no prayers to hear, That all belongs to yesteryear.

My hands, once busy, now are still.

The days are long and hard to fill.

I wish I could go back and do The little things you asked me to!

Author Unknown

Submitted by Eleanor Newbern

Running Away

On a very hectic day when my husband and I were busy going in a hundred directions, our four-and-a-halfyear-old son, Justin Carl, had to be reprimanded for getting into mischief. After several attempts, my husband George finally told him to stand in the corner. He was very quiet but wasn't too happy about it. Finally, after a few moments, he said, "I'm going to run away from home."

My first reaction was surprise, and his words angered me. "You are?" I blurted. But as I turned to look at him, he looked like an angel, so small, so innocent, with his face so sad.

As my heart felt his pain, I remembered a moment in my own childhood when I spoke those words and how unloved and lonely I felt. He was saying so much more than just his words. He was crying from within, "Don't you dare ignore me. Please notice me! I'm important too. Please make me feel wanted, unconditionally loved and needed."

"Okay, Jussie, you can run away from home," I tenderly whispered as I started picking out clothes. "Well, we'll need pj's, your coat..."

"Mama," he said, "what are you doin'?"

"We'll also need my coat and nightgown." I packed these items into a bag and placed them by the front door. "Okay, Jussie, are you sure you want to run away from home?"

"Yeah, but where are you goin'?"

"Well, if you're going to run away from home, then Mama's going with you, because I would never want you to be alone. I love you too much, Justin Carl."

We held each other while we talked. "Why do you want to come with me?"