By Janet Cochrane
Christopher ran his tongue over his lower lip and licked the remaining lemon curd nestled in the corner of his mouth. He kicked the rungs of his chair in a rhythm and exuberance which only a four-year-old boasts of at 8:00 a.m. He glanced at his grandparents under lowered eyelids while he eyed his two-year-old sister's plate. Alexis, engrossed in licking electric blue sprinkles off a chocolate doughnut, didn't notice his fingers creeping toward her plate.
I said, "Christopher, drink some of your orange juice now," hoping to avert an unprovoked crisis in the Krispy Kreme doughnut shop. He continued to play with the straw in his plastic orange juice carton.
He then slid off the plastic chair, darted through the waiting line of customers who watched plump sugary doughnuts whiz by on a conveyor belt. He pressed his nose against the giant glass case bursting with frosted, sprinkled, and filled doughnuts --a selection not familiar in sophisticated circles. Eyes wide, he stared. Removing him, his grandfather walked to our table holding his hand.
I noted Bob's slow measured walk, so unlike the usual bounce in his step. He is feeling the effects of five days of babysitting, I thought. My mind wandered. Two weeks ago, we offered to stay with the children while Lori, our daughter and Carl, our son-in-law enjoyed an all expense paid trip to Hawaii. Any doubts about energy levels paled at the thoughts of spending a week with out grandchildren in Frisco, Texas, far from our home in Miami.
At our request, Lori listed the children's favorite places. We left Krispy Kreme for last. It lived up to its buildup from discerning neighbors, all of whom were parents of preschoolers. The shop, undistinguished from other small stores in the strip shopping center held an appealing welcome. Customers, upon entering, received a warm glazed doughnut straight from the conveyor belt. With this, came an envelope shaped white paper hat emblazoned with "Krispy Kreme" in neon red letters. No amount of cajoling made Alexis wear her hat. Grandpa refused his. But, Christopher plopped his hat atop tousled black hair while mine perched at a jaunty angle. Christopher broke my train of thought when he said:
"Nana, I'm hungry, I want another doughnut, a chocolate one."
"Me, too," echoed Alexis as she licked her plate.
"Bob, will you.....?"
As if he read my mind, Bob said, "No, you and Christopher are wearing paper hats so YOU stand in line for more doughnuts." The line snaked out the door.
While waiting, I looked at Christopher's upturned face, intent on his selection. I thought about last night's bath scene -- His loud refusal to leave the tub along with Alexis voicing her protest shattered any fantasy of ending the week with hugs and kisses. The battle with Christopher over removal of the tub stopper, left me dripping and Christopher triumphant. Under Alexis' protests, I wrapped her in a towel. Wet strands of hair fell on rosy pink cheeks as pajamas failed to fit a squirming body. Seeing both children, clean, dry and ready for bed, energized both of us. Alexis gathered all of the sharp plastic toy figurines from the video, Land Before Time, and climbed into bed. Grandpa said "no" to the figurines. Her rosy pink cheeks turned bright red, brown eyes squeezed shut and tiny fists closed over the figurines. I pried open fingers and removed all figurines as she continued to sob.
Ignoring this, we kissed Alexis' tear stained face. As we left the room, accompanied by wails, Bob's shoulders drooped. With downcast eyes we avoided speaking. I knew the children hated us. Would they want us to visit again, I wondered. Probably not, I reasoned. We retired before 8:00 p.m. -- a first for us.
"Bob, after last night's scene, I think this turned out to be a good idea."
"Yeah, it did, we made the grandkids 'A' list."
Christopher brushed his hand across his face leaving sugar crystals caught on the tips of his eyelashes. The sight of him with his hat askew, pink cheeks and fingers covered with sprinkles tickled my heart. He smiled. Alexis pursed her lips and threw a kiss. I realized it didn't matter if they loved us for the moment or didn't love us at all depending on the circumstances. The warmth of our love blanketed all of us. And, it was enough.
Bob cleared the Formica table of crumpled napkins and left two untouched orange juice cartons. We took memories of sugar-coated lips, eyelashes and wonderment over whether to choose, lemon, chocolate or blueberry. My paper hat with its neon red letters won't make the cover of Vogue, nor will the grandchildren's doughnut choices be selected for the cover of Cooking Light. But both are prized beyond any feeble explanation which I cannot offer.
Next morning, I tucked the white paper hat in my suitcase hoping Delta would take care of it. And, I am happy to say, they did.
*********************************
Copyright 2004 Janet Cochrane
Janet, originally from Boston, Massachusetts, lives in Miami, Florida with Bob, her husband of 49 years. She is the mother of six children, "Nana" to nine grandchildren, graduate of Barry University and retired Administrative Assistant from Miami Dade College. Sharing experiences with our dear grandchildren has added a wondrous dimension to my life. Janet has previously been published in The Philosophical Mother.
Showing posts with label Janet Cochrane. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Janet Cochrane. Show all posts
Martha and George Recycled
By Janet Cochrane
The Red Zinger tea I sipped resulted in a furry tongue and no zing. The task before me needed an energy source and Red Zinger tea didn't do it.
Sighing I looked at the array of children's books threatening to topple the unpainted bookcase. How I hated to give away the children's books but some of the books were tattered, the binding loose and not a few fingerprints of some indistinguishable ingredient dotted the pages. At least that is what my head said....my heart said otherwise.
Enough of this, I thought. Straightening my shoulders, I grabbed the box labeled donations. One by one the books began to fill the box. My resolve to avoid looking at titles of my favorite books evaporated when I spied, Stone Soup. The marvelous story of soup started with a stone and warm water and as every hungry person added an ingredient from their meager store of food, the simmering soup became a wonderful community feast for the townspeople.
The benefits of sharing, I hoped, was not lost on our large family. Admonishing myself not to be sidetracked, I scooped up the few remaining books on the first shelf. Relieved to hear the phone ring, I welcomed the distraction. I grabbed it on the second ring.
The Red Zinger tea I sipped resulted in a furry tongue and no zing. The task before me needed an energy source and Red Zinger tea didn't do it.
Sighing I looked at the array of children's books threatening to topple the unpainted bookcase. How I hated to give away the children's books but some of the books were tattered, the binding loose and not a few fingerprints of some indistinguishable ingredient dotted the pages. At least that is what my head said....my heart said otherwise.
Enough of this, I thought. Straightening my shoulders, I grabbed the box labeled donations. One by one the books began to fill the box. My resolve to avoid looking at titles of my favorite books evaporated when I spied, Stone Soup. The marvelous story of soup started with a stone and warm water and as every hungry person added an ingredient from their meager store of food, the simmering soup became a wonderful community feast for the townspeople.
The benefits of sharing, I hoped, was not lost on our large family. Admonishing myself not to be sidetracked, I scooped up the few remaining books on the first shelf. Relieved to hear the phone ring, I welcomed the distraction. I grabbed it on the second ring.
"Hi, Nana, I have something special to tell you." said Emily, my six-year-old granddaughter. The excitement in her voice tickled my ear and my heart.
"Remember the book I took home on Sunday, the one with Mommy's name written inside the cover."
"Yes, I saw the book, it's called Martha and George".
"Mommy said I could take it to the author's birthday party at my school library. We ate chocolate chip cookies and drank red punch at the party. I liked the book", Emily said.
"Nana, remember when you said I could take whatever books I wanted from the shelf if I took care of them?" asked Emily.
"Yes," I said as my voice caught in my throat.
"On Sunday, I am going to find another book with Mommy's name on it and read it", said Emily with all the exuberance of a delighted six‑year-old.
Deep in thought I returned to my task. On top of the filled box and staring at me sat The Velveteen Rabbit. I picked it up and curled my fingers around the spine of my very favorite book. Stroking the cover I allowed the memories to engulf me. The tender story of toys growing old yet being loved as told by an old rocking horse sitting on the shelf to a ragged velveteen rabbit still touched my heart. Despite the wear and tear on toys, their owners loved them regardless of their less than pristine condition. The simple truth as told by inanimate toys is that if you are loved you are real.
Thinking about this, I realized these books are real, they are loved by me, our children, our older grandchildren and now loved by six‑year-old Emily. The occasional ripped page and dulled colors of once bright covers does not matter.
Now I knew what to do. With a firm and deliberate hand, I placed every book back on the shelf. Looking at each title I relived the memories, the happiness and joy of reading, not only with my children but also my grandchildren. We will grow old together and love together.
Putting the kettle on for a second cup of Red Zinger tea, I felt certain that this cup would have some zing in it. Yet, for some reason, I didn't seem to need the zing now.
A Mother's Legacy
By Janet Cochrane
Raising six children left little opportunity for reflection. Today, as a grandmother, I reflect on the daily pattern of our lives then and the imprints on my mind and heart. I remember runaway time, the clock always won. My energy level evaporated by mid-afternoon. Mounds of old-fashioned soiled cloth diapers to be washed, or hung on the clothesline or clean diapers to be folded -- stared back at me. One small television for everyone's interests. Captain Kangaroo and Banjo Billy greeted us each morning. We remained sheltered from discontent by our love for one another and a sense of humor sprinkled with huge doses of reality.
The Joy of Cooking remained unopened, new recipes untried, and fresh flowers on the table consisted of whatever batch of weeds had flowered and been picked by little hands. Spaghetti (we didn't call it pasta then) plus hamburgers, hot dogs, and always a tuna noodle casserole on Friday night became weekly staples. Bob, my husband, and I became adept at dividing the smallest serving or leftover anything into six portions. This seldom happened (the leftovers, I mean). Simple meals cooked with love and flavored with the thoughts, smiles, and sometimes the groans of shared family conversation rivaled the empty plates of any Julia Child's dinner party.
When we first moved to the uncorporated area of Miami, Florida, we lost access to the city library. The local women's club ran a small library in an empty bookstore in a nearby shopping center. The Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew mysteries soon became highlights of the trips to the store-front library. Years later, an elementary school librarian announced these books were not considered good academic reading. My response at the time and now is "Nonsense!" When your child lies on the floor with arms and legs spread, every which way lost in mysterious adventures or the adventurs of far away lands, any book is a winner. Encourage this wonderful gift of reading. Does it really matter what book captured your child's imagination? Opening a book before bedtime and sharing a story with your child nourishes the seeds of love and trust. My memories of this special time enrich each day with warm colors which the years have not dimmed. Don't let these moments pass by!
The practice of reading before bedtime continued even when I became a salaried working mom (as opposed to a stay-at-home mom who does not get paid for her work). Today, when my beautiful grandchildren read to me, my life is enriched over and over again.
Lest this turn into a discussion of the "old days" vs. "the modern day" with the tremendous pressures of parenting and the challenges faced by modern mothers, allow me to say that the one constant in each mother's day -- is love. Whether in the 60s or now, love bestowed is foremost in a mother's life. This is one lesson I have learned.
If you fall into bed and your tasks are unfinished (and they never are finished), but your child knows that he or she is loved and cherished -- you, mom, are doing a fabulous job. You are a success. The picture perfect house, messy bedrooms, spilled mild -- all that stuff isn't important. You gave your child something money cannot buy; something that nobody can eve take away, and will remain forever at the core of their being.
Not only as children, but as adults, they will carry your love with them -- every day of their lives. As a parent, this is your legacy. Love is the finest gift of all.
********************
Copyright 2003 Janet Cochrane
Raising six children left little opportunity for reflection. Today, as a grandmother, I reflect on the daily pattern of our lives then and the imprints on my mind and heart. I remember runaway time, the clock always won. My energy level evaporated by mid-afternoon. Mounds of old-fashioned soiled cloth diapers to be washed, or hung on the clothesline or clean diapers to be folded -- stared back at me. One small television for everyone's interests. Captain Kangaroo and Banjo Billy greeted us each morning. We remained sheltered from discontent by our love for one another and a sense of humor sprinkled with huge doses of reality.
The Joy of Cooking remained unopened, new recipes untried, and fresh flowers on the table consisted of whatever batch of weeds had flowered and been picked by little hands. Spaghetti (we didn't call it pasta then) plus hamburgers, hot dogs, and always a tuna noodle casserole on Friday night became weekly staples. Bob, my husband, and I became adept at dividing the smallest serving or leftover anything into six portions. This seldom happened (the leftovers, I mean). Simple meals cooked with love and flavored with the thoughts, smiles, and sometimes the groans of shared family conversation rivaled the empty plates of any Julia Child's dinner party.
When we first moved to the uncorporated area of Miami, Florida, we lost access to the city library. The local women's club ran a small library in an empty bookstore in a nearby shopping center. The Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew mysteries soon became highlights of the trips to the store-front library. Years later, an elementary school librarian announced these books were not considered good academic reading. My response at the time and now is "Nonsense!" When your child lies on the floor with arms and legs spread, every which way lost in mysterious adventures or the adventurs of far away lands, any book is a winner. Encourage this wonderful gift of reading. Does it really matter what book captured your child's imagination? Opening a book before bedtime and sharing a story with your child nourishes the seeds of love and trust. My memories of this special time enrich each day with warm colors which the years have not dimmed. Don't let these moments pass by!
The practice of reading before bedtime continued even when I became a salaried working mom (as opposed to a stay-at-home mom who does not get paid for her work). Today, when my beautiful grandchildren read to me, my life is enriched over and over again.
Lest this turn into a discussion of the "old days" vs. "the modern day" with the tremendous pressures of parenting and the challenges faced by modern mothers, allow me to say that the one constant in each mother's day -- is love. Whether in the 60s or now, love bestowed is foremost in a mother's life. This is one lesson I have learned.
If you fall into bed and your tasks are unfinished (and they never are finished), but your child knows that he or she is loved and cherished -- you, mom, are doing a fabulous job. You are a success. The picture perfect house, messy bedrooms, spilled mild -- all that stuff isn't important. You gave your child something money cannot buy; something that nobody can eve take away, and will remain forever at the core of their being.
Not only as children, but as adults, they will carry your love with them -- every day of their lives. As a parent, this is your legacy. Love is the finest gift of all.
********************
Copyright 2003 Janet Cochrane
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