THE HEART OF A MOTHER FROM ROSES TO MAYONNAISE

AS WE TEACH, SO ALSO WILL WE LEARN If we really know our children, we can quickly rattle off an outline of their major characteristics. Generally, these are complimentary, but not on days when we are startled awake with urgent cries like, “Hurry, Mom...the commode is overflowing!” It’s difficult to think of nice things to say when you stand, bathrobe-clad at 6:30 a.m., armed with a plunger. The child’s outstanding qualities evade you as you scold, “How many times have I told you not to wrap toilet tissue around your hand till it looks like a catcher’s mitt!” When the raging seas are calmed, we have to make a special effort to remember the flip side of the coin. Our children have some praiseworthy attributes, too. If we can just zero in on one or two of them, we can quell our anger, and maybe even gain some inspiration for our own lives. For example, whenever I get frustrated with a project which appears endless, I recall the day my son taught me perseverance. Since he learned to crawl, I had repeatedly encouraged him with the words, “Don’t give up.” Finally, one day he challenged me to live up to my own advice. He was an energetic boy of seven when Southglenn Mall in Littleton, Colorado, announced a community fair, featuring a petting zoo, exhibits, and rides. “Let’s go, Mama” shouted Johnny enthusiastically, as he struggled with the buttons on his jacket. “I’m hurrying,” I called as our family headed for the car. Since he had always wanted to be a fireman when he grew up, it wasn’t any surprise that as soon as we reached our destination, he exclaimed, “Hey, look at that fire truck,” and raced in its direction like Mario Andretti at the Indy 500. What did he see? The Fire Department has set up a game which allowed children to play “fireman” for a few minutes. The race was on to discover which contestant would finish first. Johnny threw on the huge, waterproof raincoat (with sleeves covering his hands and hem dragging on the floor), flopped a red fire hat on his head (or more accurately, “over his eyes”), grabbed the hose, ran fifty feet to a rubber fire hydrant, and attached the hose securely. How many times he played that game! Once he ran against his sister, and they tied. Then Daddy challenged him. Johnny lost that race. He raced me too, but I don’t remember who won - probably him. I was too busy watching the sparkle in his eyes, and the laughter on his lips, and feeling the love in my heart for these family times which would pass too soon. All of a sudden he shook me back to reality. While his dad and sister were racing, he came and sat down by my side. “Mama,” he inquired innocently, “why don’t you race Daddy next time?” “Oh, no,” I thought to myself. “I’ll never do that. I’d lose for sure, and I’d look like an idiot! ME...5’5”, 118 lbs., uncoordinated and self-conscious, race HIM...the 6’, 190 lb., athletic star of high school and college? NO WAY!” I tried to give him all the usual excuses to save face, like, “Parents don’t race each other. It’s just for kids,” and “Oh, I’m tired of racing now.” But he kept pressing for answers and combating all my excuses until I finally blurted out the truth. “Oh, Johnny, I can never beat Dad in anything like this. I’d just lose again.” That’s when he stared at me with those beautiful, clear, honest, blue eyes filled with all the confidence of youth, and replied, “But, Mama, don’t you always tell me ‘Never give up’?” Gulp. I didn’t think he even heard me half the time when I talked to him, let alone remembered the things I was trying to teach him. I was wrong. And now it was “put up or shut up” time for me. Read more...The best part is coming!