M | T | W | T | F | S | S |
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1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |
8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |
15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 |
22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 |
29 | 30 |
Strange, isn’t it, that you can do something for years and then suddenly, for some reason it’s no longer relevant, no longer a part of your everyday life or no longer palatable and it stops. You no longer drive someone every Wednesday for choir or basketball for example or a tutor becomes redundant and then the entire experience floats away and quietly gets tucked in with the other bits of irrelevant mind jetsam.
And what of The Other Parents who were co-existing with me at this time in this weirdly middle class, parallel universe? Where are they now after sharing this peculiar bond? Why should I even care? But I sat beside them, making awkward small talk, warming my hands around a Tim Horton’s coffee I no longer wanted to drink, too self conscious (was this rude?) to read the book I had brought with me. We sat huddled together like this on rigid chairs that pinched my legs for years, watching our children tumble onto a mat (Aikido) all of us learning to count in Japanese as the Sensei shouted in loud piercing syllables: Ichi! San! Shi!
Then a rapid scurry for coats and shoes, the polite veneer of interest in one another falling quickly away and an obligatory: See you next week shouted over one shoulder.
Similarly, I always drove Frasier and Niles to music lessons: flute and violin, respectively. These were almost spa events since I could read in a quiet space filled with light and climbing plants, furtively eat a KitKat while curled up in a rattan chair amidst sumptuous cushions and enjoy strains of music – although it was the same music, over and over – drifting up from the lower level. The flute teacher also had a charming little white dog who had a head like a square marshmallow and two deeply set black eyes. He looked like a cartoon snowman. For years, I made this pilgrimage each and every week. Until I didn’t. I understand that none of this is profound information (how the hell did my brother’s voice get in here?) but it does interest me as it catalogues different and morphing versions of myself with each life stage of my boys.
My favourite activity was volunteering in the boys’ kindergarten classes. Four years apart, they both beamed in the same way when I came in, a bit of a celebrity, (“Hey, that’s my mum!”) The teacher was warm and funny and made me and everyone else feel comfortable in her classroom. I always asked for the tasks that would be most helpful and she eventually confessed a deep loathing for cleaning the paint sets and brushes. So every week, in a tiny space that always smelled of wet newspaper and the collected funk of small children’s feet, I filled up a deep sink with lemony detergent and plunged my hands in up to my elbows. The rigid pucks of paint were purply-grey no matter what colour they had started out as and as I made careful circular strokes on the creamy, yet grainy surface, it was oddly gratifying to see the original sharp yellows or true reds returning. The brushes were treated to a much rougher clean-up and a few needed a prolonged soak because their hardened tips had become better suited to archery. Afterwards, I helped with reading and snack time, (dutifully sweeping up orange hills of Goldfish cracker dust) and then it was time to go. I walked home with a light heart, feeling that I’d done something worthwhile, the paints neatly stacked and the rows of empty apple juice cans now a line of ridged silver on the shelves again.
I also find that my cooking habits have changed – back in the ’80s I recall regularly making a Bisquick “quiche” that was quite dreadful and would probably cause me to fall into a coma now especially when teamed with oven fries. Similarly, all-those-things made with Cream of Something soup? Never even buy canned soup these days. Then, there’s all the items that my boys carb-ed up on: sandwiches made with chubby catfish, shiny with mayo and hot sauce, springy baguettes that they split in two and then inserted an entire pork tenderloin into the bread envelope, Fish Sticks, Pogo Dogs, Pizza Pockets, Waffles. All things I railed against buying in the first place and now gone.
At a more advanced age, I am careful with my time and greedy about how I will spend it. This is something I have never experienced before and I am not sure where it has originated. More time than I have ever had in my life yet I deeply resent the dental, optometrist or internet providers that routinely steal it from me; and yet, all of these things used to occur necessarily on top of work and family commitments. Perhaps it is the pandemic that has altered my way of thinking as it has so many other things. Either way, I have recently learned that I can soon return to my current volunteer position at a veteran’s hospital where I work in one of their small libraries and which I like very much. There is a calm, tranquility to the department and I am always so impressed by the resilience and cheerfulness of many of the residents there, particularly knowing the unspeakable things many have experienced during the war.
I was also recently told that I am the Youngest Volunteer they have – and that too makes me happy!
Such delightful writing and familiar recollections.
I really enjoy your blog Sue. It is so lovely to hear about your routines from your past when your sons were growing up.
They were lucky to have such a devoted Mum.
I laughed out loud when you mentioned Bisquick and canned soup – two things I still use because, with the passage of years, I have basically given up on anything resembling real cooking. I didn’t know about your volunteering … I can see you doing a wonderful job at that!
What a pleasure to read! So full of insight, and inspiring too! With funny bits.
Thanks for writing and letting us in on your thoughts.
How very insightful and true. I often reflect on how each decade sees me change only visible in hindsight. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and enjoy the veterans hospital library.
Yes, the small talk with other parents when all you really want is to read! So glad that part of parenting is done. And now, I have all the time I want to read, but I find myself eavesdropping on the weekly violin lessons.
Thanks for the insightful memories.
I have to ask. Did the little white dog come and sit with you?
I remember being surprised at how much time was spent with parents, teachers and other complete strangers. Kind of like the surprise when I realized that in-laws were going to be a big part of life lol.
Appreciate how you hit the nail on the head,I also voluntered at my daughter’s school…..remember tuna casserole with crushed potato chips,cheesecake with dream whip & canned pie filling.
Waiting for your next column
I feel like I could smell this post, in so many different parts
Youngest volunteer indeed? I am sure that you might be the most efficient and kind one as well. It is fun to think of those times – sometimes, you will meet one of those parents in arms, and it is like meeting an old friend, that shared bond.
Dear Sue,
I absolutely loved this piece you wrote! I felt like I was looking into a mirror of my soul! Ooo how I loved those days volunteering at the kids school those days were sooo fun! I am so proud of you volunteering at the library it sounds delightful! Thanks for inspiring all of us!