dreadedcandiru2 (dreadedcandiru2) wrote in binky_betsy,
dreadedcandiru2
dreadedcandiru2
binky_betsy

Spring Fever

We get another installment of Mom Martyrdom that has Sarah being bad at being Elly.

May 5, 2021

Today was one of those early spring days that was aching to be summer. The sun was shining, the breeze was warm, and the sky was a brilliant blue. If it weren’t for my children’s pink noses and chattering teeth, you might not have known the difference.


I remember my mother standing in a shaft of sunlight in the garden, on a day like today. Her eyes were closed, and she was smiling. She was holding her hands in front of her, palms facing the sky, and she turned to me and said “you never really feel the sunlight on your palms. It feels like you’re holding the sunlight.” After the rainy season of October to March, days like today bring something more: promise. The promise of better days, warmer days. Days filled with iced tea, freshly cut grass, hot sidewalks, and fragrant air. Days of endless sun and eternal warmth that last forever and lift your spirits. If there’s anything better than three months of golden sunshine and free time, I haven’t found it.


But with the good, comes the bad. The birth of spring heralds the upcoming season that all Canadians dread: Roadwork. Every year, without fail, the streets become clogged with dinosaurs of heavy machinery, orange safety cones, and tired construction workers smoking cigarettes and holding stop signs. Your quick trip to the beach turns into a daylong slog as you crawl through traffic, switching lanes, and slowly roasting to death in your car with broken air conditioning. I remember sitting in the back seat of my parents’ station wagon, sweat beading on my face, whining that the sun was burning a hole into my arm. My mother replied, “you wait all year for the sun, and the first day it’s out, you’re complaining about it?” Darned if that didn’t shut me up quick. But it was on this same trip, as we inched along, that the frown on my mother’s face gradually deepened, and she started shifting uncomfortably. If she was miserable, she at least had the grace not to say anything.


Years later, I was the one in the driver’s seat, with my own children in the back. We were returning home from the grocery store and got stuck on a construction-blocked street. I tried to head off the whining by giving the kids snacks and water, hoping that would keep them busy. I could feel my frustration rising: why was this happening? Did this road really need to be fixed? The cracks weren’t that bad, just pretend you were on a rollercoaster as you zigzagged around them! I sat struggling with my irritation, when my daughter piped up from the back: “this sure is a fun picnic!” She was smiling broadly and munching her granola bar. To me, this was torture. To her, it was a fun moment with her family and her favorite snack.

(Personal observation: Yes, the roads do need to be fixed that badly. If that gets in her way, tough break because the shortest distance between two points is occupied by a backhoe.)

Sitting in the hot car, I felt my temper diminish and my mind clear. I have so much to learn from my kids. I wish I could take the time to be as carefree and spontaneous as they are. This moment stuck in traffic was the perfect time for me to really evaluate my outlook on life. I never live in the moment; I constantly find myself worrying about the rest of the day, trying to rush through things as quickly as possible. If I could be half as optimistic as my children, the little things wouldn’t bother me as much.

(Personal Observation: She's going to get dropped for not being on message.)

We eventually made it home, and somehow all three of us and the groceries made it inside. And you know what I did? Instead of hustling the groceries away, I got out the ice-cream and sat on the balcony with my brood. We chatted about our exciting trip to the store, and all the funny things we had seen. It was a sweet, carefree afternoon; until I wandered back into the kitchen and found my newly purchased stick of butter melting into a pool on the floor. As I stared at the rapidly congealing puddle of goo, I made a decision: I refilled my ice-cream bowl and headed back to the balcony. The mess could wait; it was a warm, sunny day, and my kids and I were having fun – something I could always use a little more of!

First off, she was agitated by a real-life 'problem' (namely, the fact that in most jurisdictions, there are only two seasons called 'plowing' and 'road work') and she said that the mess could wait until she was in a better head space.
Subscribe

  • Saturday, January 26th

    "Quotes": Two. Panel 1: Who predicted the chatty, expository ride home -- I think it was dreadedcandiru? Kudos to you! Kudos! Anyway, we have a…

  • Tuesday, January 15

    Panel 1: Please, oh please, let this be the last strip on this subject. It might not be, though, depending on how Elly reacts; she may need another…

  • Monday, January 14

    Panel 1: Well, that's a good attitude. But it seems to me that the wrinkles started ramping up about the time that you started scowling more than you…

  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 10 comments

  • Saturday, January 26th

    "Quotes": Two. Panel 1: Who predicted the chatty, expository ride home -- I think it was dreadedcandiru? Kudos to you! Kudos! Anyway, we have a…

  • Tuesday, January 15

    Panel 1: Please, oh please, let this be the last strip on this subject. It might not be, though, depending on how Elly reacts; she may need another…

  • Monday, January 14

    Panel 1: Well, that's a good attitude. But it seems to me that the wrinkles started ramping up about the time that you started scowling more than you…