What Kind of Mother….?

The opportunity was ripe. I heard Harrison in the kitchen and tiptoed up the stairs to the adjacent dining room. He was humming to himself, and I heard the hiss of an opened Gatorade bottle. A cabinet door creaked and slammed, and the clang of ice cubes rattled in a glass. I could just hear Harrison’s smugness, pleased to be surrounding himself with his favorite delectables. Finally, the crinkling and rip of a bag of chips punctuated the end of his mission. 

I pressed my back up against the wall, trying to predict his exit route. I knew he was in the middle of reading a book, which was splayed spine-up on the living room table below. I thought he might walk through the hallway on my left, the most direct path to his destination.He had his treats, and he was in a zone. Sure enough, I heard the pad of his jock-sock footsteps.

Timing was everything. I had to scare him at the precise moment he was parallel with me, when his shoulder aligned with mine. If I jumped out too soon, he would see me round the corner, and the element of surprise would be gone. If I leapt too late, I’d be the fool who tried and failed. Thank goodness he was still humming.

“BOOOOO!!!!” My arms flew out in front of me, fingers clawed like a creature. My feet hit the ceramic tile hard, and the thud rattled the china cabinet.

“ARRGGGH!” Harrison ran backwards, red drink swishing against the side of his glass.”MOMMM!”

I clapped for myself, and leaned back laughing, mission so perfectly accomplished. 

“WHAT KIND OF MOTHER ARE YOU?”

I was still giggling, but my eyes got wider. I was so taken aback by the question. It had never occurred to me that perhaps a mother should not be going out of her way to startle her children. 

As Harrison proceeded down the stairs, shaking his head, I had to consider the question. Although I was raised in a household where my siblings and I pounced around corners, I can’t say I recall my mother and father joining in. Rather, they were the grounding forces, hollering “Stop it!” from the other room when tears or squabbles broke out.  Was I not enrolled in motherly behavior?

I had to go to the expert. My sister Chrissy.

“Chrissy, I had this experience the other day…. I need a reality check.”

After I recalled the events followed by my son’s accusation, she said,”Oh, Jake and I scare each other all the time. It’s a blast.”

I felt better. Until I considered the source. This was the same woman who stood up from the sea of blankets at the 4th of July community picnic to dance by herself. “Mom, you’re embarrassing us,” her teens told her. She chuckled. “Why do you think I’m doing it?”

This is my sissy  who used to talk with me on the phone, and suddenly stop responding in the middle of the conversation.

“Can’t you hear me?”

“Yes. Shhh,” she would answer in a barely audible voice. “My kids just walked by looking for me. I didn’t want them to hear me.”

“Where are you?”

“Hiding in the bathroom. Shhhh!”

She is a complex woman. Because she is also the mother who the kids bring friends home to hang out with, and the mother who single-handedly plans every outing and family vacation. Perhaps none of can answer What Kind of Mother are We?   I’m just figuring it out as I go along.

But I’ll tell you one thing – I am definitely going to be the kind of grandmother who jumps out at her grandkids.

Tags: mothers

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