Mother's Day (for Meg)
Sundays were the worst. Six days of the week, I kept myself busy at the preschool, or helping out around the kitchen, but then Sunday morning would roll around and I would feel that I'd been in the kitchen too long, and I'd have nothing to do for a whole day. And that's not a good situation to be in.
Another worst thing about this place (number forty-one on the list) is how time seemed to pass you by when you weren't looking. I remember looking up a month ago and realizing that it was Easter. Now I looked up at the calendar, and it hit me: it was Mother's Day.
We celebrated Mother's Day back home. We kids and Daddy would sneak into the kitchen and make Mother breakfast in bed, and then pile onto her and help her eat it. Most importantly, while the younger kids snuggled with Mother, the older kids and Daddy would go back to the kitchen to clean up the mess we made. It was a fine tradition that built many fond memories.
And of course, here on the Island, that wasn't...
...
...Actually...
I could picture how my 42-year-old parents would react if they knew I was trapped here. It made my heart ache to think of it, and it made my heart ache more to know that they probably didn't know. So I set this picture aside, for now. I had another option. Mother _was_ on the Island, after all. Sure, she was nineteen and we were both confused on whether to relate to each other as mother, daughter or sister, but I could still share some of the day with her. Besides, wasn't she likely thinking about her mother, dear old Grand? I could share that burden.
I stopped in the kitchen, checked the supplies, and spent about an hour baking. Then, putting everything in a covered pot, I crossed the Island until I came to my parents' hut. I took a deep breath to gather my courage and knocked on the door. As I heard someone approach, I did a practise run beneath my breath. "Happy Mother's Day, Mother."
Another worst thing about this place (number forty-one on the list) is how time seemed to pass you by when you weren't looking. I remember looking up a month ago and realizing that it was Easter. Now I looked up at the calendar, and it hit me: it was Mother's Day.
We celebrated Mother's Day back home. We kids and Daddy would sneak into the kitchen and make Mother breakfast in bed, and then pile onto her and help her eat it. Most importantly, while the younger kids snuggled with Mother, the older kids and Daddy would go back to the kitchen to clean up the mess we made. It was a fine tradition that built many fond memories.
And of course, here on the Island, that wasn't...
...
...Actually...
I could picture how my 42-year-old parents would react if they knew I was trapped here. It made my heart ache to think of it, and it made my heart ache more to know that they probably didn't know. So I set this picture aside, for now. I had another option. Mother _was_ on the Island, after all. Sure, she was nineteen and we were both confused on whether to relate to each other as mother, daughter or sister, but I could still share some of the day with her. Besides, wasn't she likely thinking about her mother, dear old Grand? I could share that burden.
I stopped in the kitchen, checked the supplies, and spent about an hour baking. Then, putting everything in a covered pot, I crossed the Island until I came to my parents' hut. I took a deep breath to gather my courage and knocked on the door. As I heard someone approach, I did a practise run beneath my breath. "Happy Mother's Day, Mother."