Читать книгу An Accidental Mother - Katherine Anne Kindred - Страница 7

Michael Age Five, Elizabeth Age Three

Michael is standing next to Jim’s horse, Cody, watching him roll the bit in his mouth. He turns to us and says, “Cody is getting old; his teeth are yellow and dirty. They look like Grandma’s.”

We are getting ready to run errands on a Saturday morning, and I ask Elizabeth if she will dress herself for me. She says no, but after a minute of thinking about it changes her mind and tells me yes. After what seems like a long time, I go upstairs to check on her. Elizabeth has on shorts and socks and is putting on her shoes—but she is wearing no shirt.

After I give Annie a bath and then dry her fur with the blow dryer, Michael says, “Kate! She looks brand-new!”

I’m driving Michael to day care, and we’re listening to a music CD that I’ve been playing each morning for the last week. There is one particular song we both like, so I fast-forward to it. I sing along with the lyrics, and as the song nears its end and the final crescendo begins, Michael tell me, “Kate, this is the scary part!”

Jim decides to make the kids waffles for dinner. In one particular batch, he burns a few of the edges on one side. He transfers the waffles onto dinner plates, and I carry them to the table.

Michael pokes at his for a moment and then asks, “What’s this black stuff for?”

I tell the children they need to take a nap, but they tell me they don’t want to. Attempting to compromise, I say they can stay up for fifteen more minutes and then take their nap.

Elizabeth thinks about this and then asks, “How about five minutes?”

During a discussion with Michael over whether or not I should allow him to watch the television when he has such a poor attitude, he tells me, “I’d have a good attitude if I could watch cartoons”.

It’s the Saturday before Father’s Day, and Jim is at work. Michael and I are rushing from store to store, running household errands and trying to gather gifts for his dad. By midafternoon we are both weary, and Michael is beginning to tune out everything I say. In addition, every time we pull into a parking space he asks me if he can bring his toys with us. Each time I repeat, “No, I’ve already told you that your toys can’t come into the store.” When I ask him to get out of the car, he stalls by organizing the toys I have just told him cannot come with us. I reach into the backseat, take the toys out of his hand and place them on the opposite seat, then take his arm and guide him out of the car. I am firm, and he is resisting. Once out of the car I let go of his arm and then reach down to hold his hand while we walk through the parking lot.

Instead of taking my hand, Michael looks up at me and says, “You don’t have to treat me like a bag!”

I own a charm bracelet with charms on every link representing things I’ve done or places I’ve been. Michael is always telling me, “Kate! You should wear your bracelet today!” He loves to look through the charms. On this day, as we go through them together, he stops to examine a heart charm. The charm opens and has slots on each side for photos. I acquired it long before I knew Michael and had meant to insert a picture of Annie.

“What is this charm for?” he queries.

“It’s a place to put pictures of the people I love,” I answer.

He tells me, “Well, you need a heart with three spaces, then: one for me, one for Daddy, and one for Elizabeth.”

It is summer, another Saturday, and I’m doing dishes. Michael comes into the kitchen and stands next to me, and I turn to look his way. He is wearing shorts but no shirt and has put a small, round sticker on each of his nipples to cover them up.