old buddy, Dr. Marshall, who had no lips and no compassion – likewise no interest in Martha’s five-month colic.
“Hm,” said Edwina, exercising restraint.
Hugh listened to this exchange pensively. In his sixteen months of life, he’d learned more than some people ever know about the frailties of the flesh. In that short span, recurrent ear infections and bouts of croup had fetched us running into Sick Kids’ Emergency several times, and he’d been in for six days in the fall, having a hernia repaired. Neither he nor I would ever forget the suffering of that separation, the twice-daily agony of the visits when we met and parted and tried to control our tears. Poor old Hugh had a naturally cautious and pessimistic nature, and his experience of life so far tended to confirm his worst misgivings. That was why I so loved his patience and gentleness. Now he looked with speculation at the carrier bag; but he wouldnever, as Martha did, lay bold hands on it and shout, “Open up!”
“Now just a minute, dear,” murmured Edwina, meaning “What foul manners your child has.” I escaped to the kitchen to boil water and cut lemons, but out there I could hear amicable sounds of mutual approval as she doled out the gifts. Martha actually said a gruff “Thank you!” and ran out to show me a Lego set. On Mother’s large, bland face when I returned was a faint, gratified smile, although she said, “I really meant it for Hugh; but the tea-set seems to be what he likes.”
“Yes, I think Martha’s going to be an engineer, she’s such a Lego nut. As for Hugh, he may well wind up as a nurse.”
Mother chose to regard these remarks as jokes, and attempted to smile. A balloon over her head said in large letters, “They’re queer youngsters. But what can you expect?”
“Let me see,” she said. “Martha will be three next month, won’t she? I must say she has a very large …
vocabulary,
for such a little girl.”
“Well, it’s my guess that she’s got a higher IQ than either Ross or me. They say you should never do this, it makes problems later on at school – but she is
forcing
me to teach her to read. Already she does quite well with things like Dr. Seuss.”
“Go, dog, go,” said Martha complacently.
“Now, Mother, come and sit at the table, there’s less chance of spills that way with the kids. Come on, you two.”
The table with its bright silver and best china looked orderly and gracious. The children’s faces shone over their clean white bibs. Gently I removed Martha’s hand from the cake knife and gave her a marmite sandwich. The tea ritual unfolded with propriety to the tinkle of spoons and inane remarks about distant relatives and the weather. By Mother’s standards, it was all going extremely well. But just as I thought this, the napkin slid off mylap and, as I bent to retrieve it, I spotted on the carpet, close to Mother’s foot, a large human turd. Martha, of course. It even had a cheeky little curl on the top of it.
Swiftly I dropped a Kleenex and with a scoop and a twist recovered this deposit before beating a swift retreat to the kitchen to dispose of it. Once safely out there, I leaned against the counter to let a wild, silent fit of giggles come and go.
“And now do tell me all about Ross. How is my boy these days? It seems so long since I saw him last. He’s still working up to all hours, I suppose.”
“Well, we knew setting up his own practice would mean a rough year or two, even with partners as good as Tim and Randy. Luckily, though, the business is rolling in. No trouble about that side of it.” (And just how lucky, Mother dear, I hope you never know.)
“So he’s still getting home late every night, I suppose, and working every weekend? Well, it’s a mercy you live downtown – at least he’s not commuting at all hours. But when does he ever see the children? I must say, it’s rather …
hard
on you, specially with this new one coming. Well, he’ll simply have
“Hm,” said Edwina, exercising restraint.
Hugh listened to this exchange pensively. In his sixteen months of life, he’d learned more than some people ever know about the frailties of the flesh. In that short span, recurrent ear infections and bouts of croup had fetched us running into Sick Kids’ Emergency several times, and he’d been in for six days in the fall, having a hernia repaired. Neither he nor I would ever forget the suffering of that separation, the twice-daily agony of the visits when we met and parted and tried to control our tears. Poor old Hugh had a naturally cautious and pessimistic nature, and his experience of life so far tended to confirm his worst misgivings. That was why I so loved his patience and gentleness. Now he looked with speculation at the carrier bag; but he wouldnever, as Martha did, lay bold hands on it and shout, “Open up!”
“Now just a minute, dear,” murmured Edwina, meaning “What foul manners your child has.” I escaped to the kitchen to boil water and cut lemons, but out there I could hear amicable sounds of mutual approval as she doled out the gifts. Martha actually said a gruff “Thank you!” and ran out to show me a Lego set. On Mother’s large, bland face when I returned was a faint, gratified smile, although she said, “I really meant it for Hugh; but the tea-set seems to be what he likes.”
“Yes, I think Martha’s going to be an engineer, she’s such a Lego nut. As for Hugh, he may well wind up as a nurse.”
Mother chose to regard these remarks as jokes, and attempted to smile. A balloon over her head said in large letters, “They’re queer youngsters. But what can you expect?”
“Let me see,” she said. “Martha will be three next month, won’t she? I must say she has a very large …
vocabulary,
for such a little girl.”
“Well, it’s my guess that she’s got a higher IQ than either Ross or me. They say you should never do this, it makes problems later on at school – but she is
forcing
me to teach her to read. Already she does quite well with things like Dr. Seuss.”
“Go, dog, go,” said Martha complacently.
“Now, Mother, come and sit at the table, there’s less chance of spills that way with the kids. Come on, you two.”
The table with its bright silver and best china looked orderly and gracious. The children’s faces shone over their clean white bibs. Gently I removed Martha’s hand from the cake knife and gave her a marmite sandwich. The tea ritual unfolded with propriety to the tinkle of spoons and inane remarks about distant relatives and the weather. By Mother’s standards, it was all going extremely well. But just as I thought this, the napkin slid off mylap and, as I bent to retrieve it, I spotted on the carpet, close to Mother’s foot, a large human turd. Martha, of course. It even had a cheeky little curl on the top of it.
Swiftly I dropped a Kleenex and with a scoop and a twist recovered this deposit before beating a swift retreat to the kitchen to dispose of it. Once safely out there, I leaned against the counter to let a wild, silent fit of giggles come and go.
“And now do tell me all about Ross. How is my boy these days? It seems so long since I saw him last. He’s still working up to all hours, I suppose.”
“Well, we knew setting up his own practice would mean a rough year or two, even with partners as good as Tim and Randy. Luckily, though, the business is rolling in. No trouble about that side of it.” (And just how lucky, Mother dear, I hope you never know.)
“So he’s still getting home late every night, I suppose, and working every weekend? Well, it’s a mercy you live downtown – at least he’s not commuting at all hours. But when does he ever see the children? I must say, it’s rather …
hard
on you, specially with this new one coming. Well, he’ll simply have
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