Ordinary Eve
'Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world' St John 1 Vs 29
Lent heralds the anniversary of Christ's Passion so I thought that I would use the opportunity to write a piece about expiation: maternal expiation. In the sense that your toddlers are your children, they are a source of extreme joy and are in large part a reflection of the love between their parents. But any mother is lying if they say that they are also not a penance!
Patience, patience
When I analyse it in cold blood, children definitely enhance the virtues in one of patience, kindness and loving. Mainly by severely testing these very virtues often to breaking point! One can't help but make an analogy with Christ's suffering at this time although I would certainly not wish to undermine the enormity of his physical and emotional suffering. Possibly more accurate would be an analogy with Mary, the mother of Christ at his Passion.
A bad day at home may constitute the following. The morning starts, the household is sleeping peacefully. Wake-up time and with immediate effect, the crying and whingeing commences 'I want to wear my dress' as the trousers are presented to her; 'I don't want to wear my jumper' as the cold rain drives at the windows. Slaved-over meals are pushed away with a distasteful grimace. Then there's the impish thrill-giving behaviour as clothes are strewn from drawers to the floor or cupboards known to be out of bounds are explored and the contents (chocolate powder or flour or paper napkins) are thoroughly fingered and mouthed. Halfway through meals, the urge to go to the loo bears down not just on child number one but on child number two also so there are potties to be emptied. Child three, meanwhile, experiments with the concept of gravity on his macaroni cheese as piece by piece falls to the floor. At the end of all this, I truly ask myself what I have done wrong and whatever my numerous sins, I feel better for the fact that on a human level I am sure I must be expiating myself through maternal suffering!
Dignity and authority
There are two areas in particular which constitute penance for me as a mother. The first is when I lose control of discipline and my stamp of authority ceases to be effective. When Hugo was a newborn and the twins were 20 months' old we had refused to move up to a three seater buggy - we already had two double buggies and a single buggy. So the way forward was for Hugo to be in the single buggy with one twin holding on to the bar on either side. The method was fine in the park or the playground but all children go through a stage of 'running off'. This was slightly tricky when it came to crossing roads. I had at least a couple of nightmarish scenarios where coming home from the playground one afternoon Oliver decided he wasn't going to hold onto the buggy but was going to dawdle: looking in the wing mirror of every car parked on the edge of the road and fingering their small side indicator lights. Clarissa at this point was happily holding on and walking at the normal speed. My attempts to encourage Oliver to catch up were met with indifference and steps taken towards him precipitated his running away in the opposite direction. The only solution was to catch him and carry him. However, at this point, Clarissa thought it would be a marvellous game to run off back down the pavement too. So I had the prospect of a 20 month old twin in each arm and a buggy to push. This was definitely not a sensible fashion in which to cross the crossroads required to get us home. As a result, I had to take one of the biggest risks to date: put both twins down to run wild on the pavement and make an initial crossing with Hugo in the pram. I parked him on he home pavement and came back to carry the wriggling and screeching twins across for the second trip. Any observer would no doubt have concluded that I wasn't fit to mother children! Pride certainly lessened.
Torture
The second key area of maternal penance for me is when children manipulate their parents' emotions to get what they want - whingeing to get the green beaker not the red one, or demanding rice cakes just as I am dishing out their lunches. This torture is particularly poignant when set in contrast with your children's behaviour with a non-family carer.
I had the most surreal experience yet when I was taken ill with some gastric flu last week. Happily it started at the weekend when my husband was around to takeover. He coped well but received his fair share of crying, screaming and whingeing. On Monday (a day I usually work) I took the day off sick and again, happily this was no problem because our very able nanny, Edyta, was due to be looking after the children anyway. So there I was, tucked up in bed putting my exhaustion to rest, like a fly on the wall in the house. Edyta went into the children's bedrooms to wake them up and dress them before breakfast. All was so quiet that you couldn't guess whose room she had gone into first. And so the day continued. Bubbly, happy noises coming form all three, no evidence of whingeing demands, fighting or crying. Happy and focused mealtimes. And all the while washes were being put on, dishes cleaned: really any critic would vote this 'dream household'.
The neighbours must wonder at the schizophrenic behaviour they witness through the walls! Whilst my experience was obviously totally reassuring from Oliver, Clarissa and Hugos point of view, I certainly felt pretty depressed at what one couldn't help but conclude was a failing in my abilities as a mother. Should I go to work more often? But I don't advocate full on maternal absence. And I console myself with my belief that one has to go through suffering in order to be a better person afterwards.
Similarly, there is a joyful point central to Christ's Passion: his suffering gave us the means to be forgiven for our sins. I am certainly inclined to believe that the more pain you go through, the richer the rewards.
Hilary McElwaine
