A shout-out to the teachers on Mother’s Day
I have other gifts the boys have given me over the years, but the things they made themselves remain the best
As we head into this year’s Mother’s Day festivities, I’d like to send out a special thanks to the preschool and elementary teachers who dreamed up and helped my sons produce some of the best jewelry I own.
The boys know I’ve kept a lot of their artwork and journals because I haul selections out when they’re here so we can remember the time Christopher got an official certificate for being the best lunch student, and that Ari made his Grade 2 teacher a giant valentine covered in glitter (and a photo of himself ) declaring that he loved her.
They can’t deny it when I have evidence.
What they don’t know is that I still have, amid gold chains and silver earrings, a small pendant and a single earring that means more to me than any diamond. Neither of my sons is capable of keeping a secret, which means my Mother’s Day surprises were usually delivered to me on the way home from class along with the expectation that I would immediately put on the exquisite handmade gem — and never take it off.
When Christer was 3, he made me a small clay teddy bear necklace. His favourite part was the narrow strip of leather that he had poked through the existing hole. I wore it for a few days because he would ask me why I wasn’t as soon as he woke up. I rarely wore jewelry then (or now), ensuring my fine necklace received lots of rave reviews, most from the artist himself. By the third day, Christer asked if he could have the strap. He needed to tie two of his toys together to play train. I think he’d had his eye on it from the beginning. I handed it over and tucked the teddy bear medallion in my dresser drawer where it has remained for 30 years.
Ari was always my more elaborate artist. One Mother’s Day, he proudly undid a twist of tissue paper to reveal a pair of carefully beaded earrings. He assured me that some mommies only got one bead, but I was very lucky because I got three. Under his careful watch, I jabbed open the holes in my once-pierced, but rarely used, earlobes. He asked why I was putting alcohol on my ears and why was I bleeding. I told him the earrings were perfect and I would put them on the next day for dinner.
There is no picture of me wearing
the earrings because they turned my ears green in about 20 minutes. I assured Ari I was going to save them for special occasions and breathed a sigh of relief when he returned to gluing rocks on rocks, his usual gifts to me. He liked to glue things together.
I have other gifts the boys have given me over the years, but the things they made themselves remain the best. One earring is long gone — Ari used to get them out of my drawer to show people — and the teddy bear pendant has not swung from a string since Christer borrowed it back.
I keep these things in the same spot my mother used to. Top left drawer of the dresser, bits and pieces in shallow dishes, tiny boxes and balls of knotted chains, long forgotten. When she died, I moved a lot of her things right into my drawer — things we’d played with as kids, but now live in the shadows.
As I was rummaging around looking for the second earring, I came across a small heart-shaped rock with even smaller shells glued on top of it. I stared hard at it; it was familiar, but it wasn’t from the boys.
I’d made it for my mother when I was probably five or so.
LORRAINE SOMMERFELD HAS WRITTEN THE MOTHERLODE COLUMN FOR THE HAMILTON SPECTATOR FOR MORE THAN 20 YEARS. SHE IS ALSO AN AWARD-WINNING AUTO JOURNALIST, AND HER FIRST NOVEL,
“A FACE IN THE WINDOW,” IS AVAILABLE AT AFACEINTHEWINDOW.COM. YOU CAN REACH HER AT CONTACT@LORRAINEONLINE.CA.