Mother Mother May I

As regular readers know I’m a magnet for awkward situations. With or without my children. Now that we’re in the home stretch for Mother’s Day 2014 I’m drawn to share a classic just typikel incident involving me, my two kids and another family’s mother.

Mother Mother May I

When my daughter was five she had a painfully shy girl in her morning kindergarten class whose outgoing older sister Tomoko tended to speak for her. The latter was in grade two and would chat with me outside the classroom every day at the noon pick up.  I learned many things about her family; chief of which was that they lived a block from school, had recently moved from Japan and that the girls had a younger sister.

The kindergarten teacher tried many things to get her sister Kyoko to speak up in class but it wasn’t until the winter term that she hit gold. Mrs. L devised a system whereby every time the other students got Kyoko to talk she would pop two gummy bears into a large-sized canning jar. Once the jar was full the class could crack open the jar and share the contents. It worked like a charm. The jar was filling up and  Kyoko was beginning to initiate conversations and make friends.

One early May afternoon Tomoko was beyond herself with excitement. She was positively bouncing.

“You come my house for lunch!”

I’m sorry but that was impossible. I had my four year old son with me, sandwiches were waiting for us at home and I’d never even met her mother.

Someone tugged on my sleeve. “Please. Come.” I looked down into the pleading eyes of Kyoko. My head buzzed. She was talking! To me! She wanted us to come to lunch at her house. Could I say no? Was it the first time she’d ever asked anyone to come over? If I said no would she stop talking? I opted for the maternal solution. A compromise.

“How about we come over another day? Maybe for a little play after school one day?”

I’d spoken too quickly for Kyoko. Her face reflected her struggle to grasp my words.  Tomoko caught the gist in a blink. She spun her sister towards me and pointed at her. Brilliant ploy. Playing the sympathy card for all it was worth.

“No, no. You come today. For lunch.” Tomoko insisted.

“But your mother. She will be so surprised…” I bleated.

“No. No. Mother know. Mother happy. You come today. For lunch.”

I looked towards the classroom door hoping to gain some support from Mrs. L. Instead, I received a wave and a smile as she headed off to her own lunch. Helpful. A rapid fire discussion ensued between the two sisters. At its conclusion Kyoko nodded and went to stand beside my daughter.

My son was growing tired of the dialogue.  His “Mommy, Mommy can we?” collided with Kyoko’s plaintive “Please Mother sad if you not come.”

Good lord. The mother was expecting us for lunch. An image flashed before my eyes.

That did it. We’d have the lunch sandwiches for dinner.

Oh mother. The welcoming reception was slightly different that anticipated. That youngest sister? She was a newborn, swaddled lovingly onto her mom’s back. I could just make out a tiny head. Dread stole up my core as I locked eyes with her mother and discerned the truth. This astonished woman had NO idea that my family and I … even … existed. How bloody awkward. Obviously we wouldn’t, couldn’t stay for lunch. We’d pretend we were just dropping the girls off on our way home. But Tomoko preempted my exit plan. Advising me that her mother spoke little English she launched into a brief Japanese monologue, offering up a spirited defence of her surprise luncheon invitation. I envisioned plaintive pleas of “Mother, Mother may I please have them stay!” Whatever she said worked. Within seconds we were being ushered into the living room.

It was a wonder. A fully decorated imitation Christmas tree took centre stage. My children were enthralled. Christmas in May! As the four of them scampered over to the present-free tree I felt my face growing warm with embarrassment. I couldn’t expect this obviously sleep deprived woman to play hostess; if  anything I should be offering her lunch! As she gently beckoned me into the kitchen my toes bunched ever more tightly in my shoes. I couldn’t even express my apologies. My Japanese vocabulary was limited to the equivalent of “round and round” and “Cheers!”  Not exactly apology material. Sweet mother. This was such a bad decision. Why had I ever agreed to come? Just so typikel. The table didn’t ease my acute awkwardness. It was carefully set. For three.

The lovely woman summoned the energy to make me welcome. Waving off my pathetic attempts to help she pulled out a chair and motioned for me to sit down. Within minutes she’d whipped up cheese on toast for six. Lunch was inhaled in seconds and the children returned to the land of Christmas. We were left alone.

A giggle escaped from behind the cupped hand held over her mouth. Mirth bubbled up in me and within seconds the two of us were doubled up laughing.We’d been duped by an eight year old.

My awkwardness melted as we tentatively reached across the language barrier. With the use of exaggerated pantomime we slowly found our way. We covered the universal topics of motherhood: the number of children, their ages, their interests. I learned she was missing her family back home and her face expressed happiness that mine lived so close. We then moved into trickier territory.

“Hus-band?” she asked pointing to my ringless fingers.

Lord. How to explain that he had passed away two years earlier? I closed my eyes and fell back in my chair, my head lolling to the side. Her gasp told me she understood. I opened my eyes to find hers welling with tears.

She pointed at me and said “Mommy and Daddy.”

My two children chose that moment to return to the kitchen. They found us enfolded in a hug. Two complete strangers from different parts of the world had made a connection. Through the universal language of motherhood.

But enough about me and my Mother Mother May I. I’m curious about you. Have you ever experienced such a connection with another mom who’s a complete stranger? Have you ever been duped by an eight year old? Or have you ever felt that toe curling awkwardness of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? If you’d care to share, I’d love to hear.