As I was the fourth child – there was no room left for questions to avoid going to bed. Mum had already thought of an answer for everything.
‘Mum, I’m thirsty’.
‘Why do you think I made you have that drink before you went to bed? Go to sleep’.
‘But I’m not tired’.
‘You’re not getting out of bed. You will be tired eventually.’
‘It’s too light.’
‘It doesn’t matter. If you close your eyes, it will be dark.’
“What’s this Grandma?” asks my niece, pointing to the lyrics Mum has stuck on her fridge.
“It’s a song about the strength of women – about how we can do anything, regardless of what happens to us.”
“Did you write it Grandma?”
Bless her.
Yes. EVERYday.
And this doesn’t mean just pulling up the doona. This means taking the time to straighten the bottom sheet, tucking it back in where it has wriggled free overnight. Puff up the pillows, lining them up against the bedhead neatly. Folding down (using your hand as a guide) the top sheet and then tucking it in (yes, another crucial bit here – a second sheet is not optional). Fluff the doona, then sweep your hands down it – smoothing out any wrinkles as you go. Remember too, to stand back and admire your good work once done.
At the end of a long day, as you pull back the covers on your bed – it will make you smile to think you have a nice, crinkle-free bed to get into. Sleep will come easier. So do it – everyday.
I still rememember my first library card.
We had always gone to the library – ever since I can remember. When we were younger, we lived across the road from the library and Mum was good friends with the librarian (we lived in a small town too). We would go to the library at least once a week. We had one library card – in Mum’s name, and all of us borrowed books together.
When I turned 10 (double-figures!), Mum said I could have my own library card. And I could go to the library BY MYSELF.
This was a freedom I had never known. The library to me held so much freedom already – all those books to choose from, and each one opening a door into a world so different to mine. I was reading so many books already, imagine if I had my own card!
Mum took me to the library and I signed the form for my own card. When it came out of the laminator, it was still warm. I put it in my pocket and smiled and smiled. I borrowed the maximum number of books and went home still smiling.
The next day I had read several books and asked if I could go to the library. Mum said yes, and called the library. The librarian came out the front, and watched me cross the road and took me by the hand into the library. Once I had borrowed more books, she did the same thing in reverse – called Mum and watched me cross the road.
That is the moment I really began to love books and libraries – a love that will be life-long.
“Ew Mum – this bread is a bit dry.”
“Is it? It must be a bit old. I’ll get some more tomorrow. But you know what this means?”
“I don’t know – what?”
“It’s Schnitzel Night tonight!”
Old bread means bread crumbs. And for us, this meant schnitzel. Or crumbed sausages. Or rissoles. Or fishcakes. Or anything that would use up the old bread.
Waste not, want not.
When we were little, we often had trouble going to bed. Mum tried her best with a pretty solid bedtime routine. Dinner, quiet games only, and then bathtime. After a bath, Mum would brush our hair and read to us. Then it was time to go to bed.
This worked for a long time. But then we needed something more.
So Mum came up with Sleep Dust.
She had a little container on the mantle piece that was filled with what she called Sleep Dust. She would say that this was magic, and that Mr Sandman had given it to her to make us go to sleep and have wonderful dreams.
We would all line up before bed to get this Sleep Dust sprinkled over our eyes. Mum would oblige, and scatter the Sleep Dust over our eyes before putting us to bed. I remember falling asleep quickly so that I could see these wonderful, magic dreams.
As an adult, I think the container was an old pin tin and that it was empty. Mum would pretend to sprinkle something, but nothing was really there.
But also, as an adult, a little piece of me still wishes for that Sleep Dust and those magic dreams.
Each year around the start of December, Mum would spend the day with us tidying out our playroom and bedrooms. We would have 3 big containers (most of the time these were Mum’s big washing baskets) – and each one would be labelled with a piece of paper: Keep, Donate, Throw-Away.
She would sit next to the baskets, and we would pick up one item at a time and make The Decision.
Is it broken? = Throw-Away
When did I last play with it? = Donate
Would another child like this more than me? = Donate
Mum wouldn’t make The Decision for us. She would simply ask us these questions – guiding us to the right decision. The Donate basket was always the biggest basket in the end.
We did this every year. It was only after we had donated our toys, that Santa would come and bring us new ones (if we had been good, of course).
When there were 3 of us left at home, Mum made a roster and stuck it to the fridge. There were three different jobs:
– wash
– dry up and put away
– clear and stack
This roster lasted us many years. We hoped for Clear and Stack – the easiest job. We hated Dry Up and Put Away – it took the longest.
But as Mum always said, the best conversations happen while you’re doing another chore.
So each night, two of us were forced to spend time together in the kitchen. And although it is only now we admit it, we had our best conversations. I remember helping my little brother with his love life and my little sister with a bullying teacher. I remember them making me laugh when I was stressed out about exams.
Mum would pretend to be watching TV, but really she would be listening and smiling on the inside.
It was exactly what we all needed.
You are standing at the sink tea-towel over the shoulder, doing the dishes. Explaining my little brother’s homework to him as you do. My sister and I are also at the kitchen table, all of us doing our homework. Dinner is on the stove – we are having sausages, mash and peas tonight. My favourite.
Dad comes home from work and kisses each of us kids on the top of the head.
He goes to you. He first cheekily pinches you on the bum. You curse him, but smile as you do so. He does it again, and you whip him with the tea-towel. This doesn’t deter him, and this time he slaps you gently on the bum, while laughing with us kids. While smiling (you are always smiling) you chase him around the kitchen, flicking your tea-towel at him as you do. The chase turns and he is now after you, making kissing noises with his lips. Us kids cheer as you both run around and around the kitchen.
Finally, you let him catch up and he grabs you and gives you the most passionate kiss I will ever witness. He dips you in the kitchen and you stare at each other for a moment, smiling.
You flick him one last time with the tea-towel and it is back to dinner and homework.
You are in love with my Dad.
For a long while there, Mum would drive my little brother to and from his job (he had lost his licence after a string of bad decisions). Considering where they were living at the time, this was a considerable effort – a round-trip of well over an hour, and about 80km in distance.
But each afternoon, Mum would bring him a surprise. They called this a ‘surprise’ every day – yet the result never differed: A can of coke, and a Mars Bar.
To my Mum these drives together meant that she could hear about his day, and his work and about his plans. She could ask questions and because he was stuck in the car for 40km, he had no choice but to answer and to talk. Mum always said that the best conversations happen when there is common task being shared – like doing the dishes, or in this case, while driving together in a car.
I think this time they shared together brought them much closer – and while others thought Mum was rewarding his bad behaviour by offering him a solution to a problem he caused, I think Mum saw this as an opporuntity to help heal my brother. To care for him in a safe, arms-length way – from across the car as they drove twice a day together, for many, many months. If it hadn’t been for this action from my Mum – my brother would have lost his job and who knows what would have come next. Mum knew this was the best way to keep him on the right path but did it in a way that meant he wasn’t aware of the control she was still exerting over his life, nor was he aware how much he was talking to Mum as they drove.
I have no doubt that this drive, and the ‘surprise’ they shared each day, saved my brother.
Years later, and even now, when my brother asks us to bring him a surprise – we know what we need to buy.
Get Up Before You Fall 