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 Holly Winter Living The Life Of Holly May 16, 2003 “Happy Mother’s Day.” She said, answering the phone. She had to be talking to a mother. Wasn’t everybody a mother? “Hi mom.” I said. “Happy Mother’s Day.” “Oh. It’s you, a real-live non-mother. Hey. It’s not my fault you don’t have twelve children. I’m open to more grandchildren.” She insisted. “Hold on. There’s someone you need to say ‘hello’ to.” She handed the phone to my younger sister. “Happy Mother’s Day.” She said. “Hey sis. I am sort of like a mother to you, aren’t I? Happy Mother’s Day to you, too.” “Oh. Sorry.” She laughed. “But at least you are a woman. Jason didn’t take it so well when I just wished him a Happy Mother’s Day.” “Why not? He makes great pancakes.” Heather called to her four year old son. “Kyle. Do you want to say hello to Aunt Holly?” “Hi, Aunt Holly.” He said, quietly. “Mom says I’m not allowed to ask you when you’re going to have a baby. You’re not a mommy cause you don’t have a baby. But. How come I can’t ask you that?” “Oh. I don’t know why. You can ask me anything. I’m not going to have any babies. That way I can buy you more presents when I see you.” “K. I like that alligator book you gave me last time.” “Hey, Kyle. What else aren’t you ‘allowed’ to ask me?” “I can’t say.” He whispered. “Mom will get mad.” Oh. This could be good. Cause. Four is the perfect age to find out the real family dirt. “Kyle. Go into the kitchen near the dog food dish so mom can’t hear you.” I whispered. You know. To add drama. “Ok.” He whispered back. “That’s where I am now.” “Ok. What else does mom say you shouldn’t ask me?” I mean. Come on. I was two thousand miles away. The possibility of finding out the gossip, without being there, was unbearably enticing. “How come you don’t have a husband or a job and how come you can’t eat bread?” Oh. Well. That’s easy. “Cause. They make me sick.” I said, proud of myself for finding the easy explanation. “Oh.” He said brightly. “Anything else?” I asked, deviously. “Wait.” He said. “Let me check on mom.” He walked several steps away, then snuck back to the sanctity of the dog food area. “It’s safe to talk. Nobody’s around.” He bravely reported. “Ok.” “Aunt Holly.” He asked in a high, innocent voice. “How come when people talk about the birds and the bees they always laugh? I’ve always wanted to know.” Oh. Man. He wanted to know why people laughed. I mean. Why do people laugh when sex is alluded to? Who knows? “Kyle, honey. I have no idea why people laugh about birds and bees. I don’t know. I’d have to hear the whole joke.” “Ooooh.” He complained. “I can’t remember the whole joke.” “Hey. You know what?” “What.” “It’s been great talking to you. But. It’s Mother’s Day. I think that you better put a mother on the phone now.” He handed the phone to my older sister, Tina. “Happy Mother’s Day.” She said, automatically. “Hi, Happy Mother’s Day to you, too.” “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know who he was whispering to.” “I know. Hey. How’s my dog?” “Fine. She barks too much.” “She’s barking?” “All the time.” “Why?” “Because she’s a barker.” “She wasn’t before…” “Hold on.” She said. “There is someone here for you to talk to.” It’s a wonder that I ever learned communication skills, being from such a large family. “Hello.” Came a young voice. “Rachael, is that you?” I asked. “Yup. Aunt Holly-Bolly-Wolly, is that you?” “Yupperie. Hey. Girlie. Happy Mother’s Day to you!” “Sadie misses you so much, Aunt Holly. But every day I tell her your name and she wags her tail and remembers you.” “Really?” I asked, letting the sadness sweep over me. “Yupperie. And. You know what?” “What.” “When I pet her head, Aunt Holly I know that you must have taught her this, but when I pet her head she doesn’t go anywhere. She sits right there and looks at me. She would sit there all day cause she likes to have her head pet.” “That is very cool. You are a good mommy for her.” I said. “And that letter you wrote to her? I read it to her all by myself.” “Wow. You must be a good reader. I put some hard words in that letter.” “But don’t worry, Aunt Holly. She still has two mommy’s. I tell her that every day.” “Hey Rachael?” “Whaterie?” “You are my favorite mommy today, you know that?” “Even more favorite than your real mommy?” “Yupperie.” “Even more favorite than my mommy?” “Yupperie.” “Is that cause I am Sadie’s other mommy?” “Yupperie.” “Then how come you didn’t buy me a present for Mother’s Day?” She asked, always conniving. “You wanted a present?” “Yupperie!” She said, very excited. “Ok. Tell your mom that I said that tonight you could wash all of the dinner dishes all by yourself, just like a real mom would. That will be my present to you!” Big sigh into the phone. “Hey. Aunt Holly? There is someone here for you to talk to.” She said, passing the baton. “Happy Mother’s Day.” My father said. ------------ About the author: Holly Winter is a teacher and a writer and a flight attendant living in Denver, Colorado, USA. She can be reached at her website or email: Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com Comment on this column in the forum. ------------ |
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