Bless the Beasts, the Children, and Mom

Somewhere in Never, Never Land beasts and children gather together to plot their annoyance cast on parents.   I saw "Peter Pan" enough to know there was a sinister side--the pixie dust was a symbol for dirt and flying was a metaphor for running in the house.  Why is the crocodile (the beast) a sympathetic character?  He bit off some one's hand, for goodness sake.    Peter literally "kid"-napped Wendy, Michael, and John for the sole purpose of taking them to a place where kids never grow up.  Nice little fairy tale, my eye!

This theory of  pets/offspring plotting against parents was rekindled recently when my two schnauzers did what my two daughters used to do:  bug me when I was trying to talk on the phone.  Never would my daughters try to tug on my clothing, throw their heads back, wail, and sway from side to side....except when I was on the phone.  It was hard not to rule out demon possession (I think there should be a place in their baby books for just that event). This antic never happened when they got spankings, never happened when I had to tell them no, never took place when they scraped a knee or an elbow.  No, this manipulative tool was used ONLY when Mom was engaged in a conversation. 

Today, the once-beloved schnauzers mimicked this while I was writing on the computer.  I suppose they sensed that whether it be phone or computer, I was communicating with anyone other than themselves.  Down they went, first on their haunches, heads tilted back, howling, and then jumped up in unison to scratch my legs.  That was not pleasant at all.

Fortunately, the girls passed through this phase.  Sometimes Emily still gets a little needy, but I just remind her that if it weren't for me, she would not have been born.  Blunt but necessary communication works best with her.  The dogs, however, are just entering this stage of neediness.  They are aging, and the older they get the more they need me to pay attention to them. 

Check your mirrors indeed.   Applying this episode, it is pretty obvious that I ought to consider that my soon-to-be-80-year-old-mother is aging and tugging at my side.  She doesn't do it nearly so melodramatically as my girls and my pets have done.  For the most part, she quietly and graciously addresses the fact that her body is old.  Her phone calls are more frequent, and her sharing of mundane details are signs that she is keenly aware of all that surrounds her.  Her reflections have been written for us to read, stories of a life long ago--not just in years but also in philosophies and ideologies.  Despite the wear and tear on her shrinking frame, her mind and her soul are ever so young.  Still, the simple fact is that she needs her five children to pay attention. 

Tug away, Mother. We are listening.