A domestic mother

On what it means to love and be loved

An old photo, me mothering Huckleberry, taken by the wonderful Pip Stafford

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The Sunday before last, I thought of mothering, and children. Of love and its many faces. How it shows up, how it’s known, what language it speaks. How will my children know I love them? I tell them, of course. My friend with grown children tells me kids don’t remember a clean house; only the parks and play and attention dripped like a milky broth. It is also silliness and dancing in the kitchen. Puzzles by the fire. But mothering and domesticity are inextricably linked, curling around each other like a vine on a bough, twisted as a DNA helix.

I know love is also paired socks. Halved grapes. Wiped Benchtops. Clean seal bodies drifting to sleep, nested in soft beds. Love is laundry; it is wind-sweetened washing. Sheets snapping in mild aired blessings. Love is not just Lego and playdough and bouncing on trampolines. It is often invisible, a series of whirring mothering machinations enabling comfort, cleanliness, full bellies. Booked swimming lessons. Vacuumed floors. Found library books. Fresh fruit. Ponies with trimmed hooves. Foreheads smoothed by a sleep creased hand, kisses a sword against terrors that come in the night.

Does that love count in the now? Is that understood, molecularly, or only later, when our babies have babies of their own, bearing their own jostling arithmetic of mental load, when they have the quiet click of realisation. All of this was done, once, for me. Ah hah.

If I do my job right, my children will leave me. They will have the skills and enthusiasm for a life far beyond my perimeters and what I can keep safe. I can only hope the socks count. That every hand held, every face wiped, every boundary maintained and yoghurt pouch top screwed off and book read, pour into some sort of internal reservoir of beloved-ness.

I think of my own mother’s style of love, unconditional, hardworking; also check listed and scheduled; the necessity of systems and processes when working full time around three busy children, competing ponies every weekend. The labour behind the growing of every human being. Ah hah.

I think of my wonderful mother-in-law Rosie, recently lost. I think of her often. My husband’s family WhatsApp chat bulges with the familial chaos of three siblings, their partners, their offspring. Photos of children, directives for electricians, information about missing linen and hospital visiting hours. My sister-in-law, Laura, writes she had a conversation with a woman, who says when riding with Rosie, they had discussed what they would give children, if they could wave their fairy godmother wands. Rosie said she would gift children contentment. Her words ring true. What a perfect thing to gift. She is right, of course.

My husband’s sister, Anna, finds a note in her parent’s house. Rosie’s writing scrawls: “Gardening, like love, is a funny thing and doesn’t always yield to analysis.” I wonder what she was doing when she thought to write that down. Was she potting in the greenhouse, listening to the radio, rain on the roof, muted light through the glass? Did she see it in the paper, read in a quiet pocket of early morning, tea steaming beside her? Who had she thought to share it with, or was it to remind herself, when immersed in her own spectacular herbaceous border, the waxing and waning of life seen in the seasons of her garden? That control is an illusion; that nature rules us all.

Rosie wasn’t overly demonstrative verbally. But her children know how loved they were. Adam says there wasn’t enough time with his darling mum, there would never be enough time, but he feels sated by the depth of attention she gave him. The quality of her thoughtfulness, the connectivity of her conversation, the time spent together doing things they loved. His reservoir of beloved-ness is deep and wide.

Last week Huckleberry’s preschool held a Mother’s Day morning tea. Saffron and I stood on the periphery of other parents and carers as the children filed into the room. Hucky’s small solemn eyes scanned the crowd and when they fell on me, his face split in two, a sunbeam caught in glass. I didn’t want to be anywhere but, in the crowd, seen by my child as if for the first time. Drip drip, into the reservoir.

My mother couldn’t always make school things around her wok. The important ones, always – but not everything. But when we poured off the bus for athletics carnivals or I scanned the crowd from the diving blocks at swimming events, I would see my grandparent’s faces and the urge to wave like a lunatic would descend. The village would step in, tip a cup into the reservoir, tributaries that would flush and swell, one day grow into a tidal lake, pulled by moons and lapping on the shore of my sense of self. Beloved, the foaming water sighs. Beloved.

The list

• We read this for this month’s bookclub (NB guys, start a book club, it’s the highlight of my month. I hosted this month and having 14 women and their brilliant brains fill my house with warmth and laughter was so wonderful. We’ve also started a new format where the host gives a synopsis and review (should have chosen an easier month this book was at times COMPLEX) and another woman is the question master, with three questions for the group to get the dialogue juicy (not that we need any extra help tbh)) it gave me an insight into the lens of a Palestinian refugee, with huge themes sprawling colonialism, patriarchy, sexual violence, gender, politics, warfare. What makes a terrorist, what makes a revolutionary, what makes a good or bad woman? An insightful, powerful read that, although released in 2020, is so pertinent in the current climate. Loved it.

• I’m also obsessed with master communicator Jefferson Fisher (side note, I just KNEW by his voice he would be handsome. My sister and I call him Labrador daddy for his handsome calm energy, what a guy). I started with this podcast which then led to this podcast which went at greater depth, which then led to me reading his book. It has changed the way I communicate and I have had the nervous ability to put some of the steps into actual life practice and that, for me, is life changing.

• For a completely different tack, I’ve been listening to the Red Rising series and I can’t tell you what fantastic escapism it has been. It is sci-fi, so for fans of Dune, this is for you. I think it might actually be youth fiction? With some heavier themes. But I’ve really appreciated the building of worlds, the complex colour coded class system, the imaginative required to craft such an encompassing concept. It’s set in the future, in space, but is better than that sounds haha.

• So, you know how it’s better to buy second hand etc etc saving the planet etc? I’ve recently found some insanely quality second hand bits and bobs for a fraction of the price on Depop. Who knows what treasure you might find? It’s also fun window shopping.

• This instagram for wonderful cheery interiors that will make your heart smile.

• These gorgeous Australian beeswax dinner candlesticks, made on Kangaroo Island from the wax of protected bees.

• Oh and I finally finished this, which was enriching and captured the essence of sisters and their maddening, loving quirks.

Until next time, keep well

Em xx